Memoriam: Gypsy

In the 60s my father managed a coffee house in Port Huron, MI called The Cellar. It was during the folk explosion in the 1966 timeframe. My father is a serious music lover, and the folk scene played to what he loved most: intelligent socially-conscious songwriting, simple yet powerful music and instrumental virtuousity. In the tableau of this labor of love walked Gypsy, a brilliant, white-hot, larger than life musician named Glenn Schultz.

Glenn was both an anachronism and able to adapt to any situation, by always being just who he was. Its true as was mentioned in the eulogy that Glenn might have been uniquely suited for Elizabethan England, and the mere act of asking for more coffee had a quality of verse to it when it came from Glenn's lips, and yet, he made the world his home.

I didn't know him back in those days, being merely a potential for life. I know he made a strong impression on my father and they became good friends, but then lost each other for several years during much of my childhood. I had heard stories, but I don't have any real memories of my life before 6 or 7 years, so I didn't really *know* him. He had carved a sword for me from wood, with my initials carved into the base of the blade. I remember it fondly (and just found it again and have it sitting next to me by the computer now). I looked at that carving all through my childhood. It was one of my favorite toys growing up, but I didn't really remember Glenn at all.

So the first time I remember meeting Glenn was like meeting a character in a story I had read many times. And he didn't disappoint being more than any story could prepare you for. I was 20 or so when we finally met again. He was coming to visit for a spell, where we would hang out in my parent's newly renovated backyard garden. A telephone conversation set it up:

Ma: What would you like to drink?
Glenn: Like a fish. Red Wine. Cheaper the Better.

And it began again with that minimalist free verse, and it was how he spoke. "Darling," he'd say, pointing at his palm, "might you present the pepper to me?"

Glenn was deeply in the throes of chronic back pain (possibly stemming from a lifetime working as a machinist for Generous Motors, and a large percentage of that time bent over lathes and such. To be true I don't know the whole story.) and found cheap red wine to be the most effective method for getting through the day. His emphysema hadn't fully taken hold yet, but foreshadowed its horrible grip with full minute-long bouts of coughing spasms.

And yet, he was electric. There was so much brilliance and so much power huddled in his somewhat hobbled frame, you could feel it, shining through his eyes. He brought with him a full quarter wheel of Stilton cheese. "Fooking Marvelous, I tell you" he said of the cheese, by way of introduction. And 'twas, and that afternoon spent in the garden drinking cheap red wine ("Hand over the jug, kid") and eating Stilton is a fond memory and a perfect reunion. He recited from memory a poem he had written in the style of the grand old masters, played "Dandelion Wine" (one of my father's favorites by Glenn, and now one of mine), and we generally caused a ruckus.

And I guess, since the jig is up, and since holding back achieves nothing, I'll admit my own personal impression: For me, Glenn was like a wizard who had been half-destroyed by his own creation. He had learned magic and had taught himself to fly, but in flying had gotten too close the the sun, too close to God and had been thrown back to the earth. Still and yet, it didn't destroy him, merely wizened him (a lot), humbled him (a little), and drew him back to only fly when no one was looking.

It was a short while later I got to (re) meet his family, Vicki and Bree (and later Cody). Bree and I, almost the same age, became fast friends as though the intervening dozen years did not exist. And it was like my other family, who I always felt comfortable with, who I always looked forward to visiting. I never saw them enough (and I take my own share of the blame for that, sizable share 'tis), but it never seemed to matter, as each time was like rejoining right where we left off.

Glenn was a precision machinist, a brilliant musician, a master craftsman of celtic whistles and flutes, a poet (or "verser" as he might put it) and a wonderful human being who was a joy to have known. At the wake (and then following at the house) it was still hard to believe that he was gone. It just seemed like he was missing, and he was obviously missed. There was a swell of great music, as the remaining members of Modesty Forbids (Glenn's mostly Irish music band, also featuring Vicki and Bree) played with several guest stars from the local Irish music scene coming by, and then continuing with more music back at the house. And Guinness flowed freely as we tried to send the man off as best we could. But he was missing, and he was missed and it couldn't be the same.

It was hard to leave. Several times Da and I both knew we should be getting on the road, but couldn't. Because it was the last time we'd be there for Glenn. We'd undoubtedly return, and it would be nice to do, but to leave meant to say goodbye for good. Da left around 7, but I ended up staying and playing well past midnight (and perhaps my welcome, though my hosts 'twould be too nice to say it).

The last few years had been incredibly difficult for him, as the emphysema had locked him up completely, and he spent most of his time on oxygen tanks. But still, he was out back in the workshop making "weasels", writing verse, giving that trademark singsong laugh, and being as difficult and inspiring as was his wont. Glenn was no saint, and he was a full five handfuls on any given day as he was challenging and challenged by all those he knew. But the world without him is surely missing something, as surely as he is missed.

Notes:
I'm late publishing it, but it took me a long time to figure out how to say it. I still think I've failed mostly. Forgive me, Glenn. I tried.

Info on Glenn's book of verse and where to buy it

Glenn's website for the whistles he crafted

Discussion forum thread on Glenn