mom, arnie, cousin marg back in the day!
eulogy for arnie
it's funny how that old african resolve always get you through the rough spots.
whenever i'm on the continent that's the one thing i'm always drawn to. it comforts me when i see despair. it strengthens me when when i feel as though i can't take another step. it inspires me when i see a half-naked child living in a one-room shanty smile at me as if jesus were standing behind me with a winning lotto ticket.
i'm searching for that resolve today as i prepare to send my cousin to the other side. like some of the africans i've encountered over the years arnie's life was less than idyllic. he served his country at a time when his country did not serve him. he made brave choices that set him apart from the norm at a time when that sort of bravery wasn't openly embraced.
yet, he still smiled.
that old african resolve shielded him from harm. it gave him the strength to ignore the haters and live life on his terms. those of us who knew and loved him may not always have embraced his way of doing things, but we certainly admired his defiance--even at the end.
because of the way arnie died, some of us will inevitably buy into the notion that it wasn't his time. i'm one of those people. i've heard the stories of how he wouldn't accept help, how he lived in a state of perpetual isolation, how he routinely rejected all of the things that would have made his final days on earth so much more pleasant.
and because all of our collective efforts were unsuccessful, we will undoubtedly blame ourselves for not having done more. i'm in that group, standing first in line.
but it's at times like these when we're told we must hold on to the good and move on.
i have so many great memories of arnie. he was inarguably the best cook in the mcdonald clan. i used to ask him to make his famous mustard coleslaw without the onions for me. he'd complain a little bit, but he always came through. i remember going to arnie and hat's house on oak street and eating city chicken, freeze pops, barbecue, baked beans and literally drinking cups of arnie's barbecue sauce because it was so dang good.
and they both taught me how to bake cookies from scratch--a skill, sadly, that has gone the way of the 8-track.
it didn't seem odd to me then that he lived with his mom until she died. it didn't seem weird that when he wasn't cleaning the homes of the rich folks up on the hill that he was finishing off six packs of hudepohl with his buddies in the kitchen. Nor did it seem unusual that he spent his off days watching soaps, cooking and frying hair.
that's just who arnie was and i had no problem accepting him then or now.
other than his cooking, arnie also had a great record collection. he always had all the best grooves. he introduced me to sunny and jr. walker's shotgun--tracks that still make me move to this day. and, you better not scratch his vinyl or there would be hell to pay. worse yet, lose one of his lou rawls albums like i did when i was a kid. i suspect, however, my brother gary had something to do with that. arnie could be a little obsessive, too. he'd order hundreds of vhs videos, cassette tapes and cds from the various clubs he'd join. his video and music library rivaled my own. and he was always buying junk he didn't need.
his things became his companions. they didn't talk back when he was at his most cantankerous.
and i'll remember that his heart, like hat's, was as big as mother africa. arnie was no saint, but he was saintly and sometimes that's an even better attribute to possess. just last christmas he gave me an unexpected and very generous gift, which made me gasp when i opened it. i didn't always call him when i was home and seldom visited, but none of that seemed to matter when i rang and thanked him this time. he was chipper and essentially told me what was his was mine. and that if i needed any financial help to just call him.
he also told me he loved me.
that's the last time i spoke to arnie even though i had meant to ring him again--just to check up on him. but, you know, i got caught up in the hollywood game--trying to squeeze a dollar out of a dime and find ways to deal with other less significant life issues. coulda, woulda, shoulda.
i never want to sing that song again.
all deaths teach us invaluable lessons once we're able to wrap our heads around losing someone we'll never physically encounter again. arnie was blind at the end of his life yet he saw far more than i can see now with my nearly 20/20 vision. he saw that the way to make it through life is to be who you are. it's not so much that he didn't give a hoot--although he really didn't--it's just that at the end of the day sometimes the only thing you have left is your resolve.
arnie wasn't much of a church guy but i'm hoping that the god of infinite chances whose mercy is so omnipotent and everlasting will look upon this fallen soldier, knowing that his heart was always in the right place and say: "well done, son."
sunset at chelsea pier, new york, ny, may 14, 2010
