In honor of Henry Reed
Feb. 4, 2011
My name is Carolyn Binkley and I was Henry’s Reed’s best friend. I’m sure
that many of the faces remembering Henry today feel the same way. We feel like
the best, because he brought out the best in each of us. Henry had that affect on
people. When you were with him he made you feel special. I believe he sincerely
saw something extraordinary in everyone he encountered. He truly loved and
respected us all.
Henry also loved the ocean. Often we marveled at the spectacular view
here on campus while looking beyond these bluffs at the sparkling ocean, the
islands, and the endless span of blue sky beyond. “Diatoms,” Henry would
exclaim. He always credited the little phytoplankton for the lustrous twinkling of
the ocean’s surface on a sunny day. He knew about so many things. He was a
talking book of trivia; a book of praise; a book of idioms; a book of
encouragement; a book of knowledge; a solutions manual; a book of short stories;
an adventure book; and several books of corny jokes. If he were here listening
right now he would probably respond with, “Guess this ‘speaks volumes’ for my
character.” Henry had spontaneous, humorous comebacks in nearly every
conversation.
At my house, we make it a necessity to catch any spiders we encounter and
release them outdoors. This serves two purposes. It saves the life of a creature
that means us no harm, and it provides an opportunity for us to face our phobias,
while challenging our creative “How do I get it out of here without touching it”
side. The other evening I was in a rush, not wanting to be late for an appointment.
I asked my daughter Tessa, who is somewhat terrified of spiders, to catch and
release a wolf spider crawling along the bathroom floor. When she saw it she
screamed, “Oh my gosh. It’s huge!” It was large….( about this
big )…..
(Perhaps this big)….. Okay, this big ( )…( ). This delicate situation reminded me of
Henry. Whenever a student or coworker walked through his office door with a
concern, Henry fearlessly grabbed hold of their problem, which at first glance may
have appeared Gargantuan in magnitude and impossible to resolve, and shrunk it
down to an unintimidating and manageable size, with simple solutions to choose
from. With Henry there was no walking away from problems. He showed you how
to valiantly face and conquer them. And he would end the conquest with a grin;
and perhaps even a giggle. People typically came into his office wearing one face
and left wearing another.
One afternoon while walking together in late October, we giggled with
delight at the few students and staff who braved the campus adorned in cleverto-goofy Halloween attire. Henry shared with me a cherished memory from his
childhood. Evidently Halloween was one of his favorite holidays and he loved
dressing up in costume and trick-or-treating door-to-door. He also loved western
movies, in particular, an old television program call Wagon Trails. For those of
you who are too young to remember this television series of the late 50’s to early
60’s, it was about a wagon master and a group of men who guided pioneers out
West in covered wagons. When Henry was twelve, he was permanently confined
to a wheel chair. He felt sad that he would not be able to enjoy parading around
the neighborhood in costume as he was accustomed to. Much to his delight and
amazement, his mother transformed his wheelchair into a “true-to-life” covered
wagon. He was very proud and excited. His gratitude and love for his family
surfaced frequently in conversations and stories of his many adventures in life.
Henry never hid his human nature and vulnerability. He wanted everyone
to see a little of themselves in him and know that he could truly empathize with
their concerns. As far as Henry was concerned, every problem had a solution. No
sense fretting over spilt milk. “Learn from the past and move forward” was his
motto. No matter how challenging, how busy, how difficult, or how stressful a
situation or day might have been, Henry somehow managed to find humor, or
some tangible ray of hope to uplift the spirits of everyone involved. He was a
larger-than-life diatom, living in a little glass house: a constant light to the world
around him. He gave so much of himself to everyone. His kindness and confidence
were contagious. He touched all of our hearts in a deep and meaningful way. One
of his students and friend explained this ‘Henry phenomena’ quite well when he
said to me after hearing the sad news, “I need to find a quiet place to meditate
and pray that some of the qualities Henry had rubbed off on me.” Henry rubbed
us all in a good way. We are all better people just having known him. We are all
saddened by our loss. He would not have wanted us to mourn for long. Though
I’m quite certain he would have enjoyed watching us struggle just a little on his
behave.
For now I struggle to let go. We all have many goodbyes and letting-go
moments in our lives. Some are tougher than others. This has been, for me, one
of the most difficult. I would like to dedicate a poem I wrote several years ago to
Henry. It’s titled, “Letting Go”.
I saw a gull fly by this morn
Its wings swept upon the waves
that sang in soulful harmony
their song so woebegone in prayer
an endless rhapsody in green
turned to foam upon the shore
strife so endless, so despairing
the strain to grasp at pebbled sand
a struggle never to be won
mud-fingers claw in woeful loss
relinquishing their hold and cry
while sucked beneath the wash
that swallows in its turbulent gut
only to wrench in oozing roar
as white-mud fingers grasp the shore
once more, once more
once more, once more…
Once more Mother Earth has reclaimed what is rightfully hers. Once more I
have lost hold of a coveted soul. Once more, I long for it to return. But alas, this
soul left his imprint in the sand, and in my heart, and in the hearts of many; and
this part of him is ours forever. While the earth may have repossessed his body, I
believe his soul has been saved by a much greater spirit, for a more majestic place
than this. And I pray that by the grace of God, I shall someday be reunited with
my dear friend Henry Reed. God has blessed us with the gift of Henry. I will never
forget him. I am eternally grateful for this gift.
From now on when I look out at the ocean and I see the shimmering
sparkle of the diatoms and a spray of water lifting as the breeze blows across the
ocean surface, I will see my good friend Henry sitting at the helm of his covered
wagon, his leather boots planted firmly, the reins in his hands driving six white
stallions with their nostrils flaring and their manes and tails tousled by the wind,
as he drives them fast and steady across the channel, and turns to see me,
waiving his ten gallon hat with one hand and grinning a Henry-grin from ear to
ear, yelling, “Yee haw! Yee haw!”
“I love you Henry. Friends forever.”
Carolyn