Thanks Jon

During the two and half days that I spent in the East Bay for Jon's service meeting and visiting with Jon's friends and family, I came away with a curiosity of Jon's life before college. I was moved by the tremendous showing of support at the funeral as the room was expanded and additional chairs were added for quite some time after the scheduled start of the service. There was clearly an interesting history to uncover from various angles, represented by the diverse groups brought together that day.

I instantly appreciated Jon's parents after a visit to their home. I was honored to meet them and to meet Jon's brothers David and Ethan, who gave glimpses of an intriguing home life where all three boys eventually migrated their bedrooms to the basement. As the oldest, Jon led the way and David and Ethan eventually joined him. Perhaps they were escaping the oppressive rule that all teenagers imagine, but how oppressive could their parents be to let them drift to the basement?

His mother, a music teacher, may have been the source of Jon’s patience in teaching. Jon and I shared a Mechanical engineering class at Penn. One evening, despite having finished his assignment, he accommodated my request for a study session where we would theoretically help each other. He told me he was done but we could still meet, and I did not bow out gracefully. I really needed the help. I was stuck, teetering between a pivotal point of enlightenment and another agonizing defeat at the hands of the Penn Engineering curriculum. In a matter of ten or fifteen minutes, in a matter of two, perhaps three different approaches at an explanation from Jon, I got it. Despite my degree, I am not an engineer and I could not begin to recall the details of the problem. But 23 years later, what I remember is that moment of graciousness. I think I now understand what it means to leave a legacy. If Jon was here today to hear me tell this story, he may not remember, but I will always remember and admire both the kindness and efficiency Jon displayed.

During the service, Jon’s father struggled to tell the story of a King whose son died before him. Jon’s father made an instant impression on me after just one meeting. He’s the kind of Dad that makes an impression. Not the kind of impression that allows one to easily categorize him, but a bold, provocative impression that leaves one wondering. This large man’s voice projects with operatic exuberance. And he requires others to do the same in order to be heard. If I were to take a wild stab, it seems that Jon’s rebel nature was largely attributed to, and perhaps approved with a subtle wink of an eye, by his father. Perhaps approval came in their shared appreciation for individualism. Albeit in their own separate approaches, they seemed to share this quality.

My wife and I have dozens of boxes of nice things from Crate and Barrel that we still have not opened since our wedding. And of the things we have opened and are using, I could not tell you where they came from. I know where the bird house came from. At our wedding, Jon and Sarah’s three children were already born. Now that we have two kids, I can appreciate the birdhouse and the logic behind it (not that he made this decision logically, but that after the fact it just makes sense). There’s symbolism in a miniature house, there’s individualism in gifting a birdhouse, there’s creativity leading steps ahead to kids who most certainly would appreciate a bird house. It’s a classic “elegant solution” of which Jon has had many in his life.

We all have a sense of Jon’s legacy from his role as a big brother, to his incredible wife and kids, to his and Sarah’s pioneering role with their company. We know and love him for his appreciation of all things mechanical, and his disdain for anything overly formal or not genuine. If Jon ever did take the time to think about his legacy, I’m not sure the simple things I appreciate most would have been on his list. No doubt Jon has had some remarkable and notable accomplishments in his life, but he made me understand that a legacy can simply be the small things that reveal who you are.

I've been empowered by spending time with Sarah, whose bravery will be a lasting inspiration. To Jessica, Jack, and Caleb, I’d like to say the following. It may be a few years before you understand what I have written in grown-up language.

When your gut feels like talking, don’t let your mind put it off. When I was 12, my mother passed away. I’ve always been conscious of a process of introversion for years to come. In a recent exploration with a health advisor, I was told there was something very forceful bottled up in my emotional center that needs to be let out. I thought time had slowly coaxed the extrovert back out, but this recent assessment suggests there’s more work to do. So guys, take inspiration and gratitude from your father, your mother, each other, your family and your friends. Always talk to them and thank them. Always talk to each other. Always, keep talking.

In our college fraternity we had a saying “Not four years, but a lifetime.” I always found it a bit over the top. Today, it seems like it doesn’t say enough - that a lifetime is too short. Andy flew in from Connecticut and Dan from Germany. They showed me the way during these two and a half days. Along the way we met Jon’s family, co-workers, and childhood friends. Each added yet another dimension to the story of Jon, as if to throw another pillow down to soften the impact of his all too short time with us. Thank you, Jon, for a splendid legacy!