My first boyfriend died on May 15. Jack Boyer was 66 years old. He gave me what my mother labeled, “Sharie’s first ‘love’ note on October 21, 1959. Jack and I were in first grade.
Jack died suddenly from an apparent heart attack and was discovered in his home by his son, Andy. During the past three years, Jack had struggled with circulation problems so severe that both of his legs had to be amputated. The last time Adrienne and I saw him, in August 2016, his left leg had just been amputated. “Too much smoking and drinking,” he said, a slight tremor in his voice betraying his signature sly smile. Two years ago, he lost his right leg. Seven months ago, several of his high school buddies helped him build a one-level, fully-accessible home next to his son’s home. “My grandkids — I love them more than anything,” he told me in 2016, beaming.
“He always had my back,” was my first thought when I learned on Facebook that Jack had died. I didn’t know him all that well, but in elementary school we played kickball together and he loved my handwriting. “Teach me how to do cursive that way,” he would insist, and then plead with me to complete his handwriting exercises. One day in second grade — right after my mother had given me a Toni home permanent — Jack said, looking at my forehead, “Now I know why they call those things bangs, because they’re shooting out all over.”
Our high school lunch tables were across from each other, me sitting with “the rebels” (the smart, sassy girls), and Jack, sitting with “the bad boys.” Most weekend nights and even on some school nights, Jack and his buddies smoked and drank beer up and down Main Street in Slippery Rock, testing the patience of local police.
My most endearing encounter with him was at my 40th high school reunion in 2011. When a classmate’s wife quickly withdrew her outstretched hand away from Adrienne’s after I introduced Adrienne as my partner, we retreated to a side door. Just outside stood Jack and all “the bad boys,” smoking and drinking. Jack immediately saw how angry I was. I told him what happened and without missing a beat, he threw his cigarette down to the pavement, snuffed it out with his foot, handed his can of Bud Light to one of his buddies, and seethed, mocking high insult, “Where are they? I’ll show them how to shake hands!” He then flashed me — and Adrienne — that sly smile. “Stay out here, with real people,” he said. We did.
According to his obituary, Jack didn’t just have my back. “Jack was greatly admired by family and friends for his kindness and perseverance,” it said. The Slippery Rock Fire and Rescue Team was designated for memorial contributions, and with my contribution, I included a simple note:
I first met Jack in first grade, and we were classmates through high school. I am honored to make a contribution to a far-flung friend who always had my back.
During our visit in 2016, Jack asked me to send him photos from the 45th high school reunion because he was still recovering from his first leg amputation. I printed out and sent him about 25 photos. I also began to call him once a week just to check up on him. He never answered the phone, but I left messages.
I never heard from him again.
You are a good friend Sharon and others recognize that energy and draw near. Jack sounds like he has a good solid endearing heart, and also sounds like he had some challenges. We are all a mixture, aren’t we? I join you in saying, “Rest in peace.” Thanks for telling us about him.
You are very welcome, Charlotte.
Interestingly, I learned about Jack’s death through a Facebook post on the page of another high school classmate who could not be a more rabid Trump supporter. He STILL posts completely racist and disgusting memes about Obama’s birthplace. But, he was one of Jack’s buddies — apparently, not much of Jack wore off on him.
So sorry for the loss of your unique friend, Sharon. Thank you for sharing your memories of Jack’s life. From what you’ve written, the world would be a better place if more of us could like Jack in our ability to reach across the divide to befriend all sorts of people. Rest In Peace, Jack and thanks for being a good friend to my friend.
Such a sweet comment, Beth. Thank you for appreciating Jack’s “uniqueness”. Perhaps what made him so “unique” was that he was always so completely himself.
This comment was emailed to me by a beloved. I hope that she doesn’t mind that I’m posting it:
Condolences, friend. Amazing. Your writing. So much love and gift in the those words. And in the ones you chose not to use. Beautifully captured so that now I carry a bit of Jack and mourn momentarily. This is art. Thank you for sharing this gift of tribute.
Peace and love.
Or as my autocorrect often ignores…
Peace and live.
A beautiful tribute, Sharon. Is there any way of sharing this post with his family? I suspect it would mean a lot to them. Sounds like you had his back these last few years, and I’m sure that, even though he didn’t answer the phone, your messages brought sunshine into his life. You have a good habit of doing that, you know!
Thanks, Carol. I’m hoping that perhaps the Slippery Rock Fire and Rescue Team will share my note with Jack’s family. I could also send a link to my Facebook contact, but given his fervor for Trump, I’d rather not be connected with him.
I hope my voice messages meant something to Jack. He somehow found a sweet little spot in my heart.
Almost forgot: Jack’s younger brother, Jim, died decades ago from AIDS complications. I got the sense from Jack that his brother’s coming out — and subsequent death — impacted him greatly which may explain why Jack had my back in 2011 at that high school reunion.