IN MEMORIAM – MY FRIEND, JERRY

Gentle reader, I have decided to step aside from posting PART V of ‘THINKING-REFLECTION’ in order to honor my friend Jerry.  On Friday, the 26^th of January Jerry was alive and on Saturday, the 27^th of January he was not.  There is, in addition to my grief and deep sadness, more than a touch of irony.  Why?  Jerry was a survivor; he survived the ‘known.’

Jerome Giles Sneva was a survivor.  For years he survived the open car and midget car race tracks.  He drove race cars when they were anything but safe.  He was, by the by, rookie of the year at the 1977 Indy 500 (he finished 10^th as I recall).

Jerry also survived tongue cancer.  Like many of us of our generation, Jerry was a smoker.  As one consequence he lost his tongue and his ability to speak and swallow.  The ‘miracle workers’ took a piece of skin from his right forearm and ‘made him a tongue and he learned how to speak using his new tongue.  He could not swallow and so he survived via a feeding tube inserted in his gut.

Jerry also survived Sepsis and an induced coma.  Jerry also ‘survived’ living with more than a dozen cats and not infrequent raccoon families that would set up home in his attic.  Stray cats knew that the Sneva house was also a home for wayward cats.  Jerry also survived a terrible golfer’s slice (more on this in a bit).

All of this was ‘known.’  The irony is that Jerry was struck down by the ‘unknown.’

Walking along with Jerry was his wife Kathy.  He adored her and she loved him with a powerful love that many of us were envious of.  Kathy retired a few years ago and so when Jerry played golf (which was almost every day) Kathy would ride along and cheer him and us on.  Her presence also helped some of us ‘watch our language’ (few male golfers are good at watching their language after they hit certain shots).  I loved watching Jerry and Kathy interact as they rode around together.

I joined the Brickyard Crossing Golf Club in 2004 (as I recall).  When I wasn’t traveling or ‘working’ in the area I would make sure that I would get a few holes in at the Brickyard or spend time on the practice range.  One morning, about 8 years ago (as I recall) I was about to play and the pro, Jeff, approached me.  He asked me if I would be open to playing with an ex-race car driver.  I had played with a number of current and ex-drivers and so I said ‘Yes.’  Jeff paused.

He said he was asking me because this fellow, Jerry Sneva, had not played golf in years and he – Jeff – felt that I would have the patience to play with a guy that had not played golf in years.  Jerry was quiet, soft spoken, and anxious.  By the 12^th hole we had connected more and his second shot on the 12^th changed our relationship.

The 12^th is a par 5 and for almost its entire length it runs parallel to the back straight-a-way at the Brickyard (home of the Indy 500).  Jerry had hit his usual booming slice (which he mostly played) and he was sitting in the center of the fairway.  He lined up his second shot – a three wood; a three wood that was at least 30 years old.  He aimed left and hit his shot.  To both of our surprises he hit the ball solid and straight.  I can still see it fly over the restroom and into the stands.  We could hear his golf ball rattling around in the stands.

I looked at him and said. Darth Fader didn’t hit a fade!  For Christmas that year I gave him a dozen Titleist golf balls with Darth Fader written on them.  After our initial round we became regular golfing buddies.  His game dramatically improved (race car drivers – those who survived – had to have great eye-hand coordination and this is what golf is about – aside from the 90% mental aspect – eye-hand coordination).  Jerry and I never teamed well and so for team events we went our separate ways; we did survive some ‘scotch-matches’ with our other regulars (mostly Joe and Kris).

Jerry: I will miss you and your spirit.  I will strive to carry your spirit with me.  I will strive to carry your ‘attitude’ about life and what it offers.  I will strive to embrace your commitment to survive – amidst life’s greatest challenges.

As I sit here thinking of all the things I want to write I am remembering the opening lines from a poem by Markova:

I will not die an unlived life.

I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. 

I will allow my living to open me…

Jerry: Your spirit is now a part of who I am.  I am thankful my friend.

Here is one of my favorite photos of Jerry – when he was surviving the grind of professional racing so many years ago.