http://www.birdsongguitars.com/unclej.htm

This page is here for family & friends who wish to have the words I was honored to speak for his family. There are links at the bottom to a picture memorial of John's woodworking which will be in process for some time. Most of it is from John's own site, now safe here. This is not a public page; the link on the main site bypasses this one. If you have just stumbled in, please give a moment of silence for John C. Kirtland before moving on, and offer a prayer for his family's healing...

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Eulogy for "Uncle Johnny"
John Kirtland 1946 ~ 2007

Brothers and sisters, family, friends, nieces and nephews, daughter, grandson, Sugarbear, Mother, and all departed relations ~ we gather here in this house to bid goodbye to our beloved John Kirtland and begin the celebration of his life that will last the rest of ours.

I will open with a poem from my wife Jamie ~

In this life he was my friend
In the next he may be my brother
Death is not the end
When one becomes another

We may not understand
The things beyond our senses
But I feel there is a plan
In God there are no fences

I am not a priest, a monk, a rabbi, minister, preacher, or ordained Holy Man of any specific cloth... but that’s OK. John was not a religious man. He was a spiritual man, however, a devout follower of the Church of life itself with strong beliefs, daily practice, reverence, faith, and sacraments. I am merely a humble servant granted this opportunity to speak of my friend, guru, brother and mentor John. And I am honored.

You know well the whole town would want this opportunity to be here... and aren't we the lucky ones? For to feel the pain of the loss we share means that we have had the gift of his presence in our lives; to feel the hole inside we all share means that we have known and loved another worth knowing and loving; to hurt and to grieve and to mourn and ask why means we are alive, we are able to feel, and all systems are okay.

This is not supposed to be easy... it wouldn't mean anything if it was.

The hands of That Greater do not measure by what is left undone; incomplete projects, unrealized plans or uncounted pennies. We do that because that’s what we see from our perspective. What matters is what you have done, whose hearts you have touched, how much beauty you have created and dispersed. If we are to be judged by our actions and ripples, John is to be judged by wood art, songs, his impact on our lives, and the strength of his character. By this measure, three men cannot fill the shoes of Uncle Johnny... that's why it hurts. It's a wound. It will take time to heal. We would be nothing without our scars.

One reason we hurt so badly is the simple fact that the passing of a loved one reminds us of the frailty of life and of our own mortality. This perhaps is our greatest lesson, though...

Sometimes we need to be shaken from our surface level dramas and challenges and conquests of our days to realize how rich we all are to have another day here, another opportunity to love and be loved, to help, to create, to laugh, to fix, to get some on you and make it mean something, to make some good times right now while we're planning and dreaming of tomorrows. This is what we have, our fortune. How are we going to spend it?

Big memories don't just happen, they are made like a handcrafted box ~ the results of care and attention, craftsmanship, a reverence for what one is given to work with, and a desire to manifest That Greater within us into something we can hold and pass along to others... be it a lesson, a song, a deck, a piece of art, or turning a wrench with a little extra care.

As a much younger man a very cosmically sensitive, creepy old French woman on Cape Cod saw into my future and told me I'd meet "The man who worked with the wood"; that he could be trusted; that he would show me the way. She didn't mention beer, puns, juvenile humor, ratty old pickups or (other stuff)... I guess that was all just icing on the cake.

I stand before you what some call a self-made man... but there’s no such thing. I built my life out of what I learned from a few great teachers; the greatest of which was Uncle Johnny Kirtland. I'll miss those lessons, I'll miss the stories. More than anything I'll miss his laugh ~ it was huge, often funnier than the joke itself, and you heard it every time because he cracked himself up with every joke he ever told.

I had the honor of getting some life on me with Uncle Johnny. As a friend, we shared cold beers and fart jokes too numerous to mention. As a brother, he helped out with his heart and hands whenever there was a need. As a mentor, he showed me how to work with wood... not just cut it and shape it; I could do that... but to work with the wood. When I first came here, he let me build guitars out of his woodshop. It was there I shared that with him, while he showed me how to turn my work into a higher art and gave me the tools to make it my life's path.

And as the crazy uncle everyone wishes they had (and we did), we wrote songs together, ran a music shop together, shared victories and losses, made music, bowed our heads when it was time, and also when it was time gloated and taunted those who squared off against us with fingers flying and mention of their mothers having worn combat boots, having swam up to troop ships, and being Bigfeet and Chupacabras.

No opportunity to make light of anything or inject humor of questionable taste into any situation, so far as I saw, ever snuck by John Kirtland. He set every one of us up for a spike or punch line at least once, and we can all rest easy (and John can rest in peace) knowing he will be at every party and gathering ever where anybody who ever knew him is there. There are that many stories to tell.

From John I learned the following:
- The word vegetarian is Native American for “He with bad aim”...
- An old Corvette’s not only fast, it gets faster every time you remember it...
- It's your life ~ trim it to fit and season to taste...
- You're only young once but you can remain immature forever...
- “Collard-green-eatin’” and “Big ol’ waterheaded” are real, genuine adjectives...
- Never pull an old man's finger...
- If you're 5'4" never say “I'll be back shortly...”
- To reconnect with a loved one is the joy of one's life...
- Square it on the ground and run ‘em diagonal for strength...
- Theresa doesn't eat slimy stuff...
- It's not so much what you own as what doesn't own you...
- Loud shirts truly make the man...
- It's the rest of the world that's crazy; I'm fine...
- Anything is edible...

...and the list goes on and on.

I remember John's old ‘72 Chevy truck; just flat wore out. For months I heard about his research, his comparison shopping, his wanting to step up to a later model, something that looked and ran better. We talked engines, financing, size, you name it. A mid-‘90s would be depreciated but have life left in it. OK. I went on a road trip... I came back and John was beaming; his new truck was parked out in front of the shop. It was a ’78.

Lesson ONE - be true to who you are. Embrace it even if other folks can't.

He loved his family, he loved his life, he loved his woodshop. Equal parts Buddhist, Baptist, beatnik, backwoodsman and Native Holy Man, he was good with a hammer, arrow, fret file, wrench, skillet, flute or pen... but in his hands wood came to life again. John was the guru of grain, the sensei of sanding, the Buddha of the bandsaw, the... the Plato of the planer! Johnny Appleseed with tiny wooden boxes.

I'm sad but it's hard to lament a man who lived the way he wanted, changed lives, filled the world with beauty & bullcorn with such complete integrity and then was taken quickly, spared any suffering... what a life this teacher of mine had.

But what I really learned from Uncle J is that if you want your life to mean something, if you want to do justice to this gift we have of consciousness, skin, bone, and sunrises, make what ever you do mean something and don't waste your time on trivial stuff that does not. Don't get hung up in the drama; don't let it stick to you. Toss your pebbles into the pond... make ripples. Make your footprints your prayer, make them big enough so others can fall into step. Lead from the front even when it looks like you're kicking back on the side... and leave your heart prints on other people's souls.

Help each other to heal, and your healing will take care of itself.

So as we prepare to leave the chapel to heal, and transition into our next chapters, I want you all to repeat after me:

I (state your name)
shall remember the good times
shall let go of the bad
shall have no regrets
and shall walk back out into the world
a little more at peace than when I walked in
a little more reverent
and a richer soul
for having shared this ride with you John

I am sad to say goodbye
but I know
the best part of you
lives on in my heart
and I know the best way
to honor your life
is to live mine well


The Ballad of Uncle Johnny

Years ago I was told ‘bout the man who works with wood
She saw him in my future and said his soul was good
Little did I know how far I’d ride the road I’m on
But that was years ago before I met Uncle John

(Kirtland, that is... with a t... John C...
Cold beer, bad jokes, and tall tales...
“What’s kickin’ chicken?”)

He took me in as family where I had none of my own
He let me use his woodshop; what I needed he would loan
I learned a lot ‘bout carvin’, buildin’ decks and brewin’ tea
And we wrote and sang together and built things made of tree

(chorus)

He was a simple livin’ good country man
This little town won’t be the same now that he’s gone
And he was half philosopher, half redneck
But the third half was what made him Uncle John

Just like that old lady said, my whole life turned around
And led me to this starin’ at this stone in the ground
I’m the woodshop man now and I promise ‘till I wane
To fill the world with laughter, song and amber waves of grain

(chorus)



So many people were touched by John - folks that can't be here today, so many others that may not even know of his passing yet. Uncle Johnny made more ripples than could possibly be gathered in one room. Maybe that's our greatest lesson. That's all I have to say... everybody get up and hug the people around you. Peace be with you all.


Notes:
This eulogy was delivered Monday, January 15, 2007.
"Ballad Of Uncle Johnny" was written Jan. 11 in a motel room in Moss Point, Mississippi.
©2007 S. Beckwith.

Continue on into the Uncle Johnny memorial page... this is under construction, and (as with anywhere associated with John) much is happening in here so watch your step and take the clutter as a sign of authenticity; if a place is too neat, ain't nothin' goin' on...