When I left Paul last evening (on the phone), he was gearing up for Matthews and Olberman and wondering if the Republican candidate for the Presidency might not choose to debate his opponent this week, what with current events placing extraordinary demands on his time and all. Paul remains engaged.
It has been since the end of May when we shared a weekend in Mercersburg. Our next visit is scheduled for 1-5 October in Erie. During that visit I will work on transferring the wall of photos and memories from his home on Hilltop Road to his room at Western Reserve. If you have a snapshot you think Paul should have, send it to the Western Reserve address (see the right column). We will work on including them in his collection.
One of the many things that strikes me as I gather mail for Paul is the myriad ways in which he impacted so very many people. The long term relationships he built and kept through decades are the obvious ones to turn to for example. But it is the poignant, brief and chance encounters he had with so many, encounters that seem indelible in the minds of so many, that I find instructive and heartening. A recurring theme in many of these letters is this. "It was long ago and you may not remember, but here are some memories I want to share to show you how well I remember and value you." Trust me, Paul remembers. His power of collection and recollection is astonishing.
Here is one letter Todd Jamison sent Paul with permission to post here:
Dear Mr. Suerken,
Geez, after all these years, being “all grown up”, in my fifties and all, and I still feel the need to call you Mr. Suerken, vs. Paul. Purely out of respect sir. And while I was never in one of your classes, you still managed to teach me, and the student body at large. I have fond memories that I thought worth sharing.
My first real exposure to you was as a freshman, and my feeble attempt at making the Glee Club. I believe my record stands – as far as I know I am still the only student in Mercersburg history to get kicked off the Glee Club. For the uninitiated, you didn’t really have to sing all that well to make the Glee Club. You could be so so. And if you were rather bad, Mr. Suerken would simply ‘hide’ you by surrounding you with good (and louder) singers. However, if you were soooo bad that you threw-off those good singers, well, that wouldn’t do. And you made the right call. I was bad. Heck, I’m still terrible.
On the other end of my four years, you were our victim for Senior Day. After years of futile efforts by the graduating class to disrupt a day of classes (one year all the forks and knives were stuck in the central lawn, another all the chairs and desks were taken out of Irvine) the class of ’73 creatively kidnapped a teacher and stole away from campus for a day. The class of ’75 was not so creative, but we liked the idea. We took you with us to see the Eagles. Linda Ronstadt was signing with them at the time. I remember you sitting in the front seat and proclaiming to have ‘tunnel vision’, always looking only forward. A real trooper putting up with those shenanigans.
Then there was your endless support for the various team sports. I ran cross country. And many, many times you could be found along the course cheering us on, encouraging us to push harder. Some of us needed that pushing: Too often I asked myself what the heck I was doing out there, running 3.1 miles until I felt sick.
But my most vivid memory was during a student body meeting hosted by STUACT. The goal of the presenters/committee was to inform everyone what STUACT was, what they did. At one point an African-American student stood up asked why there weren’t any black representatives on the committee. Students called out “that’s what this meeting is for”. Another called out “no, that’s not the reason.” After several uncomfortable moments, a certain teacher stood up and barked out, “I want to know why there aren’t any bald representatives on the committee!” You brought the roof down. And, with a simple, bold statement, you made the correct point. Well done. Thank you for the lesson.
You are a true ambassador for Mercersburg’s faculty, and greater community. I for one am wealthier for having crossed your path. Thanks so much.
Todd Jamison
Mercersburg Class of ‘75
24 September 2008
19 September 2008
Amen and אָמֵן.
There’s been an entry stirring in my head for five days now, but I’ve hesitated to post it.
On Sunday the 14th, Paul and I had one of the most interesting and best conversations we’ve had in 25 years. I wanted to hang up the phone, pass out his number to all his friends and post the news to the blog that he is stronger than ever. But I’m learning to try to sit on what I know for a bit, because often what I know becomes what I thought I knew. This time, though, my instinct to post the news to the blog would have been just fine. Paul has had, in my opinion, his best week since the fall on July 8th. He has found his power.
Accepting the fact that extracting his arms from the covers will require a visit from the nurse's station, that clearing his throat in order to converse will probably require suction – these are realities that can bring with them gloom and frustration. He is learning to adjust his mind, to accept his “life as a quadriplegic,” as he says. And here is a small piece of the puzzle which is providing him with some of his strength. As he says himself, “We become so ego-centric in our lives, so self-centric. These are things I must learn to release from my life in order to ‘move on.’” So, incredible as it may seem, Paul is learning to ‘move on,’ without really moving much at all.
Throughout this ordeal, Paul has been surrounded by a small group of devoted friends, all of whom I have mentioned before. Most recently, though, he has been profoundly moved by the strong and unfailing devotion of Rabbi John Bush, who he calls his “Rock of Gibraltar,” and Joanna Bush, who he calls quite simply, “my saint.” If you feel any sense of frustration in that you cannot be with Paul through this ordeal, you can rest in the notion that there are people like John and Joanna Bush who are with him.
Amen and אָמֵן.
On Sunday the 14th, Paul and I had one of the most interesting and best conversations we’ve had in 25 years. I wanted to hang up the phone, pass out his number to all his friends and post the news to the blog that he is stronger than ever. But I’m learning to try to sit on what I know for a bit, because often what I know becomes what I thought I knew. This time, though, my instinct to post the news to the blog would have been just fine. Paul has had, in my opinion, his best week since the fall on July 8th. He has found his power.
Accepting the fact that extracting his arms from the covers will require a visit from the nurse's station, that clearing his throat in order to converse will probably require suction – these are realities that can bring with them gloom and frustration. He is learning to adjust his mind, to accept his “life as a quadriplegic,” as he says. And here is a small piece of the puzzle which is providing him with some of his strength. As he says himself, “We become so ego-centric in our lives, so self-centric. These are things I must learn to release from my life in order to ‘move on.’” So, incredible as it may seem, Paul is learning to ‘move on,’ without really moving much at all.
Throughout this ordeal, Paul has been surrounded by a small group of devoted friends, all of whom I have mentioned before. Most recently, though, he has been profoundly moved by the strong and unfailing devotion of Rabbi John Bush, who he calls his “Rock of Gibraltar,” and Joanna Bush, who he calls quite simply, “my saint.” If you feel any sense of frustration in that you cannot be with Paul through this ordeal, you can rest in the notion that there are people like John and Joanna Bush who are with him.
Amen and אָמֵן.
11 September 2008
Until Then. . .
Since the fall and subsequent surgery on 8/9 July, Paul has worn a collar to stabilize his upper spine. The neurosurgeon who performed the surgery allowed its removal on Monday. The new motion will bring with it muscle ache, but Paul seems more perturbed when you ask him how his neck is feeling than he does by the muscle ache. At that appointment on Monday, the neurosurgeon told Paul that he might find gradual signs of improvement in feeling and motion over the next two years, or so. With that hope in mind, Paul continues his two sessions of physical therapy each day, and he says the sessions are the most challenging yet.
It seems unfair to mention my phone conversations with Paul when so many who care about him are longing to connect. That longing through messages and letters is palpable, if not explicit. What you should know is that Paul’s social worker is working on it. As it is, Paul has to have staff or visitors hold the phone. His breathing continues to be shallow, so conversations are work for him. Lately, his spirits don’t lend themselves to phone chat. Lighting the spark that encourages him to talk can be difficult. Often, the spark does not happen. When it does, it might be the result of a beautiful letter read to him, the news of a particularly good Indians game (last nights rout over the Orioles will give him glee), or hearing that Keith Olberman and Chris Matthews may have been demoted. (That last one really got his goat.) Part of Paul’s therapy and something that seems to give him hope is the reconnecting with the people he loves. So he will begin to reconnect when he can. Until then. . .
It seems unfair to mention my phone conversations with Paul when so many who care about him are longing to connect. That longing through messages and letters is palpable, if not explicit. What you should know is that Paul’s social worker is working on it. As it is, Paul has to have staff or visitors hold the phone. His breathing continues to be shallow, so conversations are work for him. Lately, his spirits don’t lend themselves to phone chat. Lighting the spark that encourages him to talk can be difficult. Often, the spark does not happen. When it does, it might be the result of a beautiful letter read to him, the news of a particularly good Indians game (last nights rout over the Orioles will give him glee), or hearing that Keith Olberman and Chris Matthews may have been demoted. (That last one really got his goat.) Part of Paul’s therapy and something that seems to give him hope is the reconnecting with the people he loves. So he will begin to reconnect when he can. Until then. . .
09 September 2008
08 September 2008
"Hey, Mateo, It's Suerk."
Sunday, 7 September
Stephen and I walked the dogs this morning. Our weekend walks are usually quiet and contemplative. Today's was no exception. I spent much of the walk working in my head how to describe Paul’s recent depression in this web log. He is depressed, but the essence of what makes Paul Suerken a uniquely wonderful force is still there. During that walk, my cell phone rang. I had leashes in my hands, so I ignored the phone and forgot about the ring until long after we had returned home. When I listened to the messages, this is what I heard:
“Hey Mateo, it’s Suerk. A little bit after 10am on Sunday morning. I’d like to talk to you today, of course. But I have, really, one important thing to say, and that’s this: You are blessed – blessed, blessed – with Stephen Boyd in your life. And that’s what I want to say. And we’ll talk soon. Thank you. Bye.”
And so he is depressed, of course. But he is spending his days contemplating and rejoicing in the relationships and the life that gave him, and still give him, so much life.
Stephen and I walked the dogs this morning. Our weekend walks are usually quiet and contemplative. Today's was no exception. I spent much of the walk working in my head how to describe Paul’s recent depression in this web log. He is depressed, but the essence of what makes Paul Suerken a uniquely wonderful force is still there. During that walk, my cell phone rang. I had leashes in my hands, so I ignored the phone and forgot about the ring until long after we had returned home. When I listened to the messages, this is what I heard:
“Hey Mateo, it’s Suerk. A little bit after 10am on Sunday morning. I’d like to talk to you today, of course. But I have, really, one important thing to say, and that’s this: You are blessed – blessed, blessed – with Stephen Boyd in your life. And that’s what I want to say. And we’ll talk soon. Thank you. Bye.”
And so he is depressed, of course. But he is spending his days contemplating and rejoicing in the relationships and the life that gave him, and still give him, so much life.
07 September 2008
Joyce & Yeats
Today, John Chapman emailed me requesting I post two poems on the blog. Not long after that, I spoke with Paul and asked him if he was aware of John's request. He was not aware and he asked me to read the poems aloud to him. Paul was delighted with both of John's selections, he asked me to alert Edward Hallowell (a former colleague and close friend of 40 years), and then he urged me to post both poems. Paul would urge you to spend time with these two poems. Read them when you can. Read them again, and maybe then again.
Strings in the earth and air
Make music sweet;
Strings by the river where
The willows meet.
There's music along the river
For Love wanders there,
Pale flowers on his mantle,
Dark leaves on his hair.
All softly playing,
With head to the music bent,
And fingers straying
Upon an instrument.
James Joyce
Adam's Curse
We sat together at one summer's end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said, 'A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.'
. . . . . . . . . And thereupon
That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
There's many a one shall find out all heartache
On finding that her voice is sweet and low
Replied, 'To be born woman is to know-
Although they do not talk of it at school-
That we must labour to be beautiful.'
I said, 'It's certain there is no fine thing
Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring.
There have been lovers who thought love should be
So much compounded of high courtesy
That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
Precedents out of beautiful old books;
Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.'
We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
We saw the last embers of daylight die,
And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell
About the stars and broke in days and years.
I had a thought for no one's but your ears:
That you were beautiful, and that I strove
To love you in the old high way of love;
That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown
As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.
Yeats
Poetry today. An update tomorrow.
Strings in the earth and air
Make music sweet;
Strings by the river where
The willows meet.
There's music along the river
For Love wanders there,
Pale flowers on his mantle,
Dark leaves on his hair.
All softly playing,
With head to the music bent,
And fingers straying
Upon an instrument.
James Joyce
Adam's Curse
We sat together at one summer's end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said, 'A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.'
. . . . . . . . . And thereupon
That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
There's many a one shall find out all heartache
On finding that her voice is sweet and low
Replied, 'To be born woman is to know-
Although they do not talk of it at school-
That we must labour to be beautiful.'
I said, 'It's certain there is no fine thing
Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring.
There have been lovers who thought love should be
So much compounded of high courtesy
That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
Precedents out of beautiful old books;
Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.'
We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
We saw the last embers of daylight die,
And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell
About the stars and broke in days and years.
I had a thought for no one's but your ears:
That you were beautiful, and that I strove
To love you in the old high way of love;
That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown
As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.
Yeats
Poetry today. An update tomorrow.
04 September 2008
"It's Not About You"
I know from your mail that I have somehow managed to give the impression that I am with Paul in Erie. I live in Atlanta and have not been in Paul's physical presence since a wonderful weekend in late May when we came together in Mercersburg for my father's retirement tributes after Dad's serving 20 years as the school's Athletic Director. Suerk and I did what we do best that short weekend. We met new friends and reconnected with old ones. We reminisced, told jokes, shared wonderful meals and we laughed throughtout those oh-so-very-few days.
Lately, when Paul's mood sours, he barks out a new phrase which I think is 'perfectly Suerk.' He says when prevoked, "It's not about you." I can hear it. A visitor making small talk will say, "Jane told me to pick up pork chops from the Wegmans tonight, but I don't like pork chops." Paul's response, "It's not about you!" The pulmonologist enters the room when it's time for an evaluation and says, "Mr. Suerken, I need to check your vitals and listen to your lungs." Paul says, "I am visiting with my friend. Come back later." The doc, "I am your doctor and I have other patients to see, Mr. Suerken." Suerk's reply, "It's not about you." Imagine how many times he can utilize that phrase in just one day!
Recently, I needed to update the blog and awoke before the crack of dawn, wondered why I couldn't sleep, sipped coffee and answered my own question. The answer, "I am beside myself because of Paul's condition. . ." I wrote about my thoughts and posted them on the blog. The posting sat on the blog for a few days before I removed most of it. Since then, I have been chastised by some of you for removing it. I have my reasons for removing it. Now I have my reasons for putting it back, thanks to you. Just know this: I don't want this blog to be about me or my attempt at writing anything more than what I can simply express. My goal is to provide a conduit for all of us who want to share what we will with Paul. Thank you for helping me with that. It's not about me.
Matt
Lately, when Paul's mood sours, he barks out a new phrase which I think is 'perfectly Suerk.' He says when prevoked, "It's not about you." I can hear it. A visitor making small talk will say, "Jane told me to pick up pork chops from the Wegmans tonight, but I don't like pork chops." Paul's response, "It's not about you!" The pulmonologist enters the room when it's time for an evaluation and says, "Mr. Suerken, I need to check your vitals and listen to your lungs." Paul says, "I am visiting with my friend. Come back later." The doc, "I am your doctor and I have other patients to see, Mr. Suerken." Suerk's reply, "It's not about you." Imagine how many times he can utilize that phrase in just one day!
Recently, I needed to update the blog and awoke before the crack of dawn, wondered why I couldn't sleep, sipped coffee and answered my own question. The answer, "I am beside myself because of Paul's condition. . ." I wrote about my thoughts and posted them on the blog. The posting sat on the blog for a few days before I removed most of it. Since then, I have been chastised by some of you for removing it. I have my reasons for removing it. Now I have my reasons for putting it back, thanks to you. Just know this: I don't want this blog to be about me or my attempt at writing anything more than what I can simply express. My goal is to provide a conduit for all of us who want to share what we will with Paul. Thank you for helping me with that. It's not about me.
Matt
03 September 2008
What's In A Name?
Harper & Suerken Carter
"I named my son Suerken after Paul, but also after his mother, Alice, who was like a grandmother (and great friend) to me while I was growing up."
Ken Carter (Mercersburg '81)
"I named my son Suerken after Paul, but also after his mother, Alice, who was like a grandmother (and great friend) to me while I was growing up."
Ken Carter (Mercersburg '81)
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