Ah, Clif, we never wanted to see you go Tuesday, April 12, 2011
NOTE: I was one of eight people who spoke at Clif Garboden's Memorial Service at the Friend's Meeting House on April 9, 2011. An overflow crowd had to be accommodated by piping the sound to the downstairs area of the facility. It was as fine a ceremony as I have ever attended - a fitting tribute to the man of honor and his wonderful family.
What follows is approximately what I had to say (I ad-libbed a bit and also may have skipped a line or two). I'd love to be able to gather all the remarks in one place because every speaker was tremendous and then to easily top it all, the Garboden (adult) children, swelled our breaking hearts with exquisitely beautiful tributes to their dad.
Clf Garboden
Why is it "a eulogy" instead of "an eulogy?" Were Clif Garboden still with us, I'd shoot him an email and have a definitive answer faster than you can type "try another search term." Oh I know many of you know the answer but Clif had a way of making me glad I'd asked a question. And I don't trust you.
Unlike most of you, I never had a job with Clif. But then, unlike most of you, I never had a job. I was a contributor to the Phoenix. And considering its pay-scale for freelancers, the emphasis is on "contributor."
I apologize for my attire. On the way out of town, I stopped at the dry cleaners to pick up my suit and as I pulled into the parking lot I saw the "closed" sign had been lit. It was NOON! I used a few days worth of hyphens stringing together expletives before reaching the front door, where a freshly printed piece of paper hung. It said "Sorry- death in family." In smaller print it said that items would be available after 3 pm and to please check for them at that time. Well, I had to get on the road so I did, feeling guilty for the next hundred or so miles for my profane response to a death in a family, which is why we're all here this afternoon. But then I thought, "Screw it". Clif would have insisted on the profanity. And he'd have reminded me that so long as my coveralls were clean, I'd be among the best dressed people in his hometown. Good old Clif.
It's a great honor and sad duty to be at this gathering at the Friend's Meeting House and so I offer deepest thanks and even deeper condolences to Susannah, Phillip, [Philip's wife] Caitlan and their new baby Cliffy and Molly. I offer special gratitude to Molly for being her father's daughter and getting the terrible news of Clif's death out to us in a capable, compassionate and extraordinarily articulate manner, despite the fact that she had just suffered what had to be the most devastating blow of her young life.
Last August, Clif visited us in the boondocks of Western NY. My long-suffering spouse Karen Crist finally got to meet him. Clif greeted her by saying "Oh you actually exist-- I thought he just had a flair for fiction." Karen was immediately charmed, an instant Clif devotee. She doesn't make many pronouncements-- someone has to bring down the average in our household -- but made two declarations as Clif was pulling out of our driveway to head back to Framingham. The first was, "When other people visit, I'm happy to see them when they arrive, and I am happy to see them go. I never wanted to see Clif go."
The other thing she said was, "He's so interesting and so funny but what's really most special is that when he speaks of Susannah and his children, he glows. The man becomes radiant."
I couldn't agree more. Once we became friends, Clif never seemed to hold up any sort of guard, but when he mentioned you three, every bit of his strength, decency and love were available in an upfront, matter of fact fashion. He felt exactly how you are supposed to feel about your wife and kids. You don't see anywhere near enough of that in this world.
I don't think I need to remind many of you how loyal he was. He was loyal to the causes that brought him to the join the nascent alternative media, an anti-institution for which Clif Garboden's dedication, humility and remarkable talents provided a superstructure as strong as any built with a core of Western Pennsylvania rebar.
Clif left the world in bad shape but I don't want to think how much worse it would be had he not taken the time to employ his expert photographer's eye, his reporter's instinct, his writer's appreciation for yet untold truth, his editor's acumen and an egalitarian's zeal for finding people's promise and nurturing it, encouraging it, and helping us to realize it.
Clif's gift to all of us was faith and conscience. Even when the higher ups at the Phoenix chose to discharge the finest and most valuable employee that publication -- err media group- ever had rather than pull one of their own platinum ripcords they attempted to keep things light but only succeeded in being disrespectful. According to Clif, they used the term "pain in the ass," to describe him as he was fired. At least this clears up the mystery of where their consciences are located.
Years ago a Phoenix copy editor switched a reference I made to a "VA Hospital" to read "Virginia Hospital." Clif shared the initial laugh, repaired the text and then set forth on a several year mission to demonstrate that the young person who made the mistake, had simply been overtired from long hours. He made sure I knew that this person was well on the way to a fine career as a writer and journalist. He wanted me to know they were talented and deserving of respect because he was loyal and he valued all of us. He lived his life proving it. He never once asked me for a favor that wasn't for someone else. It was always for a kid or someone who was suddenly mixed up in a show biz project or what have ya. And he never wanted to take a bow. The man was ten thousand years of humility in a 62 year life.
And as I said, we are in much better shape because of that life. Who could estimate how many important questions have been asked and answered, how many principled struggles engaged in and won, and how many improved circumstances for the sorely afflicted resulted because of the work of Clif Garboden and the legions of journalists he unleashed upon the world? Each of them carried a piece of the conscience of that gruff guy who loved them so. It's why today the only thing more overwhelming than his absence is his presence.
When Clif first started editing me at the Phoenix I tried the old writer's gambit of including something so biting in the draft I sent him that I assumed he would cut it but spare some other remarks that might have also been chopped were it not for the emergency created by my most outrageous statement. Instead, I got a call from him. He said," You buried the lead!"
Ah, Clif, we never wanted to see you go. -- Barry Crimmins
What follows is approximately what I had to say (I ad-libbed a bit and also may have skipped a line or two). I'd love to be able to gather all the remarks in one place because every speaker was tremendous and then to easily top it all, the Garboden (adult) children, swelled our breaking hearts with exquisitely beautiful tributes to their dad.
Clf Garboden
Why is it "a eulogy" instead of "an eulogy?" Were Clif Garboden still with us, I'd shoot him an email and have a definitive answer faster than you can type "try another search term." Oh I know many of you know the answer but Clif had a way of making me glad I'd asked a question. And I don't trust you.
Unlike most of you, I never had a job with Clif. But then, unlike most of you, I never had a job. I was a contributor to the Phoenix. And considering its pay-scale for freelancers, the emphasis is on "contributor."
I apologize for my attire. On the way out of town, I stopped at the dry cleaners to pick up my suit and as I pulled into the parking lot I saw the "closed" sign had been lit. It was NOON! I used a few days worth of hyphens stringing together expletives before reaching the front door, where a freshly printed piece of paper hung. It said "Sorry- death in family." In smaller print it said that items would be available after 3 pm and to please check for them at that time. Well, I had to get on the road so I did, feeling guilty for the next hundred or so miles for my profane response to a death in a family, which is why we're all here this afternoon. But then I thought, "Screw it". Clif would have insisted on the profanity. And he'd have reminded me that so long as my coveralls were clean, I'd be among the best dressed people in his hometown. Good old Clif.
It's a great honor and sad duty to be at this gathering at the Friend's Meeting House and so I offer deepest thanks and even deeper condolences to Susannah, Phillip, [Philip's wife] Caitlan and their new baby Cliffy and Molly. I offer special gratitude to Molly for being her father's daughter and getting the terrible news of Clif's death out to us in a capable, compassionate and extraordinarily articulate manner, despite the fact that she had just suffered what had to be the most devastating blow of her young life.
Last August, Clif visited us in the boondocks of Western NY. My long-suffering spouse Karen Crist finally got to meet him. Clif greeted her by saying "Oh you actually exist-- I thought he just had a flair for fiction." Karen was immediately charmed, an instant Clif devotee. She doesn't make many pronouncements-- someone has to bring down the average in our household -- but made two declarations as Clif was pulling out of our driveway to head back to Framingham. The first was, "When other people visit, I'm happy to see them when they arrive, and I am happy to see them go. I never wanted to see Clif go."
The other thing she said was, "He's so interesting and so funny but what's really most special is that when he speaks of Susannah and his children, he glows. The man becomes radiant."
I couldn't agree more. Once we became friends, Clif never seemed to hold up any sort of guard, but when he mentioned you three, every bit of his strength, decency and love were available in an upfront, matter of fact fashion. He felt exactly how you are supposed to feel about your wife and kids. You don't see anywhere near enough of that in this world.
I don't think I need to remind many of you how loyal he was. He was loyal to the causes that brought him to the join the nascent alternative media, an anti-institution for which Clif Garboden's dedication, humility and remarkable talents provided a superstructure as strong as any built with a core of Western Pennsylvania rebar.
Clif left the world in bad shape but I don't want to think how much worse it would be had he not taken the time to employ his expert photographer's eye, his reporter's instinct, his writer's appreciation for yet untold truth, his editor's acumen and an egalitarian's zeal for finding people's promise and nurturing it, encouraging it, and helping us to realize it.
Clif's gift to all of us was faith and conscience. Even when the higher ups at the Phoenix chose to discharge the finest and most valuable employee that publication -- err media group- ever had rather than pull one of their own platinum ripcords they attempted to keep things light but only succeeded in being disrespectful. According to Clif, they used the term "pain in the ass," to describe him as he was fired. At least this clears up the mystery of where their consciences are located.
Years ago a Phoenix copy editor switched a reference I made to a "VA Hospital" to read "Virginia Hospital." Clif shared the initial laugh, repaired the text and then set forth on a several year mission to demonstrate that the young person who made the mistake, had simply been overtired from long hours. He made sure I knew that this person was well on the way to a fine career as a writer and journalist. He wanted me to know they were talented and deserving of respect because he was loyal and he valued all of us. He lived his life proving it. He never once asked me for a favor that wasn't for someone else. It was always for a kid or someone who was suddenly mixed up in a show biz project or what have ya. And he never wanted to take a bow. The man was ten thousand years of humility in a 62 year life.
And as I said, we are in much better shape because of that life. Who could estimate how many important questions have been asked and answered, how many principled struggles engaged in and won, and how many improved circumstances for the sorely afflicted resulted because of the work of Clif Garboden and the legions of journalists he unleashed upon the world? Each of them carried a piece of the conscience of that gruff guy who loved them so. It's why today the only thing more overwhelming than his absence is his presence.
When Clif first started editing me at the Phoenix I tried the old writer's gambit of including something so biting in the draft I sent him that I assumed he would cut it but spare some other remarks that might have also been chopped were it not for the emergency created by my most outrageous statement. Instead, I got a call from him. He said," You buried the lead!"
Ah, Clif, we never wanted to see you go. -- Barry Crimmins
