Letter to Uncle John 2017

This letter is being reprinted here from 2017. This letter accompanied a gift I gave my uncle, John Lynd, for Christmas. It was a collective Indiana Jones pin.

Christmastime, 2017

Merry Christmas to my Uncle John!

From: Shenandoah Lynd

Why the pin? Why would I give you a representation of one of my all-time favorite film characters, Indiana Jones, when it's my favorite? It's because it's a symbol of just how much you have impacted my life.

Over the course of a lifetime, there aren't that many life-altering moments, a few, but not a ton. Springsteen, in his recent autobiography mentions two of his: seeing Elvis Presley and seeing The Beatles jump off his television screen.

As I myself am getting older, I have been doing some reflecting and I've taken notice that my big life-altering moments came from you John.

I remember a moment walking from your car up to the Griffith Observatory so that I could see where Rebel Without a Cause was shot. I finished my root beer from Carney's, and, having never been told otherwise, I just tossed my empty cup onto the ground. In a very serious, but not unkind manner, you looked at me in a way that made me realize that I had committed an offense, then you promptly told me that we can never, ever litter, adding that it is best to leave every place we visit even a little better than we found it. That was all it took. I picked-up my cup and threw it away. It was the only time I was told not to litter, and I stopped. In fact, to this day, I will routinely pick-up trash that does not belong to me and bring it to a trash can. 

In a similar way, you taught me to love and respect the ocean. Sure, my father surfed, but he never treated the ocean as something he was "one with" the way you were. You had so much admiration for "our mother ocean" that you wouldn't eat her residents. In a related way, you taught me how not to be a jerk. I remember we were bodysurfing at Sunset Beach and these Neanderthals started giving us the "locals only" treatment. You shut them down with your comedic ways, and then explained to me how there was not anyone that could lay claim to your mother ocean as their own, we were all deserving. Of course, this belief of yours played out in your everyday acceptance of every race, preference, gender, and religion throughout your life, something that I not only picked-up on, but you made a point to intentionally counteract the racism that was being presented to me at home by my stepdad at that time. I'll never forget at the same time his truck sported the bumper sticker, "Save energy, burn an Iranian," you were telling me, "Listen pal, we all bleed red."

Perhaps the biggest lesson you ever taught me had to do with love, or more specifically, what to do with a broken heart. One conversation really stands out to me. When you noticed that I was getting jaded, and being tempted to turn my heart to stone, you point-blank told me of two ways to live. You told me there was my "old man's" way, get hurt and turn your hurt to hate, let your heart get hard, tell yourself some lies that everyone is the same, and true love isn't out there, protect yourself at all costs, and then build a wall around your heart, a wall so big that nobody can get in. But, you told me of another way, your way, the way of the poet, Cyrano and Don Quixote's way, the way you take to your death bed if needed. This way you said was the correct way: understand that hurt doesn't erase the truth of joy you had in finding love to begin with, feel it, but be glad you can feel, put yourself out there, heart on full display, get back on the horse, and ride on to find true love because it's out there. Protecting your heart you said, always came at way too great a cost. It was in that very moment that I realized it was a seemingly "sensitive" man that was brave, and the so-called "man's man" was a big scaredy-cat.

There are other things, too many to account for. I could never quantify the extent that you contributed to my sobriety. When I was deepest into my additions, you were the sole voice of reason. I was stuck between my father encouraging more substance abuse and modeling the same, and my mom and stepdad on the other hand, so deep in denial and codependency that they didn't want to actually see the truth. Well, they saw it, but they couldn't admit they saw it. You displayed true love in saying you wouldn't be around it, and that you refused to carry my casket if I was intent to bring about my own demise. 

We had the countless VHS movie-binge and/or cassette tape making days and nights. I was introduced to all the greats, Harold and Maude, The Philadelphia Story, and Captains Courageous, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, and Adam's Rib, all come to mind. And, your favorite, Spencer Tracy. Every tear I ever shed while watching a Tracy film will be a tear that is full of your memory. Of course, there is Peter O'Toole, we spent much of our lives with me pretending that he sucked, and you pretending Harrison Ford sucks, when deep down we loved them both. Of course, I know Peter O'Toole is the better of the two and I will always have you to thank for showing me all of his nominated works, not to mention Lord Jim, Masada, Rouge Male, and Man of La Mancha, the latter of which would become my favorite play of all-time. I want to make sure you know that  Peter O'Toole is my all-time favorite actor. Long after you're gone, I will forever see you in his work, I will hear your laughter during The Ruling Class or My Favorite Year. On the music end, Cat Stevens, James Taylor, Nat King Cole, and Elvis all come to mind, but, of course, there were way too many to mention them all. This is to say nothing of all the fun we had meeting our heroes, and dodging the "junior boners" as we went autograph-hunting.

So, you see, there were all those big lessons and fun memories, but that's not all. There were two big life-changing moments as well. These two events came after everything mentioned above. 

One of them happened in 1984 when I was 15. I will actually never forget this date. It was October 25th, a Thursday night. You took me to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band at the Los Angeles Sports Area! Although this wasn't my very first concert, it was my first Springsteen show. Everything changed that night for me. This is when I got the concert bug. It was like scales had been removed from my eyes, I saw the power of music to bring joy, I saw the transformative quality of community on a massive scale. A fire was lit in my soul, and I would never be the same.

The first massive event was actually in 1981, which brings us to the gift of this pin. I was 12. Before my dad would take me back home, it would, once again, be my nightmare: he would make us stop in Chino to do construction on your house. Other than the off-chance that you might be home, I hated these stops, it was always boring and painful. Plus, I saw the frivolity of this never-ending project of his. This time things would be different. You were home! Not only that, you would save me! As I stood there, shovel in hand, we started talking movies. You could not believe that I had not seen Raiders of the Lost Ark! Keep in mind that, the Doah you were talking to at that point, did not follow directors like I do now, because that movie-obsessed Doah was only about to be born. Raiders had come out in the summer, and, somehow, it was not on my radar yet. At that point in my life, I couldn't have even rattled-off Mr. Spielberg's filmography to you. This was already fall, and you were so taken aback at the thought that your 12-year-old nephew hadn't seen Raiders yet, that you said, "We're going now!" And, we did! You took me to see that movie in the theater right then and there. My life was changed. I will never forget that opening scene, the Paramount mountain, Indiana Jones stepping into the light, the giant bolder. It was that moment, sitting with you in that dark theater, that my love of film was born. Lest we forget how great a movie Raiders of the Lost Ark was I will remind you it was nominated for Best Picture, alongside Chariots of Fire, Reds, On Golden Pond, and Atlantic City, and, at that time, pre-dumbing-down with the sequels, the movie held its own in the company of those dramas! It deserved to be there. That year's Oscars was also the first year I cared. 

People may say "My life was changed" seems like a stretch, but it's not. I will quote Mr. Keating from Dead Poet's Society, "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for...." I would say that both film and music can be added to that list of what we stay alive for. That is why those two moments are such a big deal. It was that encounter with Spielberg in 1981 and Springsteen in 1984 that--to quote both Henry David Thoreau and Neil Perry from Dead Poet's--made me want to suck out all the marrow of life!

Later in that quote, Mr. Keating says, "....that you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?" Uncle John, one of the verses you contributed to your life is what I consider the very best parts about me. The part that will still cry when I hear "Late for the Sky" and I'm so thankful that you wrote your verse in my heart. That my uncle, my friend, my hero, is why I am giving you this Indiana Jones pin. I want you to think on such things when you see it.

Thank you, John for being a great influence in my life and a better "dad" than my own father was. I admire you, and I am thankful for you. I love you dearly.

Warmly,

Shenandoah