Gerry, I know you're not actually going to read this in the traditional sense, but I only just learned of your death. For as little as I actually kept in touch with you the past 20+ years, I really feel compelled to tell you how important you were to me as I was growing up. For everyone else, I hope you'll forgive my posting if I come across as odd.
I met Gerry when I was born. My father, Rob, attended art school with Gerry at OU. If they weren't best friends, they were very close to it. I grew up with that goofy smile around all the time. I remember walking through Gerry's house as a young man, seeing nude photos he had taken of women, and gasping to myself as only a pre-teen boy can do when he thinks he's "getting away with something".
I remember days and nights of music and art, and my dad and Gerry laughing in happier times. Those memories make me smile. But like too many things in life, I guess we gradually forget the true value of the important things until they're out of our reach.
When I was younger, my parent went through a bitter divorce. My mother was a heavy drinker and was slowly killing herself. My father did the best he could to raise me (in Moore, OK), and Gerry was always there to support him (and me).
One Christmas, during the worst of the divorce process, Gerry took my dad and I to his cabin in Pagosa Springs. We hiked through the snow and cut down a Christmas tree, and took it back to his cabin. I remember sitting in the hot springs there, before they were all closed off for "safety reasons". One night Gerry introduced me to "smoked oysters" from a can. He served them up in true artistic style with crackers and mustard. To this day I still eat smoked oysters.
I seem to recall my dad telling me (at a very young age) that Gerry was my Godfather. It's more of a vague memory... one of those that is very difficult to place exactly. As you get older, you're never sure what you actually "heard" and what was imagined.
I always remembered those times as I grew up. One year I actually made the move to Colorado myself. Gerry was still working at the UCCS art gallery, and I made a visit, and he would come over for dinner to visit my family. He was a part of so many healing times in my youth that I can say, without a doubt, that he made my life much better.
I'm genuinely going to miss you, Gerry. I was never really wise enough to say it while you were alive, but let me say it now. I love you for who you have always been to me. And based on all the other comments on this blog, I know I'm not the only life you helped make a better place.
I worked with Gerry in the 4 years (and almost a year afterwards) before he "retired," he was very unhappy to retire from the gallery. He loved that place and the connection he had established with the community. He wanted the gallery to reach out to the community, both the artists and the public. That the gallery should provide an outreach and do what smaller groups could not do.
Gerry, I know you're not actually going to read this in the traditional sense, but I only just learned of your death. For as little as I actually kept in touch with you the past 20+ years, I really feel compelled to tell you how important you were to me as I was growing up. For everyone else, I hope you'll forgive my posting if I come across as odd.
ReplyDeleteI met Gerry when I was born. My father, Rob, attended art school with Gerry at OU. If they weren't best friends, they were very close to it. I grew up with that goofy smile around all the time. I remember walking through Gerry's house as a young man, seeing nude photos he had taken of women, and gasping to myself as only a pre-teen boy can do when he thinks he's "getting away with something".
I remember days and nights of music and art, and my dad and Gerry laughing in happier times. Those memories make me smile. But like too many things in life, I guess we gradually forget the true value of the important things until they're out of our reach.
When I was younger, my parent went through a bitter divorce. My mother was a heavy drinker and was slowly killing herself. My father did the best he could to raise me (in Moore, OK), and Gerry was always there to support him (and me).
One Christmas, during the worst of the divorce process, Gerry took my dad and I to his cabin in Pagosa Springs. We hiked through the snow and cut down a Christmas tree, and took it back to his cabin. I remember sitting in the hot springs there, before they were all closed off for "safety reasons". One night Gerry introduced me to "smoked oysters" from a can. He served them up in true artistic style with crackers and mustard. To this day I still eat smoked oysters.
I seem to recall my dad telling me (at a very young age) that Gerry was my Godfather. It's more of a vague memory... one of those that is very difficult to place exactly. As you get older, you're never sure what you actually "heard" and what was imagined.
I always remembered those times as I grew up. One year I actually made the move to Colorado myself. Gerry was still working at the UCCS art gallery, and I made a visit, and he would come over for dinner to visit my family. He was a part of so many healing times in my youth that I can say, without a doubt, that he made my life much better.
I'm genuinely going to miss you, Gerry. I was never really wise enough to say it while you were alive, but let me say it now. I love you for who you have always been to me. And based on all the other comments on this blog, I know I'm not the only life you helped make a better place.
-Russ Rogers
I worked with Gerry in the 4 years (and almost a year afterwards) before he "retired," he was very unhappy to retire from the gallery. He loved that place and the connection he had established with the community. He wanted the gallery to reach out to the community, both the artists and the public. That the gallery should provide an outreach and do what smaller groups could not do.
ReplyDelete