Ode to Jolly

Now that I've (hopefully) passed my two summer Econ classes and am ready to go back home to Cleveland Sunday morning, I can begin blogging more regularly and eventually wrap up the tale of my last trip home to the land of LeBron.

However, this post will not be as upbeat. Upon my return to Cleveland, I was informed that John Jolly, the head chef of University School passed away at the age of 41 from a brain tumor. For those that did not know him, the single best adjective I could use to describe him would be his own surname, Jolly.

As most of you well know, I was not happy with most of my time at US and often sulked through the hallways anticipating the next obstacle in my daily struggles. One time at lunch I went to the lunch line for seconds and one of the lunch ladies stopped me and asked, "How come you don't ever smile?" The kitchen staff began laughing as their inside joke at my expense was revealed. I responded that I often did smile (a lie) but she refused to serve me seconds on food until I smiled. I obliged and recieved my food. From then on, everytime I went through the lunchline John would come out from the kitchen and yell, "Smiley! How's it goin?" That always brought a smile to his face.

I never remember seeing him without a smile on his face and I never remember being around him without a smile on mine. As one of the only four black men in the building (the other three being the head of the REACH program, my track coach and a janitor named Walter -- there were no black women faculty), he became a mentor and a friend to me. When I wanted to do a reality show for our Junior year Variety Show I turned to him to do a kitchen staff vs. students Iron Chef episode with the theme ingredient of peanut butter and jelly. They managed to crank out some really good food but more importantly, we laughed the whole afternoon and had a great time.

In HI51, we often talked about contingency and how history could have been very different if it wasn't for relatively minor influences. When thinking back to my days at US, I think about all the things that had to go right for me to survive that place. And I do mean survive in the most literal of senses. It was some time around senior year that I finally learned one of the most important lessons of my life: how to survive. Instead of attempting to instigate revolution or looking to historical figures or Big Brother castmembers named Will for the answer, I should've observed the mentors I had around me. I should've learned to smile.

As Reverend Bowens once put it, "If you have a so-called problem or obstacle, you bless it and allow it to bless you. Only then will you rise above it." That is, instead of letting life's challenges defeat you, you laugh in the face of them and move beyond them. Often a smile is the most effective means of resistance and subversion.

Bottom line, people are about as happy as they make their minds up to be. John decided he wanted to live his life in happiness and through that choice brought joy to so many of us.
I'm tired of having to rationalize myself through death after death of really good people in my life. I've gotten a little too used to this practice over the last five years from the Heights car crash of Junior year to the tragic passing of John. I'm always comforted by a really corny line from Star Trek 2 (later repeated on a Seinfeld episode): "He's not really dead. As long as we remember him." Whenever I moon someone, I think of the mischiefness of Mike Davis. Whenever I play soccer I think of the atheletic spirit of Brennan and his friends. For too many others I've lost, I have special memories and special lessons.

For John, I will always remember that smile and laugh that came up from his belly straight through his soul. And I will remember the lesson he taught me -- in the words of Julia Child, another late great chef:

Above all else, have a good time.