Saturday, December 22, 2007

Off To London and Paris

Leaving tomorrow for Christmas in England.  Then to Paris for New Year's.  More to come...

Sunday, July 22, 2007

ROGER COX

A monk asked Yun-Men, his Zen teacher, "What is there when the leaves fall and the tree withers?" Yun-Men replied, "Golden Wind.”

That was a 9th Century Zen Koan that Roger used to preface a story he wrote about his mother’s death and his zen practice. The idea of Golden Wind is, to me, a fitting metaphor, for our friend Roger Cox.

I’m Les Ferreira. I was never the kind of kid that lent himself to a nicknames, but I am also known as Les-Bob, a name bestowed upon me by Roger. To me he was Roger d’Arte-- as in Oscar Wilde’s line “One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art. Roger often managed to do both.

I met Roger in the summer of 77—exactly 30 years ago this month. So, I’m only a relatively young friend of Roger’s. He was a foreshadowed figure—epic and mythic and larger than life before I ever met him. He had his own advance man in Gregory Lehane. He was Gregory’s best friend, and that was good enough for me; he was Roger Cox.

I liked him immediately because he was shorter than I was. He came breezing through Pittsburgh, fueled by “adult beverages” and “Funny cigarettes.” He wore Loud jackets, unbuttoned button-down shirts, the “Belt of many holes,” his Squadron A tie, and he carried, of course, the famous million mile gym bag—that he seemed to live out of for years on end as he wandered, like that zen monk he often longed to be, from place to place, from year to year.

Roger was born on March 4th 1945. As he often said, his birthday was a command: March Forth! And as many of you may remember, one of his famous mantras, was “Left Foot, Right Foot.” And that’s how he marched through life, one step at a time—like all of us sometimes forward and sometimes back.

He was a character on Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood; he was an actor on the stage; he was part of the brain trust at Disney, he taught Chinese kids to speak English. He knew spies and ambassadors, and he smoked dope in the White House in the shadow of the Secret Service.

A character actor who was also a true “Character”. He was the court jester saying things no one else dared say--the wise clown. He lived outside this world—and still was very much in the center of it. Childlike and at times even childish.

He collected Rocks from the desert. He befriended insects, carrying spiders to safety, and stepping over ants that crossed his path. And, in his final days, he was like St. Francis of Assisi, lying in his bed, surrounded by his animals. . He was a feisty but gentle soul.

He was a champion wrestler, grammarian-wordsmith-verbal gymnast, provocateur, iconoclast, clown, comedian, actor, teacher, imagineer, short wave radio man, scholar, art historian, Leprechaun, Irish imp, zen priest in waiting, horticulturist, military historian, raconteur. And Friend.

He was also a great uncle to my kids. Our daughter Mara went from a “Sweet kid-o” to one of his highest compliments—“a Chewy Noodle.” Our son Anthony became “a good guy and a cool kid.” He was generous to a fault. Even when he didn’t really have the money, he gave our kids their first musical instruments—two guitars. He gave Anthony his first train set one Christmas. He gave them subscriptions to National Geographic. He said he thought Anthony would enjoy the naked “Bush Women with Bazookas.” Everyone else treated my mother like my mother, but Roger treated her like a woman named Mildred. He would often become, as he put it, “over-served” but he would always charm her and make her laugh out-loud.

Everybody has heard the stories. The double over in laughter stories Roger would tell—or spew or disgorge or channel. Stories of passed gall stones and bartenders and old priests—and then there was a story of an car accident where a life was lost, Roger was in the hospital and in court—a sad, tragic, life altering story. One of the best stories was about going down to Florida to be with his mother Peg as she was dying. When she had her cancer, he immediately picked up and moved to be with her—and showed great courage and compassion and commitment to her.

In a story Roger wrote to honor his mother’s death he said this—and I think there is a message for all of us in what he wrote. “Everybody is going to die, but nobody knows when. So, what is important? To love our death as we love our life is important. How awfully sad it would be to be bitter and unhappy at the end.”

Roger didn’t believe in a heaven in the classic sense where his countenance would beam down upon us, but he did believe in a place called Macy’s Window. And for those who know of this belief, you can be assured that, indeed, a magnificent Irish part of him is, in fact, beaming down upon us all.

I’d like to end by quoting one of Roger’s favorite zen chants, one that he once inscribed on a book he gave me as a gift. It was his main message to me at the time and one I think fitting today. In many Zen monasteries at the end of each day the following verse is chanted in a solemn, poignant, almost haunting way.

Let me respectfully remind you:
Life and death are of supreme importance.
Time passes swiftly by and opportunity is lost.
Each of us must strive to awaken!
Awaken! Take heed! Do not squander your life!
So when that monk asked his teacher, What is there when the leaves fall and the tree withers? Roger may have answered not just “Golden Wind, but YIKES!”