Old and Dear Friends

I’ll never forget when I first met Robert and Candy Esch. They came to St. Paul’s in the 1990’s, and I think our mutual friend, Charlie Grinstead, had more than a little hand in that. Candy had been raised in Chile (her dad a diplomat) and she still has that fascinating Latin reserve about her; Robert, well, not so much. Give him the impossible to do first, then he’ll tackle the extremely difficult. 

He wasn’t at St. Paul’s long before he informed me that if we wanted to have a decent musical program we had to expand the balcony. I was thinking to myself: uh-huh. The congregation dearly loved their building, and I just couldn’t see them allowing some newbie to monkey with it. His response? “Watch.” So he drew up an architectural scheme to expand the balcony by anchoring an I-beam in the two forward buttresses and then cantilevering out to it. It all sounded sketchy to me, but what do I know about architecture? He and Candy also donated not a little bit of the cost. The long and short of it, he convinced the congregation! We have a spacious balcony (well, spacious compared to what it was!). The musical program look off. Soon we had timpani in the balcony (courtesy of Robert and Candy)  and room for all sorts of accompanying musicians. He ended up being choir director for some time and taught the choir to sing “Joy to the Heart” (still one of my favorites). He loved to do what he called “production numbers” like that. 

Charlie, Bob and I also played a bit of racquet ball together. Charlie and I mostly just ran after the balls as Bob consistently sent them into impossible positions to return. His specialty was having the ball land right at the front wall and simply roll back. He’d twirl his racquet in his hand and laugh every time he nailed that shot, and Charlie and I would look at each other and sigh in exasperation. After Charlie’s untimely death, Robert and I played on for a bit. But him and against only one of us was rather impossible. I remember one day when I was boring him to death with my ineptitude and he decided to give me a particularly challenging shot and said: “See Bill run. Run, Bill, run.” (You have to have been old enough to learn to read from those books: “See Spot run. Run, Spot, run.”) I was laughing so hard there was no way I could get to the ball. And there was the time I returned the ball so hard, it hit Bob in the back of the head. Yikes. He turned to me, his eyes closed, and he slumped down against the wall. He passed out! I was ready to call an ambulance, but when he came to, he opened up his eyes, got back on his feet, and insisted we finish the game. Which, of course, he won. He always won. Like always.

The man over the years had a landscaping business, a financial planning business (Cindi was his office manager for more than 20 years with that), a stone business, he flew hot air balloons, and he piloted airplanes. In fact, his last airplane he built from a kit in his garage. He wanted to take me up in it, and I flatly refused. He is generous to a fault. I remember when he moved his business to Troy, he purchased a year’s worth of box seats at the Fox Theatre, and whenever he didn’t need them for business associates, he generously let us use them. So Cindi, the kids, and I got to see numerous productions. It was way out of our league, but we sure enjoyed ourselves that year! 

On the 20th anniversary of my ordination, the congregation surprised me by inviting Dr. Norman Nagel to preach. Dr. Nagel so charmed Bob and Candy, that they insisted we all go out to together to Bob’s favorite restaurant over in St. Louis: Al’s. What a delightful evening that was! The good Dr. and Betsy held forth royally and even when Dr. Nagel ordered an Australian favorite, they readily prepared for him, and he said it was excellent. Of course, we finished off the evening with Al’s famous Banana’s Foster! We were all grateful to Robert and Candy for the great memory.

And then there are his exploits with his long-suffering wife. Like when he decided she needed to get licensed for scuba diving, or needed to learn to play bag pipes, or whatever he happened to think up next! Candy came home one day to find all of her spices rearranged, put in alphabetical order! (Seriously?) And then there was the time she came home to find that he’d emptied her refrigerator (and right before a Christmas dinner) because he decided that the fridge needed to go to his mother! Life with Robert Esch is many things, but it is always an adventure and never a bore. It’s sort of “buckle your seatbelts!”

Candy was a popular teacher in our school: she loved literature and the kids she taught ended up loving literature too. She was one of those teachers that the kids just WANTED to please. They learned from her and respected her and she opened up new vistas to them. I personally loved the times we got to visit at the school after class. Love that lady so, so much. 

In recent years both have had some significant health issues, and they finally decided it was time to move down to South Carolina to be with their daughter Liz and granddaughter Bella. So we went out for lunch, to remember all the crazy and joyous times, and to remind them that we have a guest room ready for whenever they come back this way. 

Bob and Candy, we love you both more than words can say. And we’re really, really going to miss you both!

The Rev. Henry Gerike+

Word reached today that Henry fell asleep in Jesus last night. We became friends when we were both at seminary together. He had in earlier years served as a teacher, and of course, always as a musician, but the Spirit tugged at his heart to follow his father’s path into the Office of the Holy Ministry. I remember in my fourth year right before graduation, he took Cindi and me out to visit his brother-in-law and sister at St. Paul’s, Wood River, and he gave me Neuhaus’ Freedom for Ministry, which truly was the greatest gift that could be given to a man about to embark on his first call. 

When I ended up coming back to Hamel (where I had been fieldworker) as pastor, Henry and I got to work together again on Lutheran Musician Enrichment. I remember he and I had a delightful disagreement at one of the sessions. I wanted the Alleluia sung with zip and joy; Henry insisted that joy could be slow and solemn too. He wasn’t wrong, of course, (but neither was I). The exchange sticks with me because it so characterized the man. He MOVED slowly. He MOVED deliberately. He didn’t gulp, he savored. And this also showed in his tendency to savor music. Whether he was conducting or composing, he most often mirrored that intention to go slow and to milk delight out of every last note and nuance. 

When I started at the IC as Chaplain and Director of Worship, Henry became my unofficial watchdog. He never quite trusted, I don’t think, my lack of musical training, and so he was always there to offer a musician’s perspective on the doing of things. Yes, sometimes he irritated the daylights out of me, but mostly he was invaluable and right. I can’t count the number of times he served us as organist at the IC; he was always ready to lend a hand. And he was inventive! We were to sing LSB 471, “O Sons and Daughters of the King.” He decided it MUST have some percussion. He sent me scurrying down to Missions in the hope of a tambourine. Alas, nothing. Did that stop him? Oh, no. He found some change, put it in the metal pencil holder on the organ, and instructed me in the rhythm I was to rattle it! It sounds crazy, but (as usual) it worked. 

SO if Henry had an idea, well, he knew how to just keep hammering away until you gave in. And you were usually glad in the end that you did. It was really cute. He’d bring the idea up like for the first time and invite your buy-in. Even it you’d said “no” twenty times before. You see, if you didn’t buy-in, he didn’t give up. He’d just wait. And then he’d suggest it anew, and always as a fresh brand new idea. He was giving you ample opportunity to repent of rejecting the idea! That was what it was like to work with him: a man markedly humble, and yet doggedly stubborn about what he thought was best. Thanks be to God that he mostly got his way! He was the guiding spirit of both of the liturgical institutes I was privileged to work on with him. 

When our mutual friend and mentor, Dr. Norman Nagel was incapacitated with a stroke, Henry was such a faithful visitor. He stopped in regularly and read him some Kretzmann, some Lewis, some Luther. Dr. Nagel might nod off, and Henry would pause and wait for him to wake up and then continue. He was a good and faithful friend. 

A few years ago, I got to put together a service of celebration of the music and ministry of our dear Henry. It was held at Village Lutheran Church in Ladue and Jonathan Kohrs served as the organist. It featured much of Henry’s music, and the whole was woven together via a letter that Henry’s sainted father had sent him when he was in college. Pr. Scott Schilbe would read a section from the letter, and I’d comment briefly to connect the words to some piece of Henry’s music. It will always be a highlight of my life being able to participate in that celebration of my dear friend’s music and service. 

I wonder if the dear Lord Jesus had his holy angels sing “Up through Endless Ranks” for Henry as he made his homecoming, to await in the Lord’s presence the great fulfillment of all His promises in the resurrection of the dead and the life everlasting? Thank you, Lord, for the gift of your servant. For his music. For his life and now for his death. Soli Deo Gloria!

Today’s great joy!