For John M. O'Brien
(Dec. 16, 1964 - August 1, 1998)
When Bob O' Brien called me on Saturday and told me that John had died of
natural causes, it was like he was telling me that Martians had just landed down at the
Arch. It didn't make any sense at all.
Now if he had told me it had been an auto accident I wouldn't had been surprised.
But, No. Surely the "John O'Brien Story" (sounds like a movie, doesn't it?)
couldn't be at an end. Not that way, at least. It just seemed so incongruous for one who
was more full of life and activity than anyone I had ever known.
But the more I investigated it, the more I talked to friends, family
members and business associates, the more I discovered how full a life
John had lived by the age of 33. No he wasn't married. He had no
children. But he had traveled more miles, met more people, and had more interesting
occupations than most people who have a 70-year lifespan.
And then I remembered that the Greatest Story Ever Told was told
inside a 33-year lifespan. Why not the John O'Brien Story?
John was born in DePaul Hospital in 1964 in the middle of a snowstorm.
His proud parents, Bob and Sandy, took him home to an apartment on
Thekla in North St. Louis. Because they wanted the very best for John,
they enrolled him in pre-school at age three - unusual in that day.
But good grades were not in the cards for John. Why not? Well, the
prevailing theory would say that it was John's learning disability.
But it might have also been because, when at the early age of six (6) you
realize you have this thing called charisma, and it's going down well
with your schoolmates, why bother with reading, writing and arithmetic?
I say this because even though Sandy, John's mother, remembers him being a holy terror,
Steve Espenschied, who met John in first grade, said that even then John had that special
something.
Growing up in the early 70's, John's favorite television program is
somewhat revealing. It was not one of the reigning situation comedies
as you might expect from this minion of mirth. No, rather, it was the
tranquil picture of family life presented by Earl Hamner's The Waltons.
John took many cues from this some would say impossible familial
ideal.At age 16, even though his dad could have gotten him financing
for a set of wheels, John wanted to pay cash "just like they
do on the Waltons."
Not that a TV show was John's only influence early on. Reportedly, as
he was growing up, John picked and chose the best qualities of his
family members. For example, from Grandfather O'Brien - generosity.
Another example, from grandfather Scheetz - relentless hard work.
Part-Irish, -German, -Italian and I guess part-West Virginian, he boiled
all these qualities in a stew and developed his own unique, inimitable
personality.
But being the first-born of three brothers, John ended up being a kind
of John Boy to his family. He was the gel of his family, the hub of his
family, I heard. His mom told me that not too long ago, John dropped in
on his Mom and Dad at his Mom's south side apartment one evening to
find both of them sitting quietly and contented-looking. John said, "So
much harmony in here I can't stand it!"
After a mercifully brief stint at Mercy High, John was back at U. City,
where he graduated. I always suspected that the melting pot of ethnic
groups and religions prevailing at the Home of the Indians provided
John a great education in how to get along with different people that would
serve him well in his later work.
From there John's heart turned to charity work and his thoughts
turned to moving out. He became friendly with the priests and brothers at
Holy Family seminary in Overland which eventually led him to the Catholic
Worker Hospitality House at 1849 Cass Avenue, where I met him in 1985.
He then moved into Cass House as a full-time staff worker, aiding
homeless men, women and children.
There, he had a gift for cajoling the guests into fulfilling their
responsibilities. Always compassionate, he was nevertheless expert in
his rogue way of needling men in the soupline who were looking at
their free meal as their due rather than as a gift from God.
Meanwhile, John studied for the police academy and graduated in time
and became a city cop.
I never saw John in action as a policeman, but I imagine that he could
diffuse the tensions in a street-fight or a bar room brawl with his
wit and humor alone. He would have had a great career as a policeman. If
John had been a member of the LAPD, John would have told Rodney King
"What do you think this is ..... [fill in the blank with your
favorite O'Brienism]" and poor old Rodney would have convulsed on the
ground with laughter, without anybody laying a finger on him.
Alas, John had proved his point: he could "hack" this most-regimented
of lifestyles. But all the while he pined for a more self-determined
career. He fell into selling mattresses for a while, where the pied
piper met one of his best friends, his boss at the time no less, Jeff
Chrisco. (By the way, Jeff just told me that he and John called each
other "the white boy." Funny, John and I called each other "the Mick"
-
like we were two ignorant Irish immigrants who just got off the boat.
I guess the sign of a close friendship is when you both call each other
by the same name.)
Scouting around, however, for a business he could run himself, on a
suggestion from his Mom, and with the help of a mentor who thought the
world of John, he got into vending.
It was a perfect irony: John gave warm, friendly service in a business
that was by it's very definition supposed to be impersonal. Filling
the machines was one thing. But John decided that you didn't become "the
King of Vending" just by filling the machines.
Here again, that old first-grade wit and charm emblazoned John in the
minds of premises owners who had never before really noticed their
"vending guy." Hearkening back to his days as a homeless shelter
worker, he gave quarters to the neighborhood kids and dispensed _ or
withheld _ bags of potato chips from opportunistic beggars.
Working 16 hour days - but still available 'round the clock to help a
friend out of a jam - John had brought the business to a new height.
No one realized until after he died how much money he was making nor how humanly
impossible it was to run the routes he was running. He had
achieved success, overcoming what Sandy would only say were
"tremendous obstacles" over his 33 years of life.
John was a fixer who couldn't resist trying his hand at getting
something done as soon as he saw a problem. John worked so hard _ for his business and for
his friends - that it was a little sad. He'd take
an afternoon off to help a friend self-move into a brand new house,
yet his dream of moving out of an un-air-conditioned Dogtown apartment
stood deferred.
Oh, he made some parties and rendezvous with friends _ but it was
always late and usually unshaven. He took vacations only to be with friends at special
occasions: weddings, baptisms, etc. - he was the godfather of two.
In recent years, John never seemed comfortable sitting down. Even
while eating or having a beer, it was always like John was just slightly on
the edge of his chair, ready to get up and start working again. in the
end, no words ever rang more false than his often-heard quip, "I'm
looking out for JOB, John O'Brien."
But it wasn't that John didn't have any fun. He loved people so much
that running his route became fun. John had the philosophy that every
stranger you passed by without speaking was a lost opportunity.
John probably wasn't conscious of this, but his philosophy was amazingly
close to that of Catholic Worker founder Peter Maurin, who said that
the poor - be they poor in money or poor in recognizability _ are the
ambassadors of Christ.
And, oh, how John could talk to strangers. Riding in a truck with
John, was an adventure - a high speed one at that. Waving at people in the
next lane, talking to cars on both sides at stoplights, commenting on
the pedestrians - what they were wearing, what they were eating.
Once, at a stoplight, the car next to him was being held together with
copious amounts of duck tape. John rolled down his window and said.
"How about that duck tape? It's the do-all thing, ain't it?" It's
amazing nobody ever took a shot at us.
He was the definition of un-self-conscious. He could, seemingly, brush
aside insult like it was nothing. He was playful to an extreme. When
he came into a place he darted around like a leprechaun, making
himself at home.
Confession time. When *I* first met John I thought he came on *way*
too strong. I wanted nothing to do with him. But then I relaxed a little,
became a little less full of myself.
"Most people who meet him don't know how to take him at first," said
Jeff. John had that effect on a lot of people I interviewed. He
humbled people - some would say he humiliated them - so that they
could enjoy life more.
So ultimately, I'd like to convince you that John's life was a ministry.
As Steve told me, "He had the biggest heart of anyone. He made
everybody feel good. He didn't put you down. He treated everybody
equal."And it is this ministry that John had which ultimately gives us
our hope for his salvation.
When I was in Europe, I visited this medieval hospice which had this
inscription over it's front gate: "Beatus qui intelligit super egenum, et
pauperam, in die mala liberabit cum Domine." Which means, "Blessed is he
that understandeth concerning the needy and the poor. The lord will deliver him in the
evil day."
And that must have been an evil day.... alone ,,, not knowing what was
going on ... afraid.
But I believe that the lord did, in fact, "deliver him in that evil
day," because John truly did "understandeth concerning the poor."
Somebody commented at the wake that as hard as he worked, as intense a life as he had, no
wonder he's dead. Reviewing John's life, you get the
surprising sense of the weary laborer laying his burdens down, much
like you would get if you were trying to write a eulogy for a 70 year-old
man.
So John has earned a rest. And, somehow, this whole thing seems almost
harder on us than it is on him.
Because we're the ones who have to live out the rest of our lives
without his irreplaceable smile, his irreplaceable sense of humor.
There is just no substitute for John. There's just nobody like him in
the whole world. Nobody even close.
And I think John is taking this all well, purgatory and the need for our
prayers notwithstanding. Wouldn't John, of all people be philosophical
about this?
Forgive me for this somewhat irreverent fantasy. But, if human death
happened somewhat differently and God gave everyone 24 hours notice
before their dying ... and the only thing you could do was throw a big
party and invite all your friends, knowing John, he would be
philosophical about dying. He'd be shaking hands, hugging everybody,
dry-eyed and saying stuff like:
* "Yeah,
St. Pete wants me right away. Ain't that a head crank?"
* "It's all over at 33, who
knew?"
* "It's
okay, St. Michael's got my back."
* "Why
are you crying? You know that ain't right?"
* "What's
a little time in purgatory? That don't make me bad.
It's better than my apartment on Hi-Pointe."
* "When
you get up to heaven, look me up. I'll fix you up with a real angel."
I think that John's last bit of ministry to us all here today is to
increase our faith in the afterlife. Because you just have to believe
that a character as rare and God-formed as John O'Brien cannot be
snuffed out, with the grace of God, forever. It will be enough reward
for all of us to strive for just to see those blue eyes and that pixie
grin again in heaven.
Finally, I'd like to say to friends and family: John *still* has your back.
Long live the King of Vending-May his memory be eternal!
(Delivered by
EM at St. Joseph's church,
Clayton, Missouri, USA, August 5, 1998)