John Eastman, age 62, died last week of natural causes. Jory wrote this nice poem for him. In addition to that, it will be remembered that John was willing to help anyone do anything at any time. We will not soon forget what an excellent parking supervisor he was. He took many a new sailor for their first sail in the Gambit, exiting the boat at speed once the newbie was comfortable with the helm. Below, Lloyd, John and Jory on Lake Chickawaukee.

At our local dump, we meet our friends
catch up on news, even make amends
So a week ago, in a morning fine
on John’s tailgate, we took our time

our talk turned soon to his many woes
and he shared how his health was running low
his depressions now had a tighter hold
and I was tempted again, by rescue bold

but many years had left a trace
of the need we have to guard our space.
I was fooled again by the disease he had
those impulsive moods, both good and bad

once we’d sailed his schooner to Isle au Haut
and returning encountered a wicked blow
to my sailor’s eye, t’was a normal sort
we reefed her down, and gained the port

but fear had challenged his fragile mind
and he slipped into a judging bind:
our age-old habit of praise and blame
and for a year or so, I shunned his name

now his shambled house, out-buildings packed
of half-done projects, never hacked
so Lloyd and I rolled up our sleeves
we’d pick up pieces on aged knees

after many calls to machines that talk
and to his spooky land, we’d dared to walk
we came again, to a peaceful space:
John lived and died in a chaotic place

only our minds, saw a state to fix
we could honor John, and still say nix
life’s perfect way would find its path
and we could peacefully delight and laugh

So we came again, to our many tales
he’d brought adventures, amazing sails
he’d tried our patience, that is true
yet we thanked our stars, for this man we knew

on our meeting day, John gained the ER’s lot
and skilled hands stuggled against his plot
but in the quiet of the dawn so sweet
John joined the mystery we all will meet