Yes, these are big fish, but my Uncle John was a great fisherman. John Fred Obuchowski died yesterday morning.
I guess I'm not much of an obit-writer, because I don't really know the vital statistics. For example: birthdate, not sure. Age, also unsure, although I know he was in his eighties. Birthplace, not positive, although I assume it was way back in the day, someplace in southern Vermont. Service in WWII, I know he was there, but not where exactly or how much. (However, he's been a regular at the American Legion ever since.)
Hmmm, maybe it'll be better to start with what I do know…
Uncle John was not exactly my uncle; he was my dad’s uncle, which makes him my “grand-uncle.” Whatever he was, he was a great buddy and an awesome friend, and I am going to miss him. If he did not originate the phrase “You can’t put it on if you don’t have it,” then he made it famous, and I have sworn by it (which is why I always carry the heaviest pack or overdress -- but am never cold).
I went on literally hundreds of fishing trips with Uncle John. He always made sure the cooler was full and that we had plenty of sandwiches. Notice the emphasis on the cooler and food, not on fish caught. I guess if you had plenty to eat and drink, the trip was a success, even if you got skunked. One year, we went out a couple of times with charter captain Gary Frazier to learn some of his secret spots. The second trip, when Uncle John pulled out the cooler to start working on some roast pork sandwiches on Polish rye with fresh tomato and mustard, I saw Gary grab his wife, who had joined us for the trip. “Watch,” he said. “I want you to see how he does this.”
Uncle John was, in a word, loud. “Hey, all right!” (at full volume) was his favorite moniker. When he showed up, it sounded like he brought an entourage even if it was just him and Aunt Amelia. And it was always a party. He taught me to play cribbage – a game that is impossible to teach. Really, he made me sit and watch tons of games as a six-or-seven-year-old keeping statistics: average hands, average cribs, pegging averages. He and my dad were big players, but rarely has there been a more comprehensive student of the game than me.
I could go on and on with Uncle John-isms. He seemed to always travel with pounds of meat to grill, and he loved Vermont sweet corn. He got me my first adult-sanctioned beer (pre-21, as otherwise the gesture wouldn’t have meant as much). He loved Aunt Amelia, who I know will miss him dearly, but who I am confident will have lots of support from here on out. He raised three great kids and had several awesome grand-kids. He was a great friend and uncle to my dad. He was known by all my friends as “Uncle John.” He was there when I caught big fish and when my mother died. He was funny, and he was fun – just the way you would want a buddy to be.
Thanks for the great times, Uncle John. We all miss you.
After a tough touchdown reception in Sunday's blizzard conditions in Foxboro, New England Patriots Pro-Bowl receiver Wes Welker did what anyone playing football in a snowstorm would do: he made a snow angel. 70,000 approving fans in the stands threw thousands of snowballs in a show of support.
