E.G. BellJust a little under a year ago, I went to a tribute at the Presbyterian church in Marienville for Bert Nemcik who had passed away the previous winter.
I had come into Bert’s orbit shortly before that including one very pleasant morning for a couple of hours at Perkins in Clarion with Bert and Jim Brunner (Forest Clippings column author). It made the loss the greater for opportunity I expected time would offer. Surely time was going to offer many opportunities. I had expectations. And then they were gone.
I got the privilege to give a talk at the Forest County Historical Society and I chose to talk about Bert. He was a thirty-year author of Life, Liberty, and Library in the Forest Press. I quickly came to realize how shallow my knowledge was of the man and I set about panicking for sources. I contacted the author of Bert’s tribute in the Forest Press who suggested I contact Cheryl, Bert’s wife. I did not want to do that because I was certain she had enough on her plate at the time, so I dove into the Internet where I soon realized that I had a problem. I only had an hour to talk about Bert’s life. No way it was going to fit in an hour.
I got it done. I wanted final approval from Bert’s wife but I had no idea how to contact her. I tried phone numbers I had, leaving messages, and email addresses I found to no avail. Finally, as a ‘Hail Mary’, I found an address, printed my presentation, and mailed it to her with my name, address, email address, and phone number and put it out of mind. I figured, worst case, the mail carrier would know the Nemcik address if I got it in the right neighborhood.
One night while watching television, I got a call. If you know anything about me, you know I rarely get calls. I rarely use a phone. When I saw Cheryl’s name on my phone, it was like Christmas 1963 opening my brand new Wamo Air Blaster. Thrilled is an understatement. She had gotten my package and called to tell me I had gotten everything right. She would be at Bert’s memorial and we (my wife and I) would meet her then. I also got to meet her son Ethan, his wife, and Grace, Cheryl’s granddaughter. I also met Bert’s sister.
I kept in touch in email and my wife and I were able to see Cheryl a couple more times in the coming months around the area, once over lunch and once at an event at her church. Cheryl was a link to Bert. Answers to questions I had or never got a chance to have let alone ask. But she was more also. People always are.
In researching Bert during hours multiple times a week at the library immersed in archived Forest Press columns, I had learned a great deal about what seemed to be everything in Bert’s orbit. Parents. Family. Education. Work. Friends. Religion. Adventures. Etc.
Rarely center stage in Bert’s story ‘pictures’, Cheryl was always in the frame. There. Introduced. Mentioned. Described. Acknowledged. Honored. Meeting him during his Appalachian Trail through-hike. Keeping him grounded during his cross-country bike ride. Working beside him at Habitat for Humanity projects. Hiking. Camping. Helping maintain home. Herding cats. Bert, according to his tribute, had a well-lived life. In telling the adventures of that life, he stated, explicitly, that without Cheryl none of it would have been possible.
I had definitely wanted to meet Cheryl because she was a tie to Bert, but I did not want friendship on that basis alone. Cheryl was a presence in her own right. This past weekend, a year shy one day of Bert’s memorial, my wife and I attended a memorial for Cheryl Nemcik who passed away in May of this year. The Presbyterian church in Marienville was packed with people who remembered Cheryl. Who spoke in remembrance. Wife. Mother. Christian. Friend. Teacher. Missionary. Volunteer. Neighbor. Brother’s keeper. Special. People stood to recount stories of Cheryl in broken voices, joy in assured expectation of the reward for her life, also well-lived, leavened with grief at losing her too soon.
There is a wonderful Randy Travis song with the line:
“It’s not what you take when you leave the world behind you. It’s what you leave behind you when you go.”
I know from the crowd at the memorial on Saturday that Cheryl left behind a lot of people who felt better for having known her. Having been so briefly in her orbit, my experience is different.
For the first seven or so years in the forest, I enjoyed Bert’s Life, Liberty, and Library column in the Forest Press. We shared political views. His writing resonated with me. I was entertained. I learned things. Thanks to a happy set of circumstances, I got to meet Bert. He came into my orbit and I was better for it. And I blinked and he was gone. In chasing down the story of the man, I met his wife. She came into our orbit (mine and my wife’s), and we were better for it. And we blinked and Cheryl is gone.
I envy the people who stood and shared their moments at each of the memorials. Who had Bert and Cheryl in their orbits for their time in the forest and actually had the full experience. There was something in those voices I heard and wished I could have shared more fully. Some hint of what is lost. It is frustrating to just miss the light and have to resign to the shadow of history. My time with Bert and Cheryl was too brief.
I have written often about taking advantage of moments while they are available. To be part of the stories of people in our orbits. Seize moments. Be part of stories. Stories end. Sometimes in a blink.
