Tears are another expression of Love

My father, Tom Wurdock was a lot of things to a lot of people during his life. He served his country with pride as a member of the US Air Force, was a beloved teacher, community leader, poker buddy, and respected voice of reason among his community, family and peers. He was an avid outdoorsman, had a great sense of humor, had a passion for limericks and was one of the kindest and gentlest souls on this earth. He lived his life with gusto, always interested in what was going on around him and thrived on all that life offered while always putting the needs of others above his own. But all his accomplishments pale in comparison to what he excelled at the most, which was his role as loving husband, father to his three children and grandfather to his two granddaughters.  

Royal Oak was a different place when Dad grew up. He was born in the Washington Square Building in 1931 when it was the Royal Oak Hospital and had his tonsils removed while lying on the dining room table by the family doctor. He played marbles in the alley on the way to school, kept chickens in a pen at the family home on Maple Street until his mother got tired of them following her into downtown Royal Oak when she went to shop or call on friends.

He graduated from Royal Oak High School in 1949 where he played in the band, sung in the choir and played center on the football team.  He attended Albion College and worked during the summer as a route carrier for the United States Postal Service.   After graduating from Albion College he enlisted in Air Force and was stationed in Bar Harbor Maine.  After the Air Force he took advantage of the GI Bill and went back to school where he received his Masters Degree in School Administration from Michigan State University and began his teaching career at Oak Park High School in the late 50’s where he taught vocal music and later served a term as President of the Michigan Vocal Music Association.  He moved to the Waterford School District where he taught English and creative writing until retirement in 1992.

One of his greatest loves was the family vacation experience, spending the long days of summer living in a rustic log cabin, deep in the Hiawatha Forest of the Michigan's Upper Peninsula a mile from Lake Superior along with the Ronald May family.  His days were filled teaching children and grandchildren how to respect nature, throw horseshoes, bake cinnamon rolls, fly fish, stand in awe at the light show from the Aurora Borealis and enjoy a good read by kerosene lamp in front of a crackling fire.  One minute he was tuning an outboard motor and the next he was tuning the piano in the music room.  He had a passion for crossword puzzles, word games, spy novels and military history.

Recipient of the 2012 Citizen of the Year honor from the Royal Oak Chamber of Commerce, he was known to many as “Mr. Royal Oak,” a title he carried with pride, honor and a chuckle. He thrived while serving the Royal Oak community spending hours of volunteer time to the Farmer’s Market Committee, the Police Oversight Review Board, numerous committees at the First United Methodist Church and the Royal Oak Historical Society, where he served as President from 2003-2005.

  

Though it was hard to see his health decline over the past few years he never lost his sense of humor or kind and gentle attitude toward others. He knew he was loved by his family and his family knew they were loved by him. He respected you even if he didn’t agree with you and he will be remembered most by his ability to instantly make people feel like they mattered. He will continue to be part of the daily life of his family in memory and spirit.  

Reaching eighty four years of age was a milestone. Not everyone does it, can achieve it, nor does everyone even want to do it. Who among us would not want to live a long life you may ask? You would think that reaching a ripe, older age may a goal for everyone, but it’s not. This is because you have to work hard at it.  There’s a lot to it. . .

It’s recognizing that when you make a good choice in life, more good will follow it. It’s facing the hard decisions instead of looking for the easier ones. It means proudly serving your country, alternating late night feedings with the woman you love, fretting over money and putting your ego aside for the sake of your family and friends. It means attending a lot of concerts, sporting events and driving long distances to visit your kids. It means cutting fishing trips short to work a second job in the summer to pay the bills.  It means missing out on choice fishing opportunities as your youngest son finds himself snagged on a log and giving him your pole because you know there is only about 10 minutes of light left to fish before the rusty evening sky washes away the day. But relinquishing your rod and reel also allows you to enjoy the sunset a little longer and tuck the memory away for another day.

For Tom Wurdock, having reached 84 years of age meant he knew he sometimes had to make unpopular decisions with his family but was able to look back and still be glad he made them.  Throughout his life it was knowing things like “this is going to hurt me more than it does you,” really means you love your kids more than they’ll know. It was also watching his waist line grow and realizing that kids wear their baggy pants for reasons different than his. 

In the past year he drank more Oberweiss chocolate milk and Boston Coolers than his wife approved of but it sure beat sitting alone in a hospital bed after visiting hours were over and reflecting on life with tears because you knew not the hour or the day. He was always surrounded by someone he loved of someone who loved him.

Growing older meant discovering new things at each milestone birthday because he knew you could not change your age. But this also meant he could look back with a smile and erase any regrets that may have lingered too long. It was finding simple truths in everyday life, as confusing as it is, and knowing that it’s never too late in the afternoon to learn something new.  Aging was great, but there was also the sadness of losing your best friends one by one. It was learning about why granddaughters get tattoos and accepting the fact that you need not understand why they do it.  It was also rejoicing that you don’t have to work two jobs anymore and that senior discounts will eventually all add up over time and appreciating every bite of tasty food on your plate.

He knew aging always meant worrying about your kids and grandkids, no matter what, and trying to remind them that it will remain a constant in your life until you are no longer with them. It’s knowing in your heart that they love you and to treasure every “I love you” on the phone or in person.  It was also understanding why your kids may have a hard time as you age because they were afraid of losing you and never knew if the next “I love you” might be the last.  But when it came down to the end, he left this world surrounded by the family he loved and who loved him----there was never any question about it.

During the last few years of Tom’s life there were many changes. He took a lot of pills prescribed by his doctors to help him with various ailments. He slept more, lost some of his hearing and moved sround a little slower. But when he looked back at his life at 84 it was not so much about what time had done to him, but what he had done with his time. 

Tom Wurdock’s talents are only exceeded by his humility.  When he looked around him he saw a life well lived and a life well-loved surrounded by a world he has shaped by helping others and by confronting whatever life threw at him with courage.  And it is important to note that almost fifty nine of them were spent married to the same sweet, kind, and beautiful, tolerant, funny and loving woman; his wife Dian.

He realized the great fortune of a long marriage, has left a legacy as a father and has lived long enough to experience the joy of being a grandfather. He has generously shared himself with so many of us and it’s not just those who gather at his passing who celebrate his life.  It’s also been with an extended family, the hundreds of students he taught, the community he’s helped shape, a wide circle of friends he’s watched grow, his long-time church that’s been a symbol of faith. He will miss his poker buddies, fishing pals, email lists and so many more of you. Through them all, he has gently and quietly left his unique and indelible mark on this world.

One of his greatest loves was vacationing deep in the woods in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. This was where the family spent time every year with their best friends of 60 years, the Ronald May family, at the family cabin on Muskallonge Lake north of Newberry. They fished, played poker, preserved the beloved cabin, led the family on adventures and built things others could only dream about. Another love was the family cottage in Delavan, Wisconsin, where his building expertise was always in action and making continuous improvements on the 100+year old ancestral home. He could fix anything, knew something about everything and never met a New York Times Crossword puzzle he could not conquer.

Though it was hard to see his health decline over the past few years he never lost his sense of humor or kind and gentle attitude toward others. He knew he was loved by his family and his family knew they were loved by him. He respected you even if he didn’t agree with you and he will be remembered most by his ability to instantly make people feel like they mattered. He will continue to be part of the daily life of his family in memory and spirit.

Thomas F. Wurdock, age 84, of Royal Oak, died May 31, 2015. He was born April 3, 1931 in Royal Oak to Carl and Edith Wurdock. Mr. Wurdock served in the U. S. Air Force and was a teacher in the Oak Park and Waterford school systems. Those left to cherish his memory are his wife of 59 years, Dian (Haskell); children, Steven of Ada, Deborah (Jeff) Jablonski of Troy and Peter (Christine) of Royal Oak; granddaughters, Alaina Weathers and Lauren (Jon) Krzeszak and brother, Robert (Gloria) of Dearborn. Memorial visitation Friday 1-8 p.m. at the Kinsey-Garrett Funeral Home, 420 S. Lafayette, Royal Oak. Memorial service Saturday 11:00 a.m. at the First United Methodist Church, 320 W. Seventh St., Royal Oak. In lieu of flowers, suggested memorials include the First United Methodist Church of Royal Oak and the Royal Oak Historical Society.

January just got little easier to take.

Jim Harrison was someone I never heard of until 1998 when my friend Stewart gave me one of his books.  It was a book called “The Woman Lit by Fireflies” and it consisted of three novellas; one of which featured Harrison’s famed character Brown Dog, who I have since followed through every adventure.

When I was a kid my family often visited Grand Marais, MI, (a small town of 200 in the Upper Peninsula) each summer. As I got older and began writing for the school newspaper I always thought to myself that Grand Marais would be the perfect place for a writer to live. It is a small town on Lake Superior with almost one of everything, except a fast food joint and a bank. I had no idea that Harrison had been a fixture there for years in his wilderness camp just outside of town. When I discovered this years later I was elated and somewhat inspired to think that he had been walking in and out of the same place I began frequenting when in Grand Marais the Dunes Saloon (now Lake Superior Brewing Company).

I would ask the locals about him whenever I was there and they often say, “He was here for bird season; you just missed him.”  He sold his place several years ago and to the best of my knowledge he doesn’t go to GM much anymore.  But this doesn’t stop me from getting excited whenever a new book comes out.

His new novel is called “The Big Seven “ and in true Jim Harrison fashion, he has again proven that he is the master of modern day literature, up there with all the greats.  Often when I read his work I will come across a passage that makes me think “why do I even bother trying to write?” But inevitably, the inspiration outweighs the doubt and I am off and at it. 

I paid tribute to him in my book “Places I Hide” which came out in 2008. I will share what I wrote and the photo I took another time. But for now, the feeling of this book in my hands is like a life preserver and will help this January limp as I head into “who knows what” next month before delivering my fifth book in March. The inspiration to write is still there, sometimes I just need to be clobbered over the head with something great as a reminder.

Today was the greatest day of my life

Despite being under the weather this weekend, I am excited to share with you that today was the greatest day of my life.

I didn’t get married or have a child. No woman fell in love with me and I didn’t win the lotto. But today, someone I have long admired gave me the most extraordinary compliment about friendship when I found out that he dedicated a twenty year chunk of his creative life to me with his new record. This is the greatest honor that has ever been bestowed upon me. Thank you Stewart Francke.

His new record "Midwestern" will soon be available at all worldwide digital stores and in retail stores. If you’ve never heard his music, you are missing out on something special; just ask Bruce Springsteen who was a fan before he recorded with Stewart a couple years ago or ask the legendary member of the Rolling Stones, Mick Taylor who said Francke was the best songwriter he’d heard in a long time after we played a gig at the legendary Bottom Line in New York City. Or closer to home, ask Bob Seger, who handpicked Stewart to open for him on his Downtown Train tour in 2011 and again in 2012.

Wheeeew. . .My back is achy after dropping all those names and having to pick them up again. But unless something extraordinary happens to me in the future, I do not see how this day could be topped.

The greatest day of my life? Yep. I am sure of it, and I hope something like this happens to you too.
Thank you for letting me share this note with you and your friends.

Thanksgiving

To the best of my knowledge, in their 58 years of marriage, my parents have never spent Thanksgiving apart. This year, with my sister and youngest niece riding shotgun, I took my Dad to the visit his best friend in the Upper Peninsula, while my brother and his girlfriend loved and pampered our mother at their house.

Tom and Ron met at the rehearsal dinner when my parents were married in 1956. As they shook hands for the first time they laughed when they realized they were wearing the exact same double-breasted blue suit. 

But they had a lot more in common than their fashion sense (which has evaporated over the years) and they’ve been best friends since that day.

They don’t make ‘em like them anymore and friendships like theirs are rare. They both served our country; both married beautiful women who were best friends and both worked hard their entire life to provide for our families. Our families also picked up on that love and ran with it.

Each of the self-proclaimed “old farts” are fighting illness and memory. And that is what made giving thanks for their friendship that much sweeter this year. I wish everyone had someone like them in their life. Every day is a gift and every memory in the making is a gift for the rest of us.

A day in the life

So what is it you actually do?

I get that a lot so I decided to have one day of my life condense into a video. The result is a documentary called Blind Spot.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiARxAqCn4g

It was shot last Friday and contains an unscripted view of my day. It also uses some terrific music by my friend Stewart Francke to tell a story. In it you will meet my dogs, some of my family and people who until that moment were strangers to me. You’ll get a look inside my home and my life as it occurred on Friday, November 14, 2014.

I hope those who watch it walk away knowing something more about me than they did before. It’s a little rough in places; not polished or professional, but it is life the way it was meant to be on that day for me, in order to share it with you.

The blonde who changed my life

The first week of November will always be special to me. It was two years ago yesterday that Anita Wood, a blond, brindle greyhound, arrived at the welcome center located on Michigan and Indiana border on I-94. She was one of many in the new haul of greyhounds who raced in Florida and were being transported to various Greyhound Rescue and Adoption Agencies in the Midwest. The sad truth about these beautiful animals is that one of three things happens to them when they are no longer making money for their owners. They are either adopted; euthanized humanely or euthanized inhumanely.

Two years ago today I got a call from a friend of mine telling me about this little ball of sweetness who had just arrived and was being fostered at her home with her dogs. I could not resist the invitation and took Jack to meet her the next day to see if they’d be compatible. He immediately walked over to her and did not do the traditional “butt sniff” but rather rested his head on the back of her neck, which is often a sign of a dog expressing dominance. But I knew it also was an expression of love and that is an important part of the story.

Tiger Jack Burke was named after a wrestler from the 1930’s by his daughter, now in her eighties who was a lifelong greyhound lover and owner. She named him that because she had a hunch he would be a fierce competitor and he was. But after he was retired he and his sister, Lady Wolverine, proved to be too much for their beloved owner and Jack was kicked out of his retirement home. He landed with Greyheart, the rescue and adoption agency I am proud to be a part of. But for whatever reasons, nobody wanted “Hurricane Jack.” (I have since called him dozens of names with the name Jack in them). He had a “strong personality,” which is a nice way of saying he was a handful.
Almost six months passed and Jack was still living with his foster family. This is a long time in Greyhound adoption terms. But back to Needa. . .the blonde who change my life. Almost like Bogey and Bacall, Hurricane Jack followed Needa outside. The white tips of her feet stood out as she pranced between the leaves, something she had never seen before. Jack followed Needa around the yard and suddenly there was a spring in his step too. But I did not know if I was ready to take on the responsibility of another dog.

I thought about Needa after we left. For the next couple of days I prayed about it and thought some more. Was I ready for another dog? I wasn’t working and had very little money. But it was then I remembered a phrase that a wise old woman once told me. She said “nobody ever became poor by giving.” The next day Needa came to live with us and it was the greatest birthday present Jack ever received and one of the greatest leaps of faith I have ever taken.

After knowing nothing except life at the track, I got to watch Needa become a dog again. I was patient as she learned to walk up the stairs and become familiar with all the things Jack had already learned during his time as a foster and in the six months he’d been living with me.
Needa was still on kennel time. This mean she was up every morning at 4:30 AM and I was out of bed at 4:31 AM. I was not a fan of this early morning charade but would get them both outside and fed as the coffee brewed. This early routine lasted throughout the winter and into spring and I had no idea how important it would be to my life.

I had been in a slump and had a major case of writers block. I wanted to be a writer but hadn’t written a new book in over a year. Getting up each day at 4:30 meant I was at my computer working before five o’clock every morning, seven days a week, breaking only for walks and a meal until eight o’clock in the evening; month after month until July with only a brief break in March and April as I visited and said goodbye to my dear friend Mary Lee who was like a sister to me. But it was during those early mornings and long days that I completed my book “Bending Water and Stories Nearby” and it was released in late 2013.

Would I have written the book without bringing Needa into my home? No. I was also suffering the after effects of a heartbreaking divorce, a job loss, economic instability and was more than a year into a legal battle with a former employer. I was also living with the worst bout of depression I had ever experienced. Jack helped get me up and out every day, but when Needa came along, everything changed. If I did not have these two dogs, it is not a stretch to think that it is likely I would not be writing at all.

Dogs don’t just come into our lives; they invade them with all the love in a day. To be on the receiving end of that gratitude is nothing short of amazing and to adopt a greyhound is a special experience that you will not get with other breeds of dogs.
Yes; all dogs need homes, but people are irresponsible and let breeding take place when it shouldn’t and accept no responsibility for what is created. As a result, the canine population has grown to an unmanageable level.

Greyhound breeders breed dogs for one only purpose; to race them in an industry, but with little thought given to what will happen to them after they are done literally running for their lives. But as the tracks continue to close the supply and demand of the breed has also adjusted. I think it is getting better. I know it has made a difference for me because these two dogs have literally changed the trajectory of my life.

If it weren’t for Needa I would not have gained the momentum that carried me into 2014 as I try to write books people will enjoy. She has now learned to sleep in and when I look at life today I cannot imagine that I was starting my day so early for so long! And as for Royal Oak’s most celebrated greyhound couple? I can only imagine what will happen over the course of the next two years.
I am not a successful or famous writer, but I’d rather be living and doing what I am doing now rather than growing old and wasting my life getting told what to do by a clueless, miserable person in an office. I know what it is like to work and find happiness each day and I hope this story brought a little happiness to yours.

Happy Birthday Stewart Francke. . .sort of

Sixteen years ago today I got a phone call in the middle of the afternoon from Stewart Francke. After being diagnosed with leukemia a couple months earlier, he eagerly took up residence at the Karmanos Cancer Center in Detroit because he wanted to live. He needed a bone marrow transplant and on that day was literally in the middle of it when he called to ask me how I was doing. How I WAS DOING!

I asked him to describe what was happening and he told me it was like a huge strawberry Slurpee being pumped into him from clear bags. This wasn’t how I imagined such an important medical procedure would look. It wasn’t how he imagined it either. But when the Slurpee machine stopped churning, everything changed. 

Ten days prior to this procedure we had a huge event at the Fox Theater in Detroit. It was the first of many fundraisers for the Stewart Francke Leukemia Foundation. The foundation that used his name was not for him or about him because he was a lucky guy in an unlucky situation. You see, one of Stewart’s sisters was a perfect match for this transplant.

 The strange thing about bone marrow transplants is that Doctors shock you with chemotherapy to within a hush of death in order to give you the new marrow, hoping your body will not reject it and hope instead, you will be healed. Everything went well for Stew for the first several weeks and then it turned bad . . . real bad. Most people don’t know how close we came to losing him around Thanksgiving. I got a call from his wife and sister and I wept and I prayed.

Many people did not know what God would say or do and I think his wife, sister, best friend Billy and myself were the only ones who knew he would not be giving up.

He was weak, thin and his diet consisted of only two things: warm Cream of Wheat or cold Cream of Wheat. It continued to be a tough road back. We had just recorded and released his record, Sunflower Soul Serenade. It was selling well and getting a lot of attention on the national stage and airwaves; something impossible to think of today for an artist not on a major record label. But we did it in the way nobody seemed to notice; which was by hard work.

Stewart had a ton of support from family, friends and fans, but there were still many people who didn’t get it. They’d call me inquiring if he could play a gig, or a party or if he could open at a venue. They thought getting a bone marrow transplant was like getting your oil changed and you’d be back on the road quickly.

After a tough winter for everyone, I got a call in the middle of it from someone who heard about Stewart’s illness and we understood each other. After a long, warm conversation they apologized for asking, but had to ask me if I thought he’d be strong enough to play a couple songs (not a full concert) at an upcoming event called “Creative’s for a Cure, which was to be held in March, just two months away.

This was a high profile event put together by Detroit’s advertising agencies to raise money for cancer and related illnesses. I thanked them for the call and told them I’d get back to them.
When I reached Stewart I knew right away how much he was struggling. He was bald, skinny, housebound, and bedridden and in a lot of pain from mouth sores and various other ugly and painful things, post-transplant. He was also still eating Cream of Wheat.

I was working and was not home until after midnight. He had a habit of calling me at “early-thirty.” When we connected I asked him about the gig and his response was a whispered: “Hell yes, I’ll play it. Tell ‘em I’ll be ready,” and then he hung up.

He’s never hung up on me since.

The winter was depressing. I was working a job I hated from 4- Midnight, but from 9AM-3 PM, I was doing the best I could to “work the record.” Meanwhile, Stewart was still eating cream of wheat. There were other complications that ebbed and flowed; each one scary in its own right. If getting well again wasn’t enough motivation for him, returning to the stage was. He began playing his guitar or piano every day.

When the curtain eventually rose at the State Theater in Detroit, his voice filled the room. I sat alone and wept.

The people were there to raise money, awareness and/ or find hope for someone they loved who might be suffering from some form of cancer. When the applause died down after the first of his three songs, Stewart uttered the most profound words of the night: “I want to thank you for what you are doing,” he said. “And I want you to know that I am living proof this works.”
We understood how Stewart knew the difference between being alive and living.

In the sacred brotherhood of friendship, Stewart and I had already exchanged blood through our veins. How he had willed his way back to the stage again so quickly is something I‘ve never understood. But he assured me that Rock and Roll held a trans-formative power. It has the ability to not just send you; but it change your circumstances.

And I thought to myself shit, I’ve known that for ten years. 


Unfortunately a lot of momentum was lost in his career during his time of illness because rock and roll is a fickle business. Suddenly he was known as Stewart Francke, cancer survivor. But this was a badge he was proud to wear. As I and others lined up interviews on radio, TV and in the newspapers I found myself reminding the writers that he was a great musician long before he had cancer and that he would continue to be a great musician for a long time to come. What stuck with them; I don't know.
Since his transplant and recovery he has spent thousands of volunteer hours in people’s homes, in other hospitals and of course at Karmanos where he’d talk to people while sitting on the edge of their bed, telling them: “I’ve been where you are and you will make it just like I did.”
Most of them did; some did not.

Stewart has never turned down a request to play a benefit concert, make a visit or talk to someone who found themselves in the same situation where he was when he took ill. And every penny I will ever make in my lifetime says he never will.

The Detroit media who once wrote about his brilliant music and lasting impact on the Detroit music scene has unfortunately ignored his last few records and so have those involved in the Detroit Music Awards. This is a fact that doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it does me. But we’re moving forward and getting ready to release “Midwestern” his sixteenth record. You will love it.

There has never been a songwriter from Michigan as consistently prolific, relevant and who has released as many critically acclaimed and audience approved records in their lifetime as Stewart. And I promise you; that will never change.

Sixteen years. Wow. Where has the time gone?
Please Tra-la-la l-la-la la-la with me and Neil Sedaka. . .even if it’s cheesy. After being infused with his sister’s DNA, these words ring true. . .even though he is not the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.

Happy Birthday Sweet 16 Counselor!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBpuIym1F6w