Gerry Jeffers died on a Monday. That evening and the next day we made sure that the word got out. It had been four weeks and four days since he had been flown to Boston after getting badly hurt in a car crash. That whole time we were all wishing two things. That he would get better and that he wouldn’t suffer. We wanted him to get back home, to see him again where we had seen him last, to see his smile, to hear him say our names. But at the same time, it was painful to see him in such pain. It didn’t seem fair.

The day after he died, Julia Wells asked me for some facts to include in his obituary. I replied that I didn’t actually know any. All I know about Gerry is what I saw. I saw his kids growing up on Chappy. I saw the gravestones of Gladys, Tillie and Sally. I saw him deal with people at the Chappy store and in his repair shop. I saw how quickly people on the ferry smiled when they saw him. I knew how I felt when we talked. I knew that he had strong opinions about people, about Chappy, about right and wrong. I knew that he didn’t want people messing around with his stuff or talking about him.

Here was a guy who made other people’s lives easier by his often unseen actions. He didn’t require any thanks. He just needed to know that you were appreciative. He expected to be paid if it was a paying situation. But most of the time it seemed that he didn’t want to be bothered about money. As curmudgeonly as he was in some instances, it was pretty clear that he thoroughly enjoyed human contact. He was no saint. He could hold a grudge as well as anyone. He loved to tell of instances where it turned out that the person who was all upset, accusing and complaining had actually been the cause of their own problems. His patience was short with fools. His generosity was long with those in need.

During the past weeks, I have heard many stories about Gerry. As a youngster, he was ambitious to the point of being dangerous. No embellishment is required to be impressed by hearing the recounting of some of his adventures. He must have been quite a handful for his mother, aunt and grandmother. He had a great appreciation as well as a great knack for getting automobile engines to run. I can only imagine how he made it through military service and how the military survived him. He had many careers and he kept at the them for many more years than I would have. He really just liked being busy.

When he first went into the hospital I didn’t say anything about it here because I wanted to honor his desire for privacy. After learning that so many people were concerned about him I figured that I had an obligation to let them know what had befallen him and how his condition was progressing. I also figured that if he was mad at me about it that he could get out of that hospital, come down to the ferry and tell me off. I was pretty nervous about it. But now we are a little freer to share the stories and to reveal some of his secrets. The very idea that we’ll all be talking about him at his funeral would have made him very uncomfortable. I don’t think that he would be surprised that we will fill the Old Whaling Church to overflowing. I’m sure that he knew how many of us there are. He just might not have known how much he meant to us.

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