Say it Ain't So, Leo

A wonderful guy -- one of those people who you love hanging around with every time you see him but you don't see nearly often enough -- Leo Holub passed away last week. His obituary and picture just ran in the BirdWrap this morning so it's official -- there was some question about when to say anything about it.

Jeez, what a nice man and a great artist too. Plot met Leo through the Snowy Valley Voice. Leo's wife Florence wrote a column in the Voice for many years, in which her recollections of her young woman-hood in the neighborhood were recounted to the delight of a generation of her readers. Florence and Leo lived up the hill, across the street from the Christmas Tree house, and they would come to the annual Labor Day party at Great Plotnik World Headquarters and the Christmas party at Snowy Valley Sal's, and all the other events that have tied this little community together for the more than 30 years Sal has been putting out our cool and literary little paper.

Leo started and then headed up the photography department at Stanford in the 1960s and he knew everybody and everybody knew him. His history -- from son of an itinerant Arkansas blacksmith to Chicago Art Institute -- was a fascinating one. But aside from his many accomplishments, this was one really nice guy. If 'sweetheart' ever fits comfortably on a man, Leo wore it like his favorite wool sweater. What a great dude.

And, Plotnik has to admit, Leo was a great listener. He loved to hear Plotnik sing his songs. He was a true fan, and you don't lose those easily.

Worse, Florence has lost much of her memory now -- it appears to be Alzheimers and in not such an early stage either -- so we probably won't be seeing her much either in the future. Leo had taken to coming to the Voice parties recently without her. When you'd ask 'how's Florence doing?' he'd say -- "...well, she's getting along."

And then, apparently, Florence came downstairs and found Leo lying on the floor of their kitchen. Just like that.

It took her awhile to really understand what had happened -- she is still saying that Leo's gone out but he'll be right back. Fortunately, they have a couple of kids who can shepherd her through whatever it is that comes next.

What comes next for all of us in our little corner of the bubble is to have another party but not have Florence and Leo to talk to, to pick our head up from our guitar and not see his face smiling back with that look that says "I hear you, man."

Here's a piece of 'Bodhidharma' by Billy Collins:

"This morning the surface of the wooded lake
is uncommonly smooth - absolute glass --
which must be the reason I am thinking
of Bodhidharma, the man who brought Buddhism
to China by crossing the water standing on a single reed.

...I recognized him one night in a Chinese restaurant
after the diasppointment
of the fortune cookie, the dry orange and the tepid tea.
He was hanging on a wall behind the cash register,
and when I quizzed the young cashier,
she looked back at the painting and said
she didn't know who it was but it looked like her boss.

Thinking of her and Bodhidarma
makes me want to do many things,
but mostly take off my shoes and socks
and slide over a surface of water on a fragile reed
heading toward the shore of a new country..."



(Jane Underwood's photo)