End of Life

Eulogy for Doc.

Good morning.  On behalf of our family and in particular Lois, thank you for being here. Thank you for your cards, thoughts, deeds, and most importantly your prayers. If you are able, please join us afterwards in the church basement for a reception.

Benjamin Franklin once wrote if you would not be forgotten either write things worth reading or do things worth writing.  Doc Gerrits did both.  

Today we gather to celebrate a man and his life. Celebrate rather than mourn because that is what he would have wanted.  At times like these he would say ‘life is for the living’. In other words, make the most of it.  And he did.  But even celebrate would be too much for Doc. He was too modest for that.  His focus was typically on others and his responsibility to others.  

As a 21-year-old copilot on a bomber plane in World War Two he demonstrated that responsibility to others.  Zooming into a target at treetop level the pilot was killed by enemy fire.  Second Lieutenant James Gerrits held the run for a few seconds before pulling up and away.  The bombs had dropped on target, but his plane was badly damaged with only two of the four engines working and several of the crew members injured including him.  

Without the aid of hydraulics, he had little control of the plane and yet was able to manhandle the badly damaged ship until he could bring it to a safe landing in neutral Turkey territory.  Those men that he saved thanked him throughout their lives.

And though he had acted bravely and was highly decorated he would later say they were all just doing their job.  That’s the way he was, matter of  fact. Humble. 

And his sense of duty and interest in the greater good carried on throughout his life.  He pursued politics not for the limelight or status but because he cared and he believed that we could do a better job in helping our fellow man.  He truly believed people, one person, could make a difference. 

He was an individualist and never refrained from joining in the debate firmly believing it was our obligation.  During one race for mayor when he had moved on to the County Commission he realized the incumbent mayor would run unopposed.  Not being able to stand for that, he ran our brother Andrew, a 23-year-old law student, for mayor without having him even show up in town just so there was opposition.  He last ran for mayor at the age of 78.  But that's how sincerely he felt about the process, about weighing in.  

And he didn't hesitate to weigh in.  He was prolific in letters to the editor over a wide range of topics.  Not too long ago, he received a reply from a reader indicating that Doc was simply trying to stir the pot.  Doc wrote back, “I'm glad you noticed.”  

He was Mayor and a doctor, but he wasn't about status.  He was common, genuine, and sincere and so were his friends; mechanics and handymen who he would meet at the garage each week and swap stories over doughnuts.  And he left an impression on virtually everyone who met him.  He had to have been the most impersonated non-celebrity on the planet.

He had high expectations not only for himself but for my brothers and sisters and me.  He never quite felt that he had arrived, that he had accomplished all that he was capable of.  He pushed himself and expected much.  While he would ask in jest if one of us was attorney general, chief of staff, or CEO yet, it was his way of indicating that not only were the expectations high, so was his belief in us.  And he was so proud.  If he wouldn't talk about himself, he certainly was not shy about sharing the latest news about his kids.  What made him happiest is knowing that we were happy, finding love, and starting families.  

This is what truly interested him - life.  The beginning of it. People in love.  Families. Last year at church in Punta Gorda we came back from communion.  He had been eyeing a young couple and so pulled out a business card and wrote them a note.  I thought oh no, another embarrassing moment with the man who was never afraid to speak his mind. But after mass ended, they came up to him and thanked him for the kind words he wrote them.  He loved to see people in love.  

He loved his patients.  At times you needed to be strong to be a patient of Doc Gerrits. He wouldn't just treat your cough and cold, he'd tell you, you're fat and you need to eat less.  He would show patients a diseased lung in a glass jar so they could see the effects of their smoking. He lectured young people about the risks of motorcycles, drugs, and alcohol.  He saw it as his responsibility to care for the whole person and their family.  More than 30 years later a patient wrote to him thanking him for saving her life. He suspected she was the victim of child abuse. He was an excellent diagnostician and impressed the specialists over time as he would pinpoint the disease or location of a tumor.  

And he cared for more than just his patients, helping out anyone in the community, taking them in, finding them work, giving them a leg up.  

He was both a student and a teacher.  He never stopped learning whether medicine or otherwise.  One of his habits was to read through the want ads each evening.  He often called people to ask them about an item just to learn what it was, and often the other person on the line was saying, “Doc, is that you?”  

He took satisfaction not pride, in learning, retaining, and using his medical expertise. At no other time was he more satisfied than when he volunteered to go to Vietnam to care for civilians during the war. For the second two-month tour, Lois went with him. This experience was the ultimate in combining his passion for people and the art of medicine he loved.  

He was smart and stern, but he loved to laugh and poke fun.  He often signed school report cards as “mayor of the city”.  Your excuse note from him might have indicated that you missed school because you were meeting with the Pope about the upcoming spelling bee. He loved slapstick comedy like Laurel and Hardy. 

He was frugal.  He often would model a new sport coat or shirt and tie and boast his outfit cost him in total about $5.  He did things for himself rather than having it hired out.  I grew up thinking every kid’s vacation was filled with learning how to pour concrete, caulk, paint, change tires.  Just last February, Mary Grace and Rose spent their vacation in Punta Gorda painting the driveway with Grandpa Doc.  If you were going to do something, it might as well be productive.

He looked for a challenge in all aspects of life.  Just out for a lazy sail which he loved, he would push to cut in front of a freighter or come right up to the edge of the dock at the Inn so that people jumped up from their seats.  And coming back to the slip you didn't drop the sails and motor in.  You sailed right in against the current and the wind.  He would say, “What's the fun if there's no challenge to it?”  

He lived at a frenetic pace, massively involved in interesting projects and hobbies beyond medicine and politics.  He needed Lois there by his side to clean up the messes, finish the work, or figure out how to finance his big ideas.  

He loved Lois and was devoted and committed to her.  He was completely at a loss whenever she was sick or away from the house.  

To his grandchildren, know that Grandpa Doc will always be part of you.  Through his children, your parents, he will be a force and influence in your life.  Be thankful for that.  And through your parents, the best of him will shine through.

What would he say here today in front of everyone?  He might close with a line from one of his heroes, Abe Lincoln.  

So, to paraphrase:  It is for us the living rather to be dedicated here to Doc’s unfinished work which he has thus far so nobly advanced.  It is for us to dedicate ourselves to the great task remaining before us that from his memory, we take increased devotion to the causes for which he so steadily fast believed.  

Let his life inspire all of us to reach higher, expect more, and to measure our value not by what we achieve, but by how much we help others achieve. God bless!

Tim Gerrits