This is a shock. I woke up last night in a huge sweat, opened up my laptop and read the messages that had been sent to me about my FAVORITE teacher’s death. Percisely in that order. I was half asleep, and didnt understand. How on earth could someone so amazing just be gone like that? I’ve lost a cousin, a friend, and yet another friend, all to automobile accidents. And here, was another. And each time, I ask this same question as if I’d never thought of it before. The same question that everyone else asks: Why.
The only comfort I -or anyone else- can give myself is that there is a reason, that I may never know, behind it all. That’s what we all say, things happen for a reason.
But are we just saying these things to ourselves in the same manner that an obese person indulges in food for comfort?
Do we just say, “oh, everything’s going to be alright” or “There’s a reason for everything, and we just can’t see it yet” to make ourselves feel better? …do we say it to give ourselves comfort, so that we can “move on” and live pretending to believe that everything IS okay?
It’s really the only choice we have though, isn’t it? You HAVE to move on, and go to work tomorrow, make plans to do without. Because life must be lived while we’re here.
It’s like; say you lose your job, your very well paying job. What do you do? Do you stay in bed all day for the rest of your life turning the situation over and over…? What could you have done different? What should you have done? You wish you could just go back in there and make them give you one more chance. But you can’t. It’s happened. over. You have to move on. Find another way. Grow.
If we don’t make a positive out of a negative, the world would be full of living ghosts, zombies, stumbling around, wallowing in their own miseries. If I have faith in nothing else, I HAVE to at least have faith when people say, there’s a reason for these events in our lives that we can’t see or don’t understand yet.
I’m just basically asking the question of whether or not we mentally tell ourselves things, only to be able to handle situations like these… Do we just convince ourselves of a comforting conclusion so we feel better? Or what…?
That, my friends, is some HUGE doubting going on right there. I really am so self-contradictory. Oh well, thus are humans, right?
Carrying on… i wanted to write about one of the most influential people in my life: Gary Simendinger. He is a wonderful person. REALLY. And this isn’t one of those types of people who die and everyone lies about what a great person they were while all the time feeling that gut-feeling, knowing they’re talking out of their ass, and at the same time recalling specific incidents where that person was a complete jerk, or cruel, or uncaring. Simmy was kind; caring…he cared SO much. He was one of the most GENEROUS people I’ve ever met in my life. ANYTHING, anything…school related or not, you asked, and he knew exactly how to help you. As the lovely Caitlin so gracefully put it: He didn’t bullshit around.
If you weren’t working up to your potential, he’d let you know. He knew how to push me past what i though my limits were, make me seek further my goals and dreams. He was an inspiration for me to follow my dreams. This guy, He was crazy. Simmy rode motorcycles. I remember a picture of him and his friend that hung in his classroom. If I’m recalling correctly, it was both of them on their bicycles, and they both drove cross-country. This guy has been in a knife fight. I saw his big scar on his forearm. He always has these extravagant stories for which EVERYONE sits so silent on the edge of their chairs listening.
The kids I go to UC with, they’ve heard of Simmy. I’ve told them his stories he told me. I remember my favorite story:
He used to own a bar in Lebanon, and every night (i believe that’s what he said) he’d cross the street to the bank after closing to drop off the moneybag. Well, one night, it was like 2-3am, very dark out, he was walking down the street to drop the Bar’s moneybag in the drop box at the bank. He saw this huge dark figure pop out of nowhere across the street and start approaching him. Simmy couldn’t see whom it was, and was frightened because the dark figure was walking quickly directly toward him… “And seriously, what kind of people are just walking around at 3am?” I remember him saying…
This dark figure briskly advances on Simmy, draws a gun and points it right at his head.
Simmy said he threw up his hands (with the money bag in one of them) and was like “Here! Take the money!”
All of the sudden, the dark figure squinted his eyes, lowered his gun and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
And the man just walked away.
To see Simmy’s facial expressions while telling this story was a riot in itself. I remember them so vividly; I’m laughing right now just recalling them. He could raise his eyebrows to a sharp angle…And i can just hear him say, “OH, that is GOD AWFUL!” HAHA!! “Paris? You can have it.”
Oh man, he used to say the funniest things. I wish i could remember them all.
He has two little girls. I’ve met them after school, seen pictures of them hanging up in class; sketches that Simmy drew.
Simmy has the house that I was always excited to go to on Halloween. THE ONLY HOUSE IN LEBANON that just set a basket full of Reece’s Pieces and/or FULL SIZE candy bars outside the door. Me, my cousin, and my little sis would take handfuls of them. I apologized to Simmy years later for our gluttony, but of course he said, “NO NO!! That’s why we just set them out there, because no one ever came, our house is so far from the road! Thank you!” He has a really long driveway, and his house was kind of spooky around Halloween. 
I’ve seen BEAUTIFUL sketches of foreign lands that he’s traveled… He ruffled through them, like they were just notes, nothing of great significance. He told me: FILL UP YOUR SKETCHBOOK.
And i still have trouble doing it.
He lived in Florida as a freelance artist for some years, making signs for different companies, painting pictures. His handwriting: BEAUTIFUL.
I learned calligraphy from him…. I remember that for each day, he would write on the board our assignment in perfect calligraphy (each time a different style), without any lines to help him, no rulers. I watched him do it. Smooth and swift as if it were nothing at all to make each letter the same height, width, thickness, curve, angle, spacing. And his classes… It was a relief, a break from school, to have him for my teacher. He never told us we couldn’t use an idea we had for a piece of work, he always helped us develop it. Sometimes, we would all just sit and converse, a class discussion about something, anything…. I remember 9-11…. It was so comforting to come into his room. He told us we were going to talk about it instead of try to work, or just sit there in silence. He always, ALWAYS valued what we had to say, and responded to it as if we were his equals.
My first quarter in DAAP, my professor came to me after handing back our first project; He said to me, “Carolyn, You did a wonderful job. Your craft on this was exceptional, beyond expectations… it was very, very nice. THANK YOU.”
I simply told him, “My teacher in high school taught me all of that… It was expected of us. It was normal.” Mr. Simendinger. That’s who taught me.
I wasn’t going to go to UC. I didn’t know what in the world I really wanted to study, believe it or not. I mean, always art, yes…. But I wasn’t sure –yeah I know that may be hard to believe… But I had some really good talks with Simmy. He recommended going to the Art Academy of Cincinnati, saying their fine arts program was better…. Daap has a better design school, but was still nice for fine arts …He recalled when he was a student there, he used to have to walk off campus to get to his drawing studios and work in an old rundown factory or barn or something…
…Jeez. I have it real good compared to that, hah. He was an alumnus at UC, so of course, when I told him I was considering going there, he didn’t try and stop me…BUT he did tell me to make sure that wherever I go…. I have to be able to walk in and say, “I am at home”.
That helped me the most out of every stupid decision I had to make when choosing to go to school. And he helped me decide that Fine Arts was where I would excel the most. And I believe he was right.
God, whenever he talked to me, or anyone, I knew he was being flat out honest, never holding anything back in fear that we wouldn’t understand. I retained the most from him. He told me all the time… “if you ever need anything at UC, or even with grad school… I can pull a few strings for ya.” And he would wink and smile.
ALWAYS smiling. And that is a hard thing for me to do, especially today. But, Simmy, is always smiling.
The last time I sat down and had a conversation with him was last spring. I came into the brand new high school after hours, and found him in his new classroom. Whatever he was doing, he put it down, pulled up a chair and said, “Have a seat! How ya been?!”
We talked for about a half an hour about school, art, and life. Again, he helped me recognize that doing what I want to do is entirely possible always. It was kind of funny though… I asked him how the students’ work was holding up lately…what did I get? “Oh, it’s just been GOD AWFUL!” He pointed to the ceiling where some flimsy paper fish were dangling pitifully and said, “These are from our Seniors and Juniors this year… enough said?”
I laughed. He told me he was trying some new things in his own personal work and stuff was going good overall… Just loving life!
That’s how I’ve always known Mr. Simendinger: Loving life.
I just kept thinking last night: If ONLY I had gone into the high school before I left this fall for UC…. I had been thinking about it…. But never acted upon it… I waited on Simmy at Kidd Coffee some summer days, buying smoothies for his little girlies and more recently, mornings before school started. I WISH I had gone in one more time. I HATE having that regret.
Strange though, I received a phone call from the two people I knew were as close- or maybe closer- to Simmy as I was, and the two people I thought of first, Curt Everitt, and then James Passatore.
Curt called to see if I was alright, we talked for around an hour, and of course, he accomplished his goal of making me laugh by informing me of this “damn Chicken Virus we got goin around.” I’m glad Simmy died doing what he liked, motorcycling, than of some damn chicken virus…. Could you imagine what Gary would say about that??? He’d probably say something like, “GOD, that would be just GOD AWFUL if I kicked the bucket from a chicken disease!” Man, it has been FOREVER since I’ve talked to Curt. He means so much to me, and I’ve forgotten how great of a friend he always was to me.
I dunno… People always say it, and it’s cheesy, and corny, but I’ve been through this more times than I can stand now: Don’t wait to let someone know how much they mean to you. Don’t wait for the “right time” because “YOU NEVER KNOW when the day will come that you can’t tell them that you love them.” I need to change a little bit. I’ve become a little too much introverted for this… and I don’t say things like I should anymore. Sometimes, you CAN be too careful.
Anyway, I’m going to stop now. I’ve rambled on long enough to fulfill the purpose of why I even have a livejournal account. I just hope that I did Simmy a little justice. And I’m going to say this, because I know he’d laugh: For an old guy(he wasnt that old;)), He sure was one breath of fresh air.
I am going to miss seeing that smiling face, hearing that unforgettable voice.