Eulogy for James Monzel

James Alan Monzel was my brother-in-law. With my sister Suzanne, he became a parent in 1992 when Eric James was born. This was a defining moment in Jim’s life, and I believe being a father was his greatest source of joy. Jim was a good father with hopes and dreams for Eric. He taught Eric how to talk, to ride a bike, care for animals, swim, and how to not be afraid of a roller-coaster. He taught him how to tie his shoes, blow out his birthday candles, run the wood stove, and a host of ways to be a contributing member of the household including some of Eric’s favorite activities – lawn mowing, snow shoveling and household recycling. Jim taught Eric how to figure things out for himself on the computer, do math, fish, build a car for the annual Pine wood derby, and more recently, how to drive a standard.

According to his family and friends, Jim was unabashed, curious, inquisitive, quick-witted and sardonic. He was humble, non-pretentious, passionate, focused, dedicated, fun to work with and surprising. He was a sailor, skier, and was tender with the children. Jim had a keen knowledge of really obscure facts, based in part on one his favorite books—The Book of Totally Useless Information. Jim delighted in spieling off such gems as why peas spark in the microwave and why military uniforms have non-functional buttons up the cuffs of the sleeves. Jim was cheerful, playful, and opinionated. He was an introvert, gourmand, world traveler, music lover (especially Todd Rungren, who he thought was a God), a mentor and an animal lover. Jim was a loving father and a good provider. He was a pyrotechnics master—setting up extravagant displays of fireworks for the kids, and a pro at driving up his icy driveway in the winter. His non-technical family members might think of him as a geek or a techie (not to mention a trekkie), but to his colleagues he was an expert. Jim was a leader in his profession, organizing annual conferences, publishing articles and with colleagues, he held a U.S. patent. As an active member of the AA community, Jim had almost two years of sobriety—a testament to his fortitude and to the hard and important personal work he was engaged in at the end of his life.

As I’ve sorted through pictures the last few weeks looking for images of Jim to share with Suzanne and Eric, I’ve been struck by the wide variety of locations where Jim is found. There are shots of Jim and Suzanne in Buffalo, NY where my son Drew was born, shots of them in Syracuse with my daughter Maureen at the zoo, shots at my parent’s house in Bay Shore, and at the beach on Fire Island. Suzanne and Jim were ever-present as I was moving around getting an education and raising my kids. Although Suzanne was the extrovert in their marriage, managing the connections between family and friends—Jim always showed up, he was there. I’m sure he felt adrift when with Suzanne’s family of 9 siblings, but Jim was an integral part of the family. He might have listened quietly while conversations flew, but could be relied upon to insert the surprising and well-timed one-liner that made everyone laugh. When friends and family descended on Suzanne, Jim and Eric at the Monkton house for holidays, Jim eventually snuck off to his room or the basement to play a video game. While the guests sat around the guitar players in the kitchen after a feast, Jim might retreat to the living room to watch his complete collection of Dark Shadows, but he was always happy to have a house full of guests.

Jim fed us well. He was the first one up, and a thermos full of fresh coffee could always be found on the counter as evidence of his early morning productivity and hospitality. Soon Jim would begin his famous ritual—making breakfast. One of Jim’s first jobs was a short order cook at HoJos, and he never lost those roots. Over the years he had perfected the art of making bacon and pancakes, and his griddle was one of his prized possessions. Jim’s method included frying 6 strips of bacon at a time, laid out in perfect rows, flipped at just the right time and cooked to perfection. Each batch was placed on a paper towel, with a paper towel on top for the next batch. Jim brought to his breakfast making the kind of focus and precision needed for a career focused on the intricacies of computer chips and circuitry unseen by the naked eye. Although he sometimes came off as a little rigid, there were mornings when that last batch of bacon had seven strips rather than six. Unphased, Jim squeezed that last strip on the griddle.

Jim’s untimely death has been a shock and a sorrow for his family, friends, colleagues and community. We can hope to find comfort in being together today, in the song and prayer that we share.

Jim will be missed by many. As his colleague Ed writes, “Jim touched many lives, for the better.”

I want to read an excerpt of a poem by Liam Rector, written as Liam was contemplating his own death and thinking about the one’s he would leave behind. The poem includes some of Liam’s doubt about an afterlife and questions about his life and place in the world, and includes what I think of as good advice for his children, and indeed for all of us. From the poem titled Now.

Born alone, die alone—and sad, though
Vastly accompanied, to see
The sadness in the loved ones

To be left behind, and one more
Moment of wondering what,
If anything, comes next. . .

Never to have been completely
Certain what I was doing Alive,
but having stayed aloft

Amidst an almost sinister doubt.
I say to my children
Don't be afraid, be buoyed —

In its void the world is always
Falling apart, entropy its law —
I tell them those who build

And master are the ones invariably
Merry: Give and take quarter,
Create good meals within the slaughter,

A place for repose and laughter
In the consoling beds of being tender,
I tell them now, my son, my daughter.

Be buoyed.
Give and take quarter.
Create good meals.
Don’t be afraid.

My heart goes out to all of us today, especially to Suzanne, Eric, Michael and Steve, who traveled long and well with Jim. My prayer for Eric is that he continue to travel with his Dad, taking the full measure of Jim and his life forward into his own life.

To Jim, if you’re listening, God rest your soul brother. May flights of angels sing you to your rest.