Nobody Reads This Page – “Final Call”

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-25)

 

 

“I can think of no more stirring symbol of man’s humanity to man than a fire engine.” 

 

– Kurt Vonnegut

 

I have often written in this space about a number of personal encounters that left lasting impressions on my own life. Generally, these involved meeting people of distinction who were gifted, insightful, or creative in some special way. Each of them enriched my journey by being present. A consequence of chance which I will celebrate, forever. With the benefit of hindsight, I remember them now for their contributions, and unique qualities. I have been fortunate to learn from their examples. And I am stronger in spirit, because of the lessons they bestowed. Those that linger in retirement continue to be a blessing. While those that have graduated to the celestial realm of eternity, are beloved, and missed.

 

An example of this phenomenon resonated recently, with much emotion. I read about the passing of Geneva-on-the-Lake Fire Department Chief Chris Craft. An event which shocked me greatly, and caused a moment of quiet introspection at my office desk. Such stories are sadly familiar to those who stay plugged-in to news events. But in this case, a personal connection had me reeling. I needed to pray and ponder while trying to steady myself. Because the one mentioned in online stories and reports meant so much, to so many, for reasons that cannot be numbered by any simple equation.

 

I called him a customer, a father to team members at the business where I labored, and most importantly of all, a friend.

 

Through the grace of owner David Archinal, I came to Geneva Giant Eagle in the fall of 2009, at a point in my career of salaried retail management. When the fatigue of company sales, reorganizations, and my home life had begun to grow heavy. I was mentally past the point of accepting a such new challenge with the eagerness it deserved. Yet from the very beginning, this new venue offered a fresh perspective on the traditions of shopkeeping and vending food products to loyal patrons. I became fascinated with the close-knit burgh, which reminded me of my adopted hometown, Chardon, in bygone days. I marveled at the pace of summer traffic, drawn to the area by Lake Erie and the fabulous attractions spread along its shoreline. Soon, my circle of friends was populated by an entirely new brood of contacts. Amazingly, included in this colorful group were a mother and son that I suspected might be distant relatives, as we shared a common family moniker, one not heard frequently in this part of America.

 

As I worked to make myself useful in this environment of resurrection, I became close to our Health & Beauty associate, someone I saw on a regular basis. Her upbeat attitude and cheerful manner with customers made me smile. Eventually, she moved to a position in charge of the receiving area, which is one of the most important tasks in any for-profit enterprise. From that vantage point, she provided help to me, when needed, that made my success as a supervisor possible. Even when her on-the-clock hours had finished, and some might have deflected requests for information and guidance.

 

I recognized this attitude of care and competence immediately, when waiting on her parents. A fireman and a fellow veteran of commerce, respectively. During visits to our market, their gregarious nature and faith in fellowship rang true during every encounter. I could see why she, and her brother, had both grown to adulthood as able members of the next generation.

 

But beyond this timely revelation, I also inherited a greater respect for Chris while battling the anonymous wreckage left in my private life. Something not shared with anyone on the sales floor. I had run into financial difficulties along the way, and also separated from my second wife. These hard realities had no bearing on my service to the owner, and I compartmentalized things, in a metaphorical sense. Yet now and then, maintaining my humble homestead, and a vintage pickup truck that was my sole source of transportation, proved to be daunting tasks.

 

My generous, grocery patron offered to help with procuring auto parts, as he had some familiarity with selecting those items, while employed at a local depot. His offer came as a complete surprise, and provided a boost that I needed. In truth, I had gone bankrupt right before landing in the Ashtabula County emporium on South Broadway Avenue. Though legal action was something I managed to avoid, using bold and honest strategies suggested by my family. So, the connection was one both appreciated and remembered, for years that followed. When a particular set of spares for my vehicle could only be obtained from a branch of the supplier in Mentor, Chris made the trip at his own expense, to help ease my plight.

 

I felt truly humbled by this random act of kindness.

 

When he became Chief Craft for GOTL, long after I had retired from my role as a store caretaker. I cheered for him, and that fire department. I knew well that his position as a leader had been earned through the sort of devotion only a very few individuals could muster. The respect he commanded, from citizens of all sorts, was immense. I felt proud to know him, personally. And buoyed by his belief in serving others. Something that, in a meager capacity, I had been doing myself, since days on the team at Fisher’s Big Wheel.

 

Hearing the sad notice of his passing stilled my heart, for a moment. I was, along with so many residents of the area, stunned into silence. To conceive of such a development happening, taxed the limits of good reason. Nothing I could compose at the keyboard seemed sufficient. Though I remained certain that many stories of his journey would be shared. As a father, grandfather, local icon, and public servant, he excelled regardless of the title.

 

I mourn for those he left behind. Yet also know that the legacy trailing in his wake is one both durable and enduring. He will not be forgotten. Not by his family, his peers, or his friends. A hundred years from now, there will still be tales told along the waterline of what he meant to all of us, in the northeastern quadrant of Ohio.

 

Chief Craft has had his final call of duty. But as a member of the squad said candidly, ‘We’ll take it from here.’ Because of the example he provided, I rest assured that all of us will be in good hands, going forward. 

 

He is now in God’s hands. Of that, I am certain.