Ed Shock was born twenty-one years after the world's first powered flight.  He came into a world where Babe Ruth was a household name and nobody knew who Charles Lindbergh was.  Broadcast radio was four years old.  The nation was still healing from a global pandemic and from an armed conflict they simply called "The World War", because at the time nobody knew there would be a sequel.

It would take a long time to review all the history Ed witnessed over his life.  But like most people of substance, Ed wasn’t just a witness; he was an active participant in the events that shaped his world.  As a child one of his responsibilities was shoveling coal into the stove that kept his family warm.  As an adult he would eventually install a furnace in homes all across Dayton, keeping their families warm.  If you ever drove around town with Ed the tour would include him pointing out all the houses in which he put a furnace or air conditioner.  There were many.

Ed served in the Navy during World War 2, helping to ensure that personnel and supplies went where they were supposed to go.  If you saw the movie "Greyhound" you'll have an idea of what this service entailed.  He downplayed the constant danger he faced during that time, talking instead about the places he visited, the things he saw, and the comradery of the men with whom he served.  He served his country because that's what needed to be done.  If asked, he would not have described himself as a hero.  But we know.

Ed grew up during the Depression, an experience that shaped the way he viewed material goods and the blessings of life.  He would reuse a paper plate until it began to recycle itself; a pot of coffee remained fresh until it was drained, no matter how many days that took. He once re-strung an aluminum lawn chair that had fallen apart.  This is part of who he was; Ed did not believe in throwing something away just because it wasn’t perfect.  He felt that way about people, too.

When Ed and Doris discovered their first child was developmentally disabled, they sought help from area agencies created to help such individuals.  Eventually they became a part of those agencies, supporting their activities, serving on their board, making them better through their involvement.  Ed and his wife were instrumental in building the very first resident home in the Dayton area.  He put a furnace in that one, too.

Service to others was a big part of Ed's life.  Whether it was his active membership in the Rotary Club or his willingness to drive out on a cold winter night to get someone's furnace going, Ed was always about helping others.  In his seventies Ed volunteered his time to drive what he called "senior citizens" to their medical appointments.  In time, Ed would be the one needing someone else to drive him around.  Yet he still found ways to help.  In his last years I helped him balance his checkbook; every month there were contributions to Shriners Hospital, Guiding Eyes to the Blind, Wounded Warriors, and other charities.  He never lost his compassion for those less fortunate.   Even as he lay in a bed in a hospice center he was insistent that those checks still be written, continuing to make a difference to the very end.

His final wish was to have his body donated to science; it is a testament to how he lived his life that Ed's last act was one of service to others.

Ed loved the lake.  Once on a vacation trip to upper Michigan, Ed and Doris discovered the town of Curtis.  In short order they bought a place in town and every summer included a long stay in what he often described as paradise.  He welcomed visitors and shared his place with anyone who wanted to stay; his only requirement was that you pose for at least one picture while holding a fish.  Anyone who ever visited him "up north" went away with an understanding of why the peace and serenity of the area meant so much to him, and they also made a note to bring warmer clothing next time.

A few months before he died I took Ed to a doctor's appointment.  On the way back as we drove through the streets of Dayton Ed pointed to an apartment where he installed an air conditioner.  We passed Arrow Wine and he told me how on that site once stood a place where you could get the best eclairs in town.  I remarked, "you know these streets like the back of your hand" and he smiled and nodded.  

A benefit to a long life is that you get see a lot.  A drawback is the number of times you have to say goodbye.  His wife. His sons. His siblings, cousins, friends, business partners and so many others.  Ed was keenly aware that life includes loss and he accepted that; not happily, but with the knowledge that the goodbyes are part of life's admission price.  It seems a profound injustice that he lost his wife just when they were ready to spend their retirement years by the lake they loved, yet he did not allow the experience to make him bitter.  Rather, he celebrated the people around him and cherished the companionship of family and friends.

Amid the goodbyes also come hellos.  Some of Ed's children had children of their own, and some of them had children.  There are people in this world who wouldn’t exist in a world without Ed Shock. Four grandchildren, seven great-grandchildren; friends he made along the way who were part of his life right to the end; people who will remember him for decades to come.  Ed spent his last morning on earth holding his daughter's hand and enjoying photos of those people.

When we hold hands with family we touch both our past and our future.  Ed's grandparents lived through the Civil War.  His great-grandparents shared the earth with Beethoven.  His great-grandchildren might watch the first humans walk on Mars.  Our story was begun by those who came before us, and it will be continued by those who come after.  I hope one day we'll have the chance to meet up with Ed again; talk about those old stories and catch each other up on the new ones.

For all of us who grieve today, perhaps we'll be comforted by the words of Doctor Seuss:  "don’t be sad because it's over.  Be glad because it happened."