Eulogy for a Friend in 823 Words

Besides loving every person and dog he ever met, my dear friend John Santa did a number of amazing things in his life. He loved his life. He was dedicated to his friends, family, and dogs. He was accomplished in numerous areas from music to helping others. He dedicated his life to those around him, and we are all richer for having known him. This is my tribute to my dear friend.

First and probably foremost, he was one of the most amazing musicians I ever met. He could play over a dozen instruments, mostly stringed ones, and not just in a “sort of” kind of way, the way I “sort of” play the keyboard. Believe me, my talents are not geared in that direction at all.

No, John was a master of music. He could almost hypnotize you with the melodies he could play just “messing around.” It was almost as if the emotion he was feeling at the time was spreading from his mind to his hand to the strings of his instrument. Many times, I would just watch him as he played, and his eyes would be squeezed shut as the sound bathed him. It truly was as if he were being cleansed, as if all the heartache and trouble of life was being washed away, at least for the moment.

Besides being a founding member of the bluegrass group they named EightTwentyThree for reasons I no longer remember, he wrote many songs that could grab your soul and not let it go. After all, if he could “mess around” and compose a haunting tune, writing music when he was really trying could produce songs that could leave you in awe.

He made his music count for something beyond himself as well. He co-founded the Marathon Jam, which truly was a marathon. Musicians would gather and play, with little rest, for twelve hours. Several dozen musicians would gather for these, and my wife and I even hosted one that took place at her mother’s horse farm, where my late mother-in-law, who was close to ninety at the time, was thrilled by the music we made. (Be sure to say hi to Jane for us all, John.) The donations that flowed in for Marathon Jam were donated to organizations that helped injured veterans and first responders. John knew where his freedom came from and always honored those to whom we owed that debt.

Music made him almost as happy as his beloved English Setters did. Each one always had a name that came from the world of music, and he wouldn’t name them until he got to know them. Each was just his latest pup until they told him their names. He always had two, so each would have another to play with since dogs also need their own kind to be complete. I grieve for the two living dogs he left behind. They likely miss him even more than we do.

John was also a writer. His work, Bluegrass Is My Second Language, tells the story of his life as a bluegrass musician and singer. I bought a copy and read it within a month of meeting John. I was, at the time, a wannabe author. John and I talked about that more than once, and he told me, “Stop being afraid that what you write won’t be good enough. Just sit down and do it.” That advice stuck with me over the years, and finally, I took it. I’m happy to say that I am now a successful author myself, having written and published a dozen successful books in the last seven years, and a lot of their reason for being can be traced back to John, who was a “don’t just talk about it – do it!” kind of person.

One of those novels, Canaries’ Song, quotes a few lines from a poem I wrote, which was later published itself. The quote goes like this.

I thought of how we know we have souls

because we hear music

so beautiful

they burn our eyes

and break our hearts

and make us believe in

perfect.

I will now confess that I was thinking of John when I wrote that part of the poem, and how he had once played a song so hauntingly beautiful on his cello that it brought tears to my eyes. That was John: sit back, relax, and listen until you feel your soul reaching for a touch of eternity.

In closing, my wife’s family has a traditional toast we say each time we toast anything: “To those who are at sea.” The meaning goes beyond merely sailors. It is a toast to everyone who could not be there for whatever the occasion was, regardless of the reason for their absence, including their passing on from this life to what lies beyond. So let us raise a symbolic glass and say, “To those who are at sea.”