A novelist I was listening to on the radio the other day spoke about how difficult it is to portray goodness effectively in fiction. Evil, she said, tends to manifest itself in dramatic strokes, but goodness is usually more subtle, and reveals itself more gently. I thought about this today, because throughout the day, I’ve exchanged e-mails with former classmates who knew our friend Gerard Faucheux, who died along with his parents in a car accident near New Orleans yesterday. If you didn’t read the earlier post I put up about Gerard, you will have missed the news that he was taking his elderly parents home from the doctor, and that he had taken vacation time to look after them. That was Gerard.
It’s common for people to canonize the dead upon their passing, remembering only the good things, and none of the bad. It’s a charitable, decent impulse. The thing about Gerard, though, was that his life needed no posthumous editing. As I mentioned to one friend in an e-mail today, Gerard had no enemies. He had a kind word for most people, and those he didn’t care for, he declined to speak ill of. A., a friend, with whom I corresponded mentioned that he himself was filled with regret over how mean he was to various kids in our school — a feeling I share. How easily I forgot in those days what it was like to have been the victim of bullying and meanness in my old school, and how easily I joined in to snide, heartless mockery of others.
That wasn’t Gerard’s way. He was good, but he wasn’t a goody-goody. He never preened, or judged, or chastised. He was funny and kind and witty, but somehow never participated when the rest of us were making fun of some poor soul. Gerard was a rock. As another friend, put it today, “We gave him far too many reasons to show stress in that calm demeanor, and he never took the bait.”
I mentioned in an e-mail to A. that I had come late to sorrow and repentance over the way I treated people when I was younger — and not just in high school. Early in my career, I prided myself on writing sharp put-downs in my reviews and opinion pieces. I had been a huge admirer of the brilliantly cynical Spy magazine in my formative years, and I tried to model my own writing on the scalding satirical pieces there. At some point, probably around the time I started having kids, I lost interest in that sort of thing. There wasn’t a big turning point in my life; I just got tired of being that guy. A journalist I know once said that “you get to the stage of your life when you just want to go to the party and be nice to people.” I think that’s what happened to me. It was no real moral victory or anything; it was just a weariness curdled to disgust with that brittle, heartless cleverness I used to prize.
Gerard never had to grow up like our friend A. and I did. He always was a good guy, and not just a good guy, but a man with a heart of gold. He really was. He was the kind of man who made you want to be a better person, just from having been around him. I wish I had had the sense back in high school to recognize what a gift his example was. A. wrote tonight to tell a story about Gerard’s “moral grace,” and the way Gerard’s patience and kindness changed his life by opening up a world of musicianship to him. I bet a lot of people will be telling those stories in the next few days.
Today I thought about the last time I saw him. He was in Dallas on business, and he came to dinner. We hadn’t seen each other in a long time. He told me about his wife Kathy, and showed us pictures of his kids. He talked a lot about his music, and about his life in Mississippi. Gerard was a quiet man, and that night he spoke so modestly about his blessings and his accomplishments, but I was sitting there thinking, Man, you’ve got it all. You’ve got the life everybody dreams of having. He wasn’t rich or famous, but he had a wife who adored him, and four great kids. He had his family, he had his faith, he had his music, and as far as I could tell, he was at peace with the world. Here’s the thing: he always was. My wife was telling me tonight that getting to know Gerard at dinner that night was a memorable experience for her. She said, “There was no ego there. He just reflected goodness. It was the strangest thing. He was just sitting there, making normal conversation, but it was so clear that he had a pure heart. It was really something to encounter. He made you want to be good.”
He made you want to be good. That’s the story of Gerard Faucheux’s life, right there.
Beliefnet
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posted February 11, 2010 at 9:53 pm
Thanks for this column, Rod. My father is like this guy. It used to make me jealous that some people don’t have to struggle as hard as I do to be kind and compassionate, and then I realized that those people are God’s grace to the rest of us.
posted February 11, 2010 at 9:57 pm
A lovely memoriam for a friend.
posted February 11, 2010 at 10:03 pm
Thanks for the eloquent description of Gerard, Rod. When he and Kathy lived in Jonesboro for a few years, he was choir director at St. Lucy and helped influence my 4 to attend LSMSA. Though we hated to see them leave, they went to land and a life they loved in Mississippi closer to his folks, returning to visit Kathy’s parents and our parish church when they could. It was a treat following the development of his composing and recording talent, the joy of his growing family and pride in Kathy’s work. Such gentle influence in such a short span. As our former pastor said of Gerard, “GIVE THEM ETERNAL HAPPINESS. GERARD, WE ENVY YOU THE CELESTIAL SONGS AND MELODIES.”
posted February 12, 2010 at 12:40 am
A very nice remembrance Rod. I’ve known a few souls like him in my life and have been immeasurably enriched by them. There aren’t many who God blesses from an early age like this, but they are to be treasured. And I’m sorry for the loss.
posted February 12, 2010 at 1:29 am
Thanks for sharing this Rod. Gerard was indeed a good man, who brought out the goodness in others.
posted February 12, 2010 at 1:58 am
Anytime I was near him during high school my whole attitude changed. It wasn’t intimidation, awe, or any tangible thing. It was as if his presence just kind of reached out and touched you.
Kathy seemed to walk under that spell all the time…but I think she cast the same spell upon him. They were absolutely perfect for each other.
posted February 12, 2010 at 7:47 am
I’m from Grandpoint (Gerard’s hometown) and am a distant cousin. His dad is my dad’s parrain (aka Godfather), so I spent lots of time at Gerard’s house as a child. I am almost a decade younger than him…and, like you explained, I did admire his example. He was my inspiration to go to LSMSA, when I was an awkward 9 year old and he was telling me how wonderful an experience Louisiana School was. As an adult, when hurricane Gustav hit and I tuckered down in my unairconditioned home, 7 months pregnant, in preterm labor, and blocked in by a tree, Gerard, who hadn’t seen me in two decades (though we had reconnected on-line) made arrangements to get me air conditioning and transportation to the hospital and food. Fortunately, I ended up not needing his arrangments, but that’s the kind of person he is. I say is, not was, because this a case where he will really live on my heart.
posted February 12, 2010 at 8:15 am
Gerard was a good guy. He was always one of those guys who you could get into a conversation with even if you didn’t know him very well. And his sense of humor could be infectious.
I remember about ten years ago in New Orleans when I first ran into him again after LSMSA. I was attending a one day Oracle seminar at the Hilton downtown in New Orleans when we literally ran into each other in the seminar’s sign-in line. We ended up catching up what had been happening in our lives since LSMSA during the too few breaks of the day. But I could tell that he had reached the right place in his life with his career and Kathy & the family. He was definitely happy.
We should all be lucky enough to be able to achieve that in our lives.
posted February 12, 2010 at 8:31 am
Rod,
I seem to remember your wife making a similar comment about the food at a fine Dallas restaurant you ate at — something like “This kind of food makes you want to be a good person.”
It’s so important to have people, places, foods, wines, etc. that make us want to be good people — I need constant reminding in my own life.
In short, I love your wife’s humble, refreshing approach to being a good person (which I have no doubt she is). Knowing there are such consciously good (or struggling-to-be-good or inspired-to-be-good) people helps or own struggles and inspires us in its own way.
Thanks for that reminder and for your wonderful reflections on your friend.
posted February 12, 2010 at 8:43 am
M. Morgan, you’re right, she did say that. I think what that shows is a realization that we are often given examples of deep goodness as a theophany — that is, as a flash of revelation to which one responds instinctively by wanting to establish communion with the goodness revealed. That is, it’s an emotional reaction, not a strictly cognitive one — but no less real for that. It is, in other words, a point of conversion. I had it myself when I first saw the Chartres Cathedral: I wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, but I knew that I wanted to be united to the spirit that built that cathedral.
posted February 12, 2010 at 9:58 am
I am so sorry for your loss Rod and for Gerard’s family and friends. Is anyone collecting donations for the family?
posted February 12, 2010 at 10:27 am
Thanks for the response, Rod. Have you read Elaine Scarrey’s “On Beauty and Being Just”? Now that you mention Chartres, I’m reminded of Scarrey’s essay, which posits that coming into contact with something beautiful enlivens our sense of justice. Maybe coming into contact with that food, Gerard, Chartres, etc. is some personal form of that.
posted February 12, 2010 at 10:44 am
A moving tribute to your friend, Rod. What I see is a portrait of a man who lived in freedom, the moral and spiritual freedom promised in the gospels – freedom from pride and the burden it lays on our lives.
posted February 12, 2010 at 11:27 am
The death of someone you value is always to your detriment. All rational people who feel it or see it felt by another man treat it with proper respect.
The artistic portrayal of goodness is an unrelated abstract matter. If goodness is described in terms of non-evil, then it makes perfect sense for one to have a rough time fictionalizing it. A moral code that upholds humility, self-sacrifice, and faith is defining virtue as the absence of pride, justice, and reason. On the other hand, pride, justice, and reason come from positive effort not their negation. A proper fictional hero reflects those facts.
posted February 12, 2010 at 11:44 am
Your loss was clearly everyone’s loss, and you said very well of it. I’m so sorry.
posted February 12, 2010 at 11:47 am
There is an account being set up today for his wife and kids. I’m sure that it will be made public soon. The ripples of this man’s life will not fade quickly.
posted February 12, 2010 at 11:58 am
You’ve captured Gerard’s essence perfectly. And I think that’s why his death is so particularly painful because we know how irreplaceable he is. Everyone he ever met feels loss right now. So few people could have such an effect. God bless Kathy and their children.
posted February 12, 2010 at 12:59 pm
Well said, Rod, and true.
posted February 12, 2010 at 1:02 pm
Haven’t agreed so wholeheartedly with a column of yours since your film critic days, Rod. You described the essence of Gerard’s goodness perfectly.
posted February 12, 2010 at 6:01 pm
Gerard was my cousin, his father my parrain. His passing has left such a huge hole in our hearts, especially because he leaves behind his children and wife Kathy. I have so many good childhood memories of days in Grandpoint and many of them involved Gerard. He picked and teased like a brother and always made me laugh. I taught me to say “Who Dat”, taught me how to play my first song on keyboard, and taught me not to grow up too fast. I was lucky enough to keep up with him through Facebook this past year. I looked forward to his jokes and witty comments, such as “is there a game on tonight?” during the Superbowl. I will miss his photographs;fossils found in the creak near his house, his favorite sinful foods, and the stages of a melting snowman. I will miss is infectious smile, his warm hug that greeted me at the door, and his guitar playing after holiday meals. He was devoted to my Uncle Nel during his illness, as were his brother and sister. It seems so unfair to take such a kind, loving person, but I take comfort knowing that he loved and was loved by so many. Thank you Rod for such a touching tribute to him.
posted February 12, 2010 at 9:49 pm
Your article rings so true. Gerard was the kindest most unselfish person I had the honor of knowing and growing up with. I am his cousin and spent many a day and night at Uncle Nelson’s and Aunt Shirley’s (My Nanan) house. Even though I was younger and the (tag along) he would bring me with him with the ‘big boys’ and play, swim, hunt and camp. I got some of my first comic books from him and learned to play Atari games at his house. Gerard will be missed as he touched so many with his love and grace.
posted February 13, 2010 at 2:26 am
Rod, thanks for writing this. You captured his spirit perfectly. And thanks to A, who inspired some of your thoughts. Couldn’t agree more. Gerard was a heck of guy. Michele and I bought one of his CDs a couple of years ago. He did have it all. Lenny
posted February 13, 2010 at 4:47 am
Thank you, Rod, for writing the words that I couldn’t quite find earlier. I was trying to describe Gerard to a friend of mine and I finally ended up with “Well, you just liked him because he was likable.” And that’s what it was. There was no one specific personality trait that jumped out at you and you could put your finger on it. He was an all-around nice guy. He made you feel at ease. His smile was comforting. The memory of it still is. I just know he’s smiling down on us right now and he will be till we meet again.
On a side note, Rod…I too carried a lot of guilt in my heart for many, many years over the way I treated certain people during our high school years. Oddly enough, I have established a friendly relationship with the main butt of many of my cruel, childish jokes – I’m sure you can figure this one out – and two things have come about from that. First, a huge weight has been lifted from my conscience. More importantly, I have made a new friend and I have found that he is really not so different than any of the rest of us. Unique, yes, but still just humans trying to make it one day at a time.
posted February 13, 2010 at 1:33 pm
Rod, I am Roddy’s brother Romie. Thanks for all the kind words. Your tribute really captured the essence of who Gerard was to his friends and family. This is a poem I wrote for him today:
On our backs in a bed of clover,
Sharing dreams as the day was over,
Staring at the stars so bright,
Imagining being on man’s first flight.
Talking and dreaming, about our life,
Joking a little about a girl or wife.
Laughing about the jokes we play
On Mom, Dad and Lisa each day.
If only we knew how much that meant,
For our time is precious but well spent.
No words can tell how much I care,
Always in my heart the life we had to share.
You shared your gifts, love and all,
To anyone, stranger, friend, big or small.
A man most men will never be,
Roddy, you were role model and dear friend to me.
Your family to you meant the most,
Your love was dear for your heavenly host.
May God love us all like you my brother,
And take care of our Dad and Mother.
Your journey here is now over,
But I’ll lay down one day in a bed of clover,
Look back to the day we lay side by side,
And wait for your hand for my heavenly guide.
I’ll miss you here but look for the day
We’ll be back together again to laugh and play.
Your big brother, Romie.