John McClure was my wife’s uncle, and he passed away the other night. He’d actually passed away a few days before, but they brought most of him back, at least for a time. EJ and I went down to be with his wife Aly as she said goodbye.

I knew John for less than a decade all told, but you only needed a minute to get his measure. John was one of the good ones. He’d give you a hand in a second, and never give you grief for having gotten yourself in trouble to start with. He was a low key guy, dependable, honest, and a lot of fun in the bargain.

John and I shared an affection for little cars with stick shifts and willing engines that seemed eager to find twisty roads to play on. He was just about a decade older than me, and we shared much the same litany of cars. Somewhere there’s a picture of John and his 240Z, the original Datsun Camaro killer. This morning I drove up from Richmond, where he and Allie lived ever since he got out of the Navy after Nam, and I left my wagon with my gal so she could help move stuff around, while I borrowed John’s “beater” 1991 Civic hatchback to head back to DC in early this morning.

Driving the Civic brought back a lot of memories for me, despite never having owned one. It echoed any number of cars I’d driven home in the early morning hours in the 80s and 90s. Stick shift, manual window crank (digging into my knee), Jensen radio with removable faceplate cranking out 80s rock, tuned exhaust blatting out its own kind of music. The manual steering surprised me after a few decades of tighter ratio powered steering. Driving this for a few months could actually build up your arms.  Been here, done this, fun to revisit it and to spend some time communing with John though his car.

As you can tell from the picture, the Civic wasn’t the last car John bought. There was at least one other civic, a dreaded four door, but at least it was an SI. That didn’t stick around too long, as I recall, because when Mini came out with the Clubman, John went out and bought himself one, and I think it may have been his favorite car of all time. He only got to drive it for about a year, but I have no doubt that it was a good year.

I’ve only driven it once, well, twice if you count both ways to the restaurant where John, Aly, EJ and I went for brunch the day I took that picture. It’s an eager little beast that handles as well as anything I’ve driven. I’d consider buying it from the family, which would keep both it and his memory alive for me, but I don’t think I’m ready to give up the Passat wagon.

The day after John passed EJ and I were down helping sort through the house, and I met some of the folks in the neighborhood that John had been friends with. John would get together with Vinnie, a young man who lived across the street and had to quit his job as a welder when he got injured, and go fix things for elderly neighbors, or do yard work for them, and then hang out in his garage with a few beers, a lot of tools and an inspired collection of pin-up pictures.

You might say John didn’t have a lot of drive, but I don’t know that you’d be right. When he was younger he drove tractor trailers over the West Virginia hills before there were interstates to take the twists out. Later on he got off the road as a trucking dispatcher. He was a steady guy, and I never heard him say a mean word about anyone.

John had a heart attack a few years ago, and he took himself in hand to get in shape. He was never especially heavy, but unlike most of us, when he decided to start working out and lose some weight he actually went out and did it. John, in many ways, was a tough act to follow.

Next week I’ll be back down in Richmond for the memorial, and then we’ll take him home to West Virginia where his mother and father are buried.

John’s survived by his wife Aly, a terrific person in her own right, and Morgan the dog, a bear of an animal that loves to play tug of war with you. Aly’s just getting started letting John go, and EJ and I will be heading down to see her pretty regularly in the months ahead. If you’re of a praying persuasion, feel free to put in a word for her, and maybe one for John as well.

The world’s a poorer place for his passing. I hate it when people I admire pass on. Not only do I miss them, but I always feel like they’re passing the torch on to the rest of us to step up and carry on the way they would have.

I’ll see what I can do about that.

Sources / Links

• John’s Memorial Service (photos)
  

• Here’s John’s Obit from the Richmond Times Dispatch