Today was the funeral for a neighbor of mine, Maurice "Muggsie" Westerheide. Muggsie was more than a neighbor. He was a friend, a friend I didn't get to know well enough, but as well as he would let anyone, I guess. He lived to the ripe, old age of 87 (a little over a week short of his 88th birthday).He was an independent sort-- rollerskated and rode motorcycles when he was young (his daughter said it was to meet chicks), and farmed and worked in construction for a living. He died while cutting his grass with a power push mower because his rider was in the shop. I cut his grass a couple of times, but he took pride in being able to do this himself, and we're talking about an acre and a half of grass or so. I hope I'm able to even walk that far when I'm that age. He also enjoyed riding his bike up and down the road...he was on it last about a week and a half ago.
I took him fishing a couple of times. Didn't really catch much, just talked about his life and I really enjoyed listening to his stories. He talked some about his childhood and the antics of his friends in the St. Patrick area. When I think back to some of the things he might have seen in his lifetime (1920-2008), I'm envious. Kinda reminded me of my dad -- independent, hard worker, good with his hands and building things.
Muggsie
enjoyed coming to all the neighborhood gatherings, and
was good company when we would just meet at the mailbox and chat. These two pictures of him were taken at my Army retirement party in '06.I still find myself looking over to his house every once in a while to see if he's out. Muggsie Westerheide is a pretty good example of what Dylan Thomas had in mind when he wrote these words:
“Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
Hooah
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