Two Lives Well Lived
On Good Friday, the world lost two of the most amazing men that I ever knew. One was Cessnock born and bred golfing legend Jack Newton, and the other was my Uncle Keith. They both seemingly lived such different lives but so similar in the things that matter in the end.
Jack Newton's sporting achievements have been widely commented on since his passing. I didn't know Jack when he played golf at an elite level - playing shot for shot with the best golfers in the world. I do, however, remember the news reports of Jack's accident. I was only a kid when this giant of a man, one of the best golfers the country has ever produced, was struck by the propellor of a small plane. He sustained life-threatening injuries, including losing an arm, an eye, and massive abdominal trauma.
Jack spent months in intensive care. Son and daughter, Clint and Kristie, were both under five at the time. Despite mixed feelings from others about how the kids would cope with seeing their father's injuries, after some time had passed, Jackie took the kids in to see him, and they barely noticed all the hospital equipment; it was just their dad. Jackie knew instinctively that it was the thing he needed to make him fight. His family was then and always remained his reason to live. Jackie knew this because they were a team. They remain one of the few examples I have of solid and enduring love.
I grew up having no relationship with my own father; thankfully, my mother was more parent than anyone could have asked for and more than I deserved at times. She made sure the males in my life were the examples I needed them to be. Three of my great uncles stepped into that role, but I always had a special place in my heart for Uncle Keith. He was kind, funny and overflowing with integrity. He spent almost 65 years married to my Aunty Nancy. They were my other example of enduring love.
He was a sensational storyteller, a trait that came from that side of the family. He was a mechanic by trade, a qualification he got by mail, as you did in the 1940s. He once told me that you wouldn't have been much of a farmhand if you couldn't fix things yourself, and you'd be waiting a while if someone else had to do it. He qualified in record time and got top marks on his exams. Only missing a perfect score by half a point. The man could fix anything he put his hands on. He also played a mean harmonica. He gave one to the kid when she was three and would occasionally wake up to what sounded like an Alabama prison cell in her room, and it always made me smile.
Both these men lived a life of service. Jack's dedication to the game he loved continued, and he changed the pipeline of how young people, young women particularly, make their way into the sport. My Uncle spent years as president of the Lions Club, and for years he and my Aunty delivered meals on wheels to people in their small hometown, often people years younger than themselves. He was big on letting those he loved make their own decisions, but he was always the soft place to fall and the person you would seek out first for advice. Of course, the most important thing to both these remarkable men was family.
The world felt a little bit darker this Good Friday morning, and why wouldn't it? Two giant personalities likely eclipsed the sun on the way to their final destination. How lucky I was to have shared part of their time on earth.
%20(6%20sec)_gif.gif)
