The Twinkle Is Gone

Don Meisel died and I just came back from his funeral—well, they called it a memorial service, but it’s the same thing—and I’m sad.

Don always had a twinkle in his eye. Even when he was being absolutely serious, talking about serious matters to serious people, you could tell the twinkle was still there in the back of his eye, just waiting for the right moment to jump out. I once asked retired ophthalmologist Malcolm McCannel if it would be possible to transplant a twinkle into someone’s eye. I mean, they transplant everything else nowadays, but he thought I’d gone temporarily mad and changed the subject so as not to embarrass me. But I remember, Edmund Gwenn, who played Kris Kringle in Miracle on 34th Street, had that same twinkle; and so did my late father-in-law, Dr. Morrie Katzoff, who was widely loved in Cedar Rapids, his hometown for 90 years, for all kinds of reasons, not the least of which was that twinkle.

There are too few people with a twinkle in their eyes. Most of us look grim or sad or angry or sleepy most of the time. So it’s more than a little depressing when one of the few twinkle owners departs from this earth, as Don Meisel did, and without even saying goodbye. He just had a heart attack in his home one day and that was that.

I’ll miss Don a lot and think about him often. But there’s another reason I’m sad today: Don’s was the fifth funeral I attended in the past six weeks. The other close friends I’ve lost include Carl Polhad, business titan, remarkable civic activist and philanthropist, a friend for many years; Pat Lund, a gentle, elegant lady who devoted her life to helping arts and cultural enterprises, organizations, and individuals in the Twin Cities, giving so generously of her time and talent and energy and money to make this a better place to live; and Lorraine Schweitzer, a lively, lovely dynamo who gave so much to our community through her endless volunteering for causes aimed at helping others. When her husband and I served in the army together in Augusta, Georgia (don’t ask), in 1954, they and we became friends, and I can’t believe it’s been 55 years. Another friend I’ve lost: Betty Joseph Greenberg, a remarkable example of the best kind of political activist, a voracious reader, a dedicated and involved citizen on so many levels, and my neighbor for longer than anyone can believe. She and her family moved into their house in 1937, and my family moved in two houses away in 1940. I moved out of my family home just months ago; Betty lived in hers until she died.