MichaelGordonTribute

Eulogy for Mike    by Joy Weinberg    delivered today at Mike's Memorial Service 

 

I met Mike in my late 20s when he answered my ad in the Village Voice looking for music buddies.  When we first spoke on the phone, he was so kind and fun and knowledgeable about music, I instinctively suggested we meet at my apartment to talk and jam—something I had never done before.

One of my female friends was horrified.  “Joy,” she said, “You don’t invite strange men to your apartment!” She insisted on my calling her when he rang the apt bell and staying on the phone with me when Mike first showed up, so I could assess the situation, tell her everything was OK—and if anything went awry, she’d know immediately and get help. 

So Mike showed up, got comfortable in my apt, and we started talking.  And talking.  And talking.  And I totally forgot about my well-meaning friend hanging on and trying to take care of me on the phone line.  Because even though I had just met Mike, he was already taking care of me –engaging me with his life stories, teaching me about music and everything that interested him, making me laugh, and simultaneously connecting with who I was and wanted to be.

Throughout the years I knew Mike, he was my vacation.  Being with him was always a much-needed reminder that the best of life is to be had when you live for your passions and enthusiasms.  I didn’t need to go abroad to relax when Mike and I were shooting the breeze nonstop about the greatest new songs we’d heard and funny things that had happened to us, and I was doing my usual countdown of how many traffic regulations Mike would break in the first 10-minutes on the road from his apartment and Mike was intent on ascertaining the precise monetary sum it would take, down to cents, for me, a long avowed fish-eating vegetarian, to consume a bacon cheeseburger. 

Now one might say that Mike was over-consumed by his passions for his own good—I can think of many a day, for example, when he was too bent on handicapping the upcoming harness races, I couldn’t get him to eat breakfast-- and there was the time he visited my home in New Paltz and insisted on driving 25 miles out of our way and back in order to place his trifecta bet at the OTB.  

But one of the beauties of Mike was that when it came to priorities, his number one was his friends.  He was always there for me, just as I know he was always there for each one of you who appreciated what a prize he was. He was a living exemplar of the best that friendship can be.

I love you, Mike, and will continue to do so ‘til the end of my days.