|
|
J. Asher Neel Remembered
by David Regina, McMurray, Pennsylvania
When Debbie Neel asked me to say a few words about Asher today, I immediately realized how difficult it would be for me to do that. I met Asher over 20 years ago when we both started in the cemetery business and I knew him on many different levels.
The Asher that I knew for over 20 years was, first and foremost, a loving husband and father. He was a son and a brother that any family in the world would be so proud to claim as their own. He was a loyal and true man whose business and personal relationships often resulted in deep and lasting friendships, as a lot of us here can attest to. He was a teacher and a mentor to many of us in the cemetery and funeral business. He helped and inspired so many of us over the years that I'm sure he was directly responsible for much of the suc-cess that we've enjoyed as individuals and as an industry. To attend one of Asher's sales meetings or to hear him speak at a convention was truly an experience. He was absolute magic when he was at the podium -- he taught, he motivated and he entertained. Thank goodness we have many of his talks on videotape; it's great to know that, through those tapes, he'll continue to influence and help many people for years and years to come.
As I thought back on the 20-plus years of my friendship with Asher, I kept thinking of numbers. Different numbers defined different times or events that meant something to our friendship. Let me share some of those numbers with you.
21 -- is the number of years that we met together as members of an industry management group called the Cemetery Information Alliance or, as we affectionately called it, the CIA. We always met the first weekend in February and last February was the first time in 21 years that we didn't meet together. With Asher fighting for his life, we cancelled the meeting; I guess our hearts just weren't in it.
200 -- is probably the number of times I heard Asher speak or watched one of his training videos that we all use in our sales training programs.
3,500 -- is the number of golf holes we played together.
17,500 -- is the number of times I saw him attempt to hit a golf ball over those 3,500 golf holes. According to my calculations, that breaks down into 211 Mulligans, 3,132 gimme putts and 1,948 Beefeater and tonics. God, how he loved those gin and tonics.
But the number that means the most to me is 26.2. That's the number of miles in a marathon that Asher and I ran in Pittsburgh in 1988. I had run my first marathon in 1986. Asher and I had been running together at business meetings for years and so when I decided to run again in 1988, I asked him if he would be interested in running with me in the Pittsburgh Marathon. Since he had never run more than 3 or 4 miles in his life at any one time, he didn't say "yes" immediately. But in a few days he called me back and said, "Let's do it." We both committed to a three-month, rigid training program and we probably spoke by phone every other day to rally each other and to check if we each had the same sets of aches and pains.
On May 1, 1988, we stood together at the starting line. We shook hands and he said, "I'll see you at the finish line," and we were off and running. After 15 miles we were still running side by side. At the 15 mile mark, he said to me in true motivational speaker form, "This is one of the greatest experiences of my life!!" I laughed at him and said, "Tell me that at the end of 26 miles!" Around mile 21, we were both having a difficult time of it. Your body tells you that it wants to just shut down, but your mind just won't let it. It's a real mind game and you begin to have doubts as to whether you can finish or not. For the last five miles of the race, we didn't say a word. We just ran silently, side by side, all of our energies focused on taking the next step. We finally crossed the finish line, still together, and we finished just behind the actual winner of the race -- well, we were about an hour and a half behind him, but we thought that it was close enough for us! After the finish, he turned to me and said, "Well, I was right; it was one of the greatest experience of my life!" I know now that being there with Asher that day was one of the greatest experiences of my life.
Since last fall when we first learned of Asher's illness, I don't think I've gone out to run one time without thinking of him and how courageously he was dealing with his battle with cancer. I guess I'll probably never run again without remembering him.
In closing, I'd like to tell you about a funeral service I helped out with at our cemetery about 15 years ago. It was a Masonic service for an 85-year-old man. After the service at the graveside was over and people were walking back to their cars, one old man, obviously about the same age as his deceased friend, walked back to the casket. He stood next to it and put his hand on it and very ceremoniously said, "So long, Brother, I'll see you on the other side. I hope you're there to greet me." I thought it was a wonderful way to say goodbye to a friend. Those words have stayed with me for years and as much as I tried to come up with some eloquent language to close with today, I kept coming back to that simple farewell that I heard so many years ago.
So, Asher, I can't say it any better: "So long, Brother, I'll see you at the finish line. I hope you're there to greet me."
|
|
