Chris Jepson: Do the Louie

I lunch every Thursday with my former boss. I love the man. He hired me in 1986 to work with him at Winter Park Memorial Hospital. A decade later, in my capacity as executive director of Habitat for Humanity of Greater Orlando, I recommended him to serve on the Habitat board of directors. A decade after that his darling wife Petie died, and we began our regular weekly luncheons. We’re closing in on 500 lunches.

It recently dawned on me that I have spent more time with this man than I did with my father as an adult. This realization saddened me, not my time spent with Louis, just that I was not more available for my father. I have few regrets — what’s the point after all — but I could have been more accessible to my father. After graduating from college we were often separated by half a continent but distance need not be an impediment to intimacy. Sigh.

In my life I have been fortunate to have had a number of exceptional older men as good friends. It was Raymond Q. Smith when I worked for the University of Missouri. He got me into beekeeping and electrifying my home myself. David Duniway, Oregon State archivist and historian, accepted (encouraged) me as an intellectual peer when I lived in Salem, Ore. Duniway was a grand, regal, dignified presence, a great mind who easily laughed. The sweetest, gentlest man imaginable.

One benefit of writing this column for the past 28 years has been the number of people who have reached out to me. One such individual was John Fisher. We lunched once a week for 17 years. The same restaurant, the same time, no confirmation calls required. We both adored Ava Gardner although Rita Hayworth was more to his taste regarding feminine beauty. Fisher was as irreverent as myself, a life-long Republican who disdained ignorance and conventionality regardless of party affiliation. Fisher inspired me to speak publicly on any topic that peaked my interest. As crisp and unique a mind as I have ever encountered.

I like old boys, the ones who fully experience their times, who embrace irony, the ones who don’t take themselves too seriously and who are capable of entertaining new perspectives.

My 30-year relationship with Louis Hughes falls into that category of friendship. And then some. Hughes is more forgiving. My sentiments are summed-up by, “The cowards never started and the weak died on the way.” Hughes counters with, “There but for the grace of God (luck?) go I.”

We both have children and talk about them. Their struggles, our concerns., our hopes. We understand the idea that often in life a parent is no happier than one’s unhappiest child.

Louis Hughes is in his 94th year. And he wants a lot more. Years. Time. A couple of months ago, we were discussing life, how delightful it is being alive, to feel, to experience, to break bread with friends, to participate in the exquisite beauty of Mother Earth, of life. Hughes said he wants more, this after being diagnosed with lung cancer at age 92. He was accepted into an experimental drug program and, today, is essentially “cured.” Hallelujah! We lunched every week during this “experience.” Hughes is a stand-up man.

Do the Louie! Live your life so fully you can taste it. That you want more and more and more . . . life. I’m making plans for his 100th birthday party.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to one and all. Indeed.