Craig Jolley

Posted on: Feb 26, 2024 at 8:01 AM

Happy and blessed Birthday Craig, please enjoy your day and welcome to 77!!

Posted on: Feb 26, 2024 at 1:33 AM

Linda and I met early in our senior year. I didn't work on the yearbook, but a lot of my friends did including Linda.  I sometimes hung around the Echo offices after school on the pretense of helping out, though I mainly just got in the way.  As a premier art student, mainly as a painter she became a favorite of Mr. Kowallis the art teacher.  He also influenced her to look into the LDS Church which she did, formally joining later in the year.  She felt a huge debt to Mr. Kowallis. She was chosen yearbook art editor a position she more than fulfilled but believed she could have performed better.  Her front cover budget was limited after the Class of '64 went into debt with their gold cover.  As a student Linda got straight A's in every subject except world history, senior year.   I mean it was a cinch class—even I got an A.  Not sure what happened, but Linda knew she'd aced it, wasn't devastated about getting an undeserved B.  Halfway through the year she suffered through a date with me that unaccountably ended in a goodnight kiss.  Years later we laughed about the occasion.  She claimed she enjoyed herself (including the kiss) but confirmed there was another guy in the equation.

We started hanging out more in college, first at BYU, then Utah U. in Salt Lake where I transferred and Linda worked as an interior designer after early graduation. I should say even though she was extra pretty there was never any romance between us.  For one thing she only felt comfortable dating tall guys.  For a while she was with the star center of the basketball team who stood around 6-10.  I sort of thought of her as my older sister who only wanted the best for me.  She knew I was socially challenged so she would line up blind dates for me with her friends, always winners, and one of whom I fell for head over heels, the best girl I met in college.

We were opposite in most ways.  Linda was organized, thorough, saw every project through to its conclusion.  Her houses were always in impeccable condition inside and out, as were her cars and her personal appearance.  Anything she did was worth excelling at.  Yeah, she was something of a perfectionist, but not compulsive—that was just Linda.  None of the above applies to me. Our liberal politics did generally coincide though we differed on how social progress should happen.    

I've always been a miserable dancer with one exception—with Linda as my partner.  No idea how she did it, but right after she slid into place we were on air.  She knew exactly how to follow (more like subtly correct) a guy who didn't know what he was doing.

Humor was always in the cards. Linda laughed at my jokes whether or not they were funny, the same for other friends.  Never artificial.  Instead she laughed as part of her own welcoming personality. I can easily summon up her hearty, warm, loving sound.  Sometimes she'd escalate to whoops in company with her best friend Kate McNally (Linda called her Kathy Kate to Kate's delight.) after they'd contrive some craziness. She especially loved to lightly poke fun at social icons or break rules she considered obsolete or petty.  She invariably looked at the B side of any discussion or social situation.  We were laughing about the problems of love in the dorms (before the days of coed apartments), how a parade of guys would be seen streaming from the Utah girls' dorm on Sunday mornings, girls coming out of the boys' buildings in overcoats. So of course Linda insisted I sneak her into my room.  Besides the sense of naughtiness (actually nobody really cared except absent parents) I think she wanted to witness my outlandish jazz record collection.  The novelty wore off in a few minutes, and on our way out she met Montana, the nice-guy cowboy who lived in the next room.  He was floored.

We stayed in touch off and on over the years, mostly through emails and phone calls, typically long-winded, sometimes three-sided with Kate.  She often flattered me though she knew I'd see through her.  Linda and Kate came to the 20th and 25th class reunions but none after that as I recall. Communication tailed off late in Linda's life after Parkinson's took over.

She joined a reading club, mainly classic novels.  I usually knew enough about the monthly selection to at least place it historically.  Sometimes I'd check the book out of the library and skim it so we could carry on for more than a sentence or two. That's what I meant to do with George Eliot's Middlemarch, but the book was so well conceived and written I ended up reading it, and we enthusiastically analyzed it.  I got the idea Linda could see parallels between herself and the diligent, strong-willed but gentle main character.

Linda told me she mainly allowed her artistic side to lie dormant, but one year she created a Christmas card for me, hand drawn in colored ink. I was knocked out by the artistry—it belonged in a gallery.  I kept it a few years, but thinking about her typical reluctance to draw off attention I imagined she hadn't shown it to her family before mailing it so I sent it back to where it deserved to live.

She taught school in Washington, Utah, first as an elementary school teacher, then as a guidance counselor.  One of the other teachers was also named Linda so at school she went by Lina, later abbreviated to Lia, personal nicknames she hoped I'd call her.  I suggested the next incarnation should be La which amused her.  I was also pleased when Linda overcame her modesty to inform me she'd received an award as one of the best elementary school teachers in Utah.  At optional retirement age she considered continuing her counseling career, but her parents increasingly required Linda's time. Part-time help could have been hired, but Linda believed only she should be there.

Kate's nephew was receiving First Communion so the three of us signed up to spend the weekend in Las Vegas.  The highlight was an all-in dinner party at the home of Kate's sister.  I don't remember anything that stood out from the occasion besides, as always, how great Linda and Kate looked and sounded.  Linda did seem a bit reserved.  That was the last time Linda and I met, around 2012.

Linda valued her privacy extremely, mostly I think as an extension of her humility. She probably would not have approved of this piece, but hopefully helping friends who loved her close the circle compensates to a degree.

One Saturday I showed up at John S. Park for some hoops, summer after 7^th grade.  Some skilled players, fairly serious intent.  Defense was mainly staying front of your man, keeping him off the boards.  Kenyon Moss, Chris Kelly, Bill Griffiths, Darryl Spencer, Grant Cox, Jim Gubler may have played.   Don't think the 8½' baskets were up yet, but either way we played on the 10' court, blacktop. Half court, 4 on 4.  I've never been much of a shooter, but my shots went in that day.

20 minutes in Fred Kennedy rides across the grass from the Sweeney Street gate, clearly not there for basketball, happy to stay on his bike--don't think it was a chopper, maybe a child's bike with long handlebars, small wheels, controllability at 1 or 2 mph.  At first Fred stays on the grass but gradually starts cutting across corners near half court, occasionally bobbing in in front of a player (but never near the ball), taunting Jim Gubler.  "Hook shot, Gubie, hook shot." "Hey, Gubie, why don't you pass it for once."  Eddie Haskell without overtones.  He observes the difference between joking around and interfering with the game.  Everybody but me knows Fred so the game goes on without incident or even much notice of him.  Gubie is capable of dishing it out but thick-skinned. Even a mild reply would have broken the comradery. 

Not sure it was Brad, but I think I saw him at one of the reunions.  He looked more like an average guy than the imposing youth I remembered.