From
the Other Side of the Desk:
A good friend, a good man, and he had a way about him
By Jon Peters
Athens NEWS Columnist
Thursday, June 7th, 2007
Well,
I hadn't planned to write this week, but I also hadn't
planned for one of my friends to pass away last weekend.
So,
here I sit, staring at a blank screen, searching for small
truths and trying to wrestle words to paper. Maybe I should
have listened: A fellow writer once told me that it's impossible
to characterize someone's life in a few hundred words,
that it's impossible to do it fairly.
I
remember agreeing at the time, tipping my pen to the master,
so to speak. It is impossible. But now, at the intersection
of practice and principle, I'm happy to abandon that principle.
I owe my best effort to my late friend, no matter how miserably
I may fail, no matter how short I may fall.
He
was chatty.
He
was tireless.
He
was generous.
He
was stubborn.
He
was Jon Sparhawk, 57.
He
died unexpectedly Saturday morning, survived by four children
and his wife, Jean. Most widely known as the owner of Toscano's
and the Oak Room Bar and Grill, located on Station Street
in Athens, Jon had a way about him.
Especially
when he worked the room at his restaurants.
"She's
much prettier than the girl you brought in the other day," he
used to tell me, grinning at my then-girlfriend, knowing
full well that we'd been dating for two years.
My
best line of defense?
"That's
weird, because I don't remember having another girl with
me. You know, though, I do remember Ohio State losing the
other day. You catch the game?"
End
of discussion.
Dad
says I knew Jon my whole life, ever since he served Mom
her first non-hospital meal after having me. Obviously,
I don't remember. I'll take Dad's word for it. What I do
remember, and what means most to me, is how that man treated
me in high school and in college.
He
followed my hockey career, familiarized himself with my
stats from newspaper reports, and caught as many games
as his schedule would permit. Mind you, Jon wasn't much
of a hockey fan. He preferred (any day of the week) to
devote his time and talents to baseball or football, both
spectating and coaching. In fact, I'm pretty sure he once
told me that a hockey puck was a waste of good rubber,
otherwise available to make catcher pads.
Meanwhile,
he maintained a frenetic schedule, with family activities,
board meetings, charity events and his restaurants taking
center stage, where no work was too menial or too pedestrian.
He coached. He coordinated. He cleaned. He cooked. He catered.
And he did so with an unflagging work ethic.
Last
year, Jon asked me to develop for him a media strategy
that would drive more Web traffic to Dine Across America,
an Internet alliance he founded to promote independent
restaurants across the country.
"Come
in tomorrow morning, to the Oak Room," he says. "We'll
work out the details."
"Tomorrow
morning...what time?" I respond.
He
smiles.
"I'll
be getting there around 7:30 a.m. How 'bout you meet me
then?"
"I
haven't gotten up before 8 a.m. since high school," I
say, inflecting an edge of incredulity. "And my earliest
class is at noon."
"Great,
see you at 7:30 a.m."
(Yes,
he was stubborn.)
At
any rate, the next morning, disheveled and disoriented,
resembling Bill Murray in "Caddyshack," I found
myself slumped across an Oak Room barstool, pouring over
marketing stuff with Jon. At 7:30 a.m.
As
I said, he had a way about him.
We
wrapped up business within the hour, and our conversation
moved from marketing to politics, from politics to journalism.
He mentioned that commentators (guys like me) should steer
clear of straight-news reporting and that journalism should
concern itself with news of substance rather than substance
matter, i.e., sensationalistic pabulum.
"Want
a beer?" he asks, filling his own glass with Pepsi.
Grinning,
I decline and ask for water, certain that beer at 9 a.m.
would cut tracks straight to Alcoholics Anonymous.
Looking
back, I realize that I found in Jon a good friend who talked
and who listened. I found in Jon a good man who cared.
He had a way about him.
He
was chatty.
He
was tireless.
He
was generous.
He
was stubborn.
He
was Jon Sparhawk, 57.
Editor's
note: Peters can be reached at jp376302@ohio.edu
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