When I was editor-publisher of The Winthrop News in the '80s, I would often write about a close friend's death. It would often trigger a rush of emotions, from me, from family of the deceased. I didn't write such columns often, but enough to try and bring some sense to death, to the inevitable end we all face. To try and make some meaning of life.
When I was young, I wanted to save the world. Today, I just want to save myself, save my soul. That's difficult enough. And part of saving one's soul, I believe, is to reflect. Search deep. Find some meaning to the madness. Maybe through it all, you'll manage to save your soul, and maybe one or two others along the way.
But some deaths are so much more difficult. When my dad died at 93, he was still sharp, still thinking, still talking politics and baseball. Puddy had become a close friend. And I wasn't yet ready to let him go, so despite his age and a body that failed him, he had much more to give. When my mom died a few years later, her mind had left. Karen's was no life to live. So we were ready to let go of mom.
Losing the first high school classmate, well that's something much different. From the Winthrop High School Class of 1975, all 54 of us were still around...until Oct. 31, 2014. Josef M. Yonkovich of Outing, MN, had battled cancer too long. It was time.
(Right, left to right: Joe Yonkovich, Mark Trebelhorn, me. These guys showed for my dad's funeral. Mark and I made it to Joe's.)I always described Joe the same way: "He had the brightest smile and an even better hug." I had known Joe in many ways, like playing ping pong in the basement of the Yonkovich home on Hwy. 15 just north of Lafayette and shooting baskets in the loft of his barn, usually with his Lafayette area neighbor, Jim Youngblom. We were golf teammates. Joe had this beautiful swing, which contrasted harshly with my baseball grip.
But while I found success on the high school basketball court and golf course, Joe never really found himself during those times. He had not yet grown to his 6-5 frame, and he was living in the shadows of two older brothers, long gone from the Yonkovich home. I journeyed on my first cross country venture with Joe, visiting his brother Gene and wife Janice in Phoenix, Ariz. when we were just 16.
Joe and I flew to Phoenix together, met up with Gene and Janice who had been hosting Big John Yonkovich, Joe and Gene's rough-around-the-edges father. The three of us turned around and drove a car back to Minnesota and, at 16, learned a new vocabulary. Big John had those massive hands of a farmer and a temper to match. Joe told me the story of Big John tossing a pitchfork into the side of a disrespectful Holstein. I wouldn't have been a very good farmer.
I don't think Joe liked it all that well either, at least not as much as Big John. And when Joe left the family farm behind and headed into the Twin Cities, my visits with him slowed. But the annual treks by Joe down to Winthrop's annual alumni basketball tournament were treasured.
Joe had the dubious distinction of being one of only a couple basketball players ever cut from the WHS program. Increasing participant numbers among boys in the '70s, the advent of girls basketball, and the lack of facilities at old WHS prompted Coach Lyle Muth to reduce his squad. Coach told me many times since then that it was one of his deepest regrets in coaching. In those soon to be discovered alumni tournaments, Joe proved Coach Muth wrong about the cut, right about the regret.
Joe Yonkovich turned into one very fine basketball player. His shooting touch along the baseline was a treat to watch. He had this odd little kick of both legs when he shot his two-handed jumper, ball just a bit above his head. As a teammate, he was great. As a friend, he was unrivaled.
It can sometimes be sad when time and distance pulls friends away. But with Joe, he had found himself. He seemed to enjoy the Twin Cities, found meaningful work with Medtronic and later Boston Scientific. But mainly, he found Susan Olson. They married on May 23, 1997 in Brainerd. The couple had one daughter, Sydonia, still a junior in high school. And Joe embraced three step-children.Joe also rediscovered the outdoors and loved it. His obituary made that clear: "He enjoyed fishing, four-wheeling, boating, snowmobiling and was an avid sports fan. He especially loved spending time with his family."
I had only met Susan once before the funeral, that years earlier at one of those alumni basketball tournaments. When I hugged her after the funeral, I didn't want to let go. I tried to tell her just how much Joe meant to me, how special he was to my wife, Kim, how my kids remembered how fondly I spoke of him. But the tears returned. So I hugged a bit more.
I hugged like Joe would hug me. With that brightest of smiles and the deepest sincerity.
But what struck me most was Susan's strength and message. She said despite the pain and suffering Joe battled these past few years, it made their marriage stronger. It gave her a deeper sense of his love and commitment to family. Without the cancer, she said, she would have never felt Joe's true spirit.
That is the message Joe leaves us all. Peace, dear friend.
