by
Rich Gottlieb
My father didn’t have a pious
bone in his body, although he did read the New York Times religiously. You won’t
be getting any men of the cloth today although I, like my dad, am a man of the
paper. So, whether you’re relieved or distressed that God will not be directly
involved today, be assured that kindness and hope underlie who we are as a
family. Your being here today reflects the kindness and hope that guides all of
us in the Gottlieb Family. We are grateful to those who are present today; those
not present, whose thoughts have been with us; and those many good people who
have touched my parents’ lives, but, like dad, no longer walk upon this earth.
Bill
Gottlieb was a very lucky man. He was a very, very lucky man. He created some of
that luck because he was highly intelligent, extremely creative, determined, and
resourceful, but he also married that luck. Dad has been called many things by
many people. Some of these things have been extremely flattering and some have
not. Mom, on the other hand, has been consistently referred to as a saint, a
dynamo, and one of the most considerate people one could ever have the good
fortune to meet. Not to take away from the great man, but I know that there
would be fewer of you here today and we wouldn’t all be as happy without the
presence of this strong, magical, wonderful woman. Delia Gottlieb may not have
much in the Library of Congress the way pop does, but that’s only because they
haven’t figured out how to bottle what she’s got.
I said he was a lucky man, but as
a boy his luck was a little more uneven. He got pneumonia as a baby in Brooklyn
during the Influenza Pandemic of 1918 that wiped out millions of people
throughout the world, but he survived. His immigrant parents had bravely come to
this country empty-handed and made good. Bill’s dad was a pillar of his
community who showed great kindness to people less fortunate. Then, in rapid
succession, before the age of 15, he lost his mother, his father, and his
financial advantages.
Shortly before his father’s death
they did, however, take a driving vacation to the Smokey Mountains. It was
during this trip that he deepened his affinity for the mountains, which we all
inherited through many beautiful summers spent at my Mom’s father’s house in
Flatbrookville, NJ. It was also during this trip with his dad that he began
using a camera. It was a Kodak Moment that lasted a lifetime.
I bring this part of Pop’s early
history up not because I am attempting to chronicle his life, but because these
are some of the things that help me make sense of the part of my life that I
spent with him. One of the things I recall from my childhood is that dad was not
always the easiest guy to be around. He was prone to “blowing his stack,” as he
so aptly put it; he could be preoccupied with his work, which was mostly done at
home; and he expected a great deal from mom and the rest of us.
He taught me so much, and much of
what he taught me I still remember and value. I’ll never forget the time I
called him “sir” after I had begun private high school where using “sir” was
mandatory. He sat me down and I got a lecture about how much he loathed having
to call people sir. He explained to me that when he was in the army he was
forced to use “sir” with his superiors, some of whom were people not worth the
starch in their collars. “Sir” was out and questioning authority was in.
Pop loved science and shared much
of what he learned with us. Science is built on logic and the goal in many of
his endeavors was to distill things down into their most basic, logical forms.
Whether it was photography, writing, talking, or folding a map, the basic and
logical way was THE way. One of dad’s favorite subjects, and mine as well, was
history and, as illogical as the world may appear today, dad would show me how
patterns have continued unbroken since life began on this planet. I was taught
to look hard, to look back, and to think ahead.
Dad never seemed to place a lot
of importance on wealth. To him, money was only a byproduct of what he did. It
was to be used as a tool and wasn’t to be thought of as symbolic of anything of
real value. A fancy meal was OK, but burnt toast was a delicacy. A Jaguar looked
OK, but a Plymouth station wagon held lots of important gear and people. There
was not a lot of pretense and pomp in his world.
He also, through example after
example, showed all of us that when you are a parent worthy of the title, you
understand that your kids are always your kids. Whether they’ve finally made it
out of the house or have made it to retirement age, be there for them.
As he grew older, he suffered
from bouts of sweetness and humor that were downright touching. My wife, Teri,
and daughter, Celia, only remember that sweetness and charm. Although Pop never
drank, he figured out how to age himself well, smooth the edges, and remain
full-bodied. This is how I will remember him: as a classic vintage from a golden
age.
The legendary reputation of
William Gottlieb, jazz photographer, will continue, but that is not why many of
us are here. We are here because Bill Gottlieb was a good husband, a good
father, a good friend, and, most importantly, a good person. My father left a
lasting legacy for the world to savor, but he left those that knew him that and
so much more. In the end, the little things count as much as the big things.
Your father will always be your father.
A Literary Photo
Dear Dad,
I was walking
through the field next door with the dog, feeling the chill of dawn, when a
flock of crows and then a flock of geese flew low overhead going in the
direction the cliffs. This got my attention and instead of just walking
mindlessly I started to become acutely aware of what was going on around me. I
turned around and in the east there was, in the top of the frame, a thin
luminous blanket of cream colored clouds. The lower part of the frame contained
opaque gray clouds that also defined the right hand border. In the middle of
this, framed by these two banks of clouds, was an oval window containing nothing
but a deep blue color that was there, and there alone. The movement of the lower
clouds was quickly closing down the aperture until the blue was gone and sunrise
was over. I wanted to hold on to how I felt during those precious moments but
alas was unable. The experience created an instant void, seeing and feeling
something so beautiful and perfect for such a short period of time. The best I
can do now is to wait until the next great moment comes my way and keep my
senses open so I don’t miss it. I forgot to mention that on this chilly morning
I was in my usual morning dog walking attire of a heavy hooded warm jacket,
sneakers, and my boxer shorts. I hope I didn’t leave anything out of this
picture I wrote for you (all true).
Love,
Rich
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