Michael Spohn officiating Chapel Service November 22, 2014 PHOTO: Stephan Fuelling
A eulogy for the Rev. Mike Spohn, delivered by the Rev. Michael McIntyre, June 20, 2015 (with additional comments by others)
Good morning. Thank You for being here.
SECTION A:
Mike was born on August 17, 1955, in Tacoma, Washington. He had two children: Becca, who lives in Colorado, and Mark, he’s in Germany.
Mike received his Third-Level Ordination in the ICC on October 14, 2007. Some of his accomplishments while here in Reno include the following:
- Regularly performed Services in this Chapel and the Sanctuary Churches
- Helped with mailings
- Performed in the Bell Choir for 20 years
- Red Rock resident for several years and had a hand in building pretty much everything you see out there
- Helped maintain the Chapel/Chancellery grounds
SECTION B:
Mike joined the Community in January of 1977 – Gosh, that’s almost 4 decades! He moved to Reno in 1981. Wasn’t long after being here he ran into a hurdle: He had a lot of trouble finding an apartment that would accept his oversized german shepherd. His choices left him to sleep in his Ford Galaxy 500 with his shepherd for 6 months.
He finally settled in just up the road from here, across from a park that is canopied with 30- and 40-foot trees and very busy with bird life. It wasn’t unusual for a curious crow to survey and follow him as he walked through the neighborhood from his home to mine.
Animals seemed to have a soft spot for Mike, especially cats. I can’t count the occasions when unacquainted strays would spot him and freeze, become catatonic—then suddenly burst into a gallop to greet him with head-butts or figure-eight sharking and spend the next 15 minutes doing all sorts of pleads for adoption. It was like he had splashed on cat cologne. He just understood their language. He had this gift for languages.
SECTION C:
Mike liked languages. He was fluent in German and knew a little French.
One fall evening, he’s on his way into the grocery market. I’m next to him. I ask him a question. He goes like this (puts index finger to his lips).
Ten minutes later we’re coming out of the market. I begin to chatter, and he does the same thing. We make it to the car, and we’re sitting down. I look over at him and say,
“It happened to you, didn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“First time?”
“Yeah. It’s been going on for the last 15 minutes; the whole time we’ve been here.”
“Wow. Well , can you compare it, Mike?” (pause: he starts to choke up a little bit.)
“I’ve never heard music like this before. The calls. The landscapes. Indescribable.”
“Is it still going on?” He just glared at me!
“It’s so beautiful! It’s so beautiful!”
So, another time, there are three of us. You know the stones that border on the Chapel lawn, out there in front? We’re putting in those stones. Mike is watching two of us do this. We’re both haphazard, so he goes:
“Here. Let me show you something. See this flat face. This side wants to be out. Facing out.”
He rolls over another one, spins it slowly like a top, looking at each side. Release and—boom!—it falls in place. He says,
“See? It’s that side. That face. Looks right, doesn’t it?”
So we take his little lesson, and we’re doing pretty good. Then I get stuck. This one stone is being misfitted. He notices, comes over, kneels next me:
“You’re not listening.”
“Nope. I heard everything you said, Mike. This rock just seems really stubborn.”
“You misunderstood. You’re not listening to the rock. Each one has a voice. They talk. You have to be carefully silent to hear it. Watch.”
Boom! The stone falls into place.
Mike had this ability to recognize the hidden intelligence in things, make a bond, then operate through that.
SECTION D:
One of things Mike had was—how do you say this?—he had this incredible intuition for finding the bottom of an ice cream carton. He would stage his tactics like a professional boxer: (In an announcer’s voice): “In this corner, the challenger, weighing in at one-half gallon, in the chocolate-marshmallow trunks, ROCKY ROAD!
“And your undisputed, undefeated, lifetime world champion, MICHAEL SUGAR-SPOON SPOHN!”
It was always a knockout. Three rounds or less.
A&W root beer was another of his favorite “adversaries.”
And you could call him on the phone; say, “pizza”; and hang up. Ten minutes later, he was there.
He was a “self-spoiler.” Anybody know what that is? It’s this terrible condition where . . . Let’s say you have a glass of wine from a $10 bottle. A few days later you have a glass from a $20 bottle. And what you find is you can’t go back, no matter how hard you try, you can’t go back to the $10 bottle. So what happens , over time, is that this escalates. As your love for these refinements grows stronger and bigger, availability gets smaller and smaller. You paint yourself into a corner. Doesn’t happen to everybody, but, uh . . . Any of you have that? Mike was the classic example.
SECTION E:
He was pretty rich with peculiarities, but nothing was more peculiar than his sense of humor. One of the things he would often do—and he would come up with one every week—he would characterize everyday people we know in the light of a celebrity. Here’s an easy one, just to get you warmed up:
“Ever notice how Roger looks like Clint Eastwood? And not just his appearance, but the slow, precise, closed lip delivery when he talks? All the guy needs is a poncho, stick of dynamite, and measly mule that he can trade for good horse.”
The Gladiator. It’s the closing scene—are you all familiar with this film? Mike and I are watching this together. The notorious Emperor Commodus is fighting Russell Crow in the Coliseum, and Mike jumps up and points to Commodus [played by Joaquin Phoenix]:
“Look! Look at that guy. It’s . . . ( any guesses ?) It’s Geno! He looks just like Geno. Tell me it’s not true! And he’s [Geno’s] got a little bit of that emperor thing going, too.”
At one point Mike went on this long run comparing everyone he knew to the characters in the long-running animation The Simpsons. Mike would do this thing. He would “test” you; have you guess at his insights.
“Ok, Some girl we all know [named Marie], she’s Lisa Simpson. Who do think Bart is?” Or, “Ok, who is Principal Skinner? [as he looked right at Petro and said,] “Bob!”
This went on for weeks. One day—there’s this [Simpsons] character, Ned Flanders, a goody two-shoes, mild-spoken, humbly righteous type of fellow—one day, Mike comes up to me:
“I figured out who Ned Flanders is.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah—it’s you!”
I’m like, “What! That’s not even close. I’m more like Crusty the Clown.”
“Nope, Shane gets to be Crusty.”
He used to do this a lot. He told me that he once introduced Nelson as Jerry Garcia to a stranger. Just off the cuff. Out of the blue:
“Hey, buddy, know who this is? Huh? This is Jerry Garcia.”
Nelson and Mike didn’t even know this stranger. The fellow actually asked for an autograph!
Little did Mike know that others also characterized him!
SECTION F:
One day, the two of us are listening to this Bruckner symphony, which is rich with this emotional struggling. It sort of weaves these layers of waves that surface and drown, in an effort to glimpse elation. After about 15 minutes, Mike is making these little choking sounds, and he’s shivering. He wipes his eyes and looks at me with this intense, sympathetic glare. He gently shakes his head in utter disbelief. Then he went around humming the main theme for the next two weeks.
Certain musical expressions would leave him emotionally helpless. This was normal. I saw this happen to him dozens of times. Often it was joy, enthrallment. He recognized passion immediately. Instantly. It came on very quick.
What’s interesting is that Mike was also a great musician, a guitar player. Very expressive. He and I played together. A lot. He’s over one afternoon and saddles up his Instrument. I ask him:
“Need a pick, Mike?”
“Nah. It’s ok.”
“Sure?”
“It doesn’t matter. Anything will do. Or not.”
So, he pulls a coin from his pocket: [McIntyre makes a guitar-picking sound] dudla dudla dudla; then a cigarette lighter: dudla dudla dudla; then his car keys: dudla dudla dudla. He looks at me and says, “Got a teddy bear?”
Somebody lent me this story a week ago. This was before Mike and I met: He’s at this bar. The band is onstage but taking a break. Mike goes over and has a chat with one of the band members. A bit later Mike’s onstage, strapped in. The band starts up. And he does what he does best—for almost 10 minutes. People’s jaws drop.
Two or three times a week Mike was over at my place, instrument in hand. Soaring all over the place. My son’s friends would stop in—usually dead in their tracks—and stare, heads pitched forward, mouths wide open, with these uncontrollable bad etiquette displays.
After these little episodes, Matt, my son, would come with a smile or chuckle, recounting his friends’ reactions: They were like, “Whoa! Who is that guy? He have any CDs?” Or, “Never heard anything, anything like that before! Unbelievable!”
Most people were stunned seeing him play the first time. He did it so effortlessly. He would wrap his paws around the thing and the notes would just fall out—like a ballet company exiting a burning building.
And that’s when he’d really shine. He’d light up just like a Christmas tree, with this big smile on his face.
SECTION G
Bell Toll
So, here’s another thing Mike would do. Let me see if I can do this for you. [picks up large handbells]. A lot of you may recognize this. First [enlists Stephan Fuelling’s help] I would like to show you a few things They are a bit heavy, as you might guess. Let’s see if we can replicate some of the nuances he would use. [tolls the handbells]. Ok, let’s see if we can do the toll, Stephan. [They toll the bells as Spohn did at Sunrise Service while waiting for the sun to appear: C, E, C, E…]. Thanks, Stephan.
Those two bells are the bells that Mike played virtually every Sunday—early dawn for a good 20 years. So, those sounds, that toll, that was Mike singing—singing to the Sun. For all of us it’s an irreplaceable loss.
Retiring the Vestment:
[Asks Rev. Gary Buchanan at the organ to play a slow toll, like a bell, in A]
These are the acolytes bringing up Mike’s bell choir vestment for retirement.
[returns to podium as acolytes exit]
Closing Remark
So I have a little closing message. Let me read this and make sure it’s right. This is for all of you:
“My life is little more than these reflections . . . reflections of the kindness and love each of you has given me.” He wanted you to know that.
A moment for you, now, to reflect your wishes.
Below are a few thoughts from Community members. We ask that you add your own in the comment section that accompany this article:
“He was a dear man, and through his struggles he emerged a sensitive and wise Man of Light.” —Sean Savoy
“Few people knew he was a gummy bear connoisseur. He would only have the ones imported from this one particular country.” —Ted Staver
“He was like the Uncle I never had.” —Matt Madonna
“I’ll miss seeing and talking with him.” —Bob Anderson
