Eulogy for Earl
Earl Gordon Williams

I’d like to share a few things about my brother Earl that I’ve been thinking about these past few days, as a tribute to his life.

Earl was 10 years older than me and a powerful force in my life. Many of my happiest childhood memories involve my big brother Earl, for he was always so nice to us girls and really content to hang out with us. We had a backboard and basket in our driveway and Earl would spend hours with me shooting hoops. I was one proud little girl who knew how to execute a jump-shot because Earl had taught me. And he was happy to play HORSE anytime I wanted to—every once in while, he’d throw an air ball and I would get a letter! H. On winter days or chilly afternoons, we would hang out in the living room and play chess, checkers, or cards. Sometimes we would play cards for money, which was exciting because the stakes were higher and I was a 2nd grade master of five-card stud, blackjack, and other gambling games that all young children should learn from their older brothers. And you guessed it, Earl would clean my clock and there would go all those pennies. But it really wasn’t so bad because they were his pennies to begin with, shared from his massive pennies jar. Or maybe they were Craig’s pennies. Sometimes we would hang out in the basement rec room, where we shot pool and played ping pong, and I learned scandalous stories about professional pool players and gamblers and learned how to run a table. Other days, a weird TV show about outer space would be playing and Earl would be completely engrossed it, sprawled on the sofa and so I would watch Captain Kirk, Spook, and get kinda freaked out by the Beam Me Up Scotty moments. And while we were doing all this daily hanging out, at some point, Earl usually would toss me over—literally toss me over—his shoulder so that I would be tumbling and flipping mid-air and landing on my feet— sort of an assisted handspring, circus move: it was great fun and he never seemed to get tired of it.

Earl ran cross country and track throughout high school. He was an exceptional athlete. He lettered in both, held school records in his events, and went to state. One of his track records at Coon Rapids High School, for the 4 x 880 relay, was broken just last spring. That’s a school record time that lasted for 41 years! I couldn’t track down the exact record time, but current Coon Rapids High School Coach Don Brimm recently said this about Earl :

I do remember Earl Williams. I was hired in mid year (beginning of 1973) so I never saw Earl run cross country (fall sport). I did coach track in the spring of 1973 which was his senior year. Earl was an excellent 880 yard runner. I know that he ran under 2:00 for the half mile but I am not sure of the exact time. I believe that Earl was the anchor runner on the 4 X 880 (2 mile relay) team that set the CR school record. The record was just beaten last spring. I believe that the record was 8:06 before it was broken. Earl was a very tough runner.

I was amazed and proud that 4 decades later, a coach remembered Earl and his running achievements. Earl even shared with me the strategic secret to his middle distance running successes: you hang in the middle, hold back, while the others in the lead are running at a full sprint, and then, you move, you kick it into high gear, and end on all-out sprint, blowing by the leaders who cannot sustain a sprint for that whole distance. Of course, knowing the strategy and executing it are two different things.

Earl’s athletic abilities and his outstanding grades got him into college, an achievement of which my parents were extremely proud. As a young girl, I was proud, too, but also very sad because my awesome brother was moving out and I missed him so much when he went off to college. But then, one Christmas during his college years, Earl gave me a most extraordinary gift—a novel and a trilogy— yes, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. The Tolkien novels blew me away and catapulted my passion for reading, for imagining, for dreaming of places and things that ordinary life on Kumquat Street couldn’t give me. It was like he had tossed me through the air, over his shoulder, and I did a triple somersault—only this was in the realm of dreams, imagination, wonderment. It was an incredible gift Earl gave to me, one I will not forget. Nor will I ever forget when Earl brought me to the University of Minnesota: that was the first time I had ever been on a college campus, and there I was, walking with my brother, going with him to lecture class, wondering if all the cool college kids would notice I was a 13 year old girl tagging along with this handsome bearded student with the intense brown eyes. Just like the gift of Tolkien’s novels, Earl gave me the permission, the idea, the thought, that I, too, could dream and imagine and learn about things wondrous and strange, that I could maybe go to college, if I only put myself to doing it. And I did get myself, put myself, through college and I am grateful for his example and loving generosity.

Earl loved reading his whole life—especially science fiction—and loved music— especially progressive rock—or real rock n roll, as Earl might say. Both of these passions are really passions of the mind, of the imagination, and likely Earl enjoyed them so because he was imaginative, intelligent, intense, bold. Intense. He attended at least 54 concerts, and kept all the ticket stubs in a box with his high school letters, his running spikes, and several concert lapel pins. He owned more albums—around 4000, I guess—and had more concert t-shirts than anyone I know. Earl would often treat friends and family to concerts or to sporting events just because he wanted to do so. Earl once brought me to see Clapton in Minneapolis: Sheila E was on drums. It was fantastic. I think Earl never lost the pleasure of just hanging out, just doing something, with friends and family, because in the end, when Earl took you to a concert or a game, it was really just an occasion to spend time together.

Earl was a gentle soul—the most intense and intensely gentle person I have ever known. I wish he were here. I would feel bolder in the middle of this shit-storm of grief, maybe I could think of something wickedly funny to say, maybe kick it into high gear, sprinting all-out in glorious Earl the Pearl fashion. And then deliver my final line in classic Earl style, “This Really Really Sucks. ”

—Gwen Williams, 18 March 2015