On one of my trips back east, my dad picked me up from Logan as he often did. I saw him by the baggage claim and as psyched as he was to see me, he was equally excited to get out of there because he had parked illegally. He got jumpier when he noticed a policeman giving him the eye and then actually approaching us. I thought we were busted in Boston – but no, the officer broke into a huge smile and said, “Mr. Horne!?” He was a former student of course. The policeman told me his story, that he wasn’t particularly college bound, but my dad told him, “You’re going to college” and together they filled out an application to Merrimack and he went to college and he was now a policeman in Boston.
This happened a lot, running into his former students and they were always eager to tell the tales about specific and perhaps unconventional classes my dad taught – for example, one class he brought everyone outside to lay on the grass so that they could watch the clouds float by. Another class my dad decided to make up music and sing the dialogue between Romeo and Juliet. During another class, the entire class period was devoted to naming his new truck, Lola.
My dad was a teacher but he was also committed to learning. He read all the time. It would drive me crazy when he passed along a book because he would have highlighted the heck out of it and the margins would be riddled with his notes but I knew he was just excited to share the info that he found interesting.
He was a wonderful correspondent; he loved writing letters - wherever I was in the world I was always so happy when one of his letters, a piece of home, would find me.
He was great showing up in my life, either with a letter or in person and there was never a dull moment.
It was rare for him to go directly from point A to point B. A 10-minute car ride to run a quick errand could easily end up taking 2 hours - there was always somewhere to stop to get something to eat, or to find someone to chat to, often Powers, or some new place to check out. And when he got on his bike, forget about it, there was no telling where he would end up, he never knew, there was no plan or specific route. On one trip he said that he was heading south and he showed up at my old roommate’s apartment in the Bronx, he didn’t tell them he was coming and didn’t wait until they got home, he just left an apple pie and a note on their doorstep, hopped back on his bike and headed across the George Washington Bridge.
Life was an adventure and a performance piece for my dad. He loved to entertain and he danced getting off airplanes and sang entering rooms.
Not too long ago when we spoke on the phone he said, “I am going to sing you a song and I want you to record it.” I played along and gave him the go ahead to start singing. He then proceeded to sing Danny Boy. I wish I did know how to record it because he really was a beautiful singer. When he was done he gave me permission to post it on youtube and generously told me to keep whatever money it earned.
My dad gave me a great sense of adventure, a fearlessness to go explore, and certainly an ability to create and handle chaos.
I will forever miss his singing.
This happened a lot, running into his former students and they were always eager to tell the tales about specific and perhaps unconventional classes my dad taught – for example, one class he brought everyone outside to lay on the grass so that they could watch the clouds float by. Another class my dad decided to make up music and sing the dialogue between Romeo and Juliet. During another class, the entire class period was devoted to naming his new truck, Lola.
My dad was a teacher but he was also committed to learning. He read all the time. It would drive me crazy when he passed along a book because he would have highlighted the heck out of it and the margins would be riddled with his notes but I knew he was just excited to share the info that he found interesting.
He was a wonderful correspondent; he loved writing letters - wherever I was in the world I was always so happy when one of his letters, a piece of home, would find me.
He was great showing up in my life, either with a letter or in person and there was never a dull moment.
It was rare for him to go directly from point A to point B. A 10-minute car ride to run a quick errand could easily end up taking 2 hours - there was always somewhere to stop to get something to eat, or to find someone to chat to, often Powers, or some new place to check out. And when he got on his bike, forget about it, there was no telling where he would end up, he never knew, there was no plan or specific route. On one trip he said that he was heading south and he showed up at my old roommate’s apartment in the Bronx, he didn’t tell them he was coming and didn’t wait until they got home, he just left an apple pie and a note on their doorstep, hopped back on his bike and headed across the George Washington Bridge.
Life was an adventure and a performance piece for my dad. He loved to entertain and he danced getting off airplanes and sang entering rooms.
Not too long ago when we spoke on the phone he said, “I am going to sing you a song and I want you to record it.” I played along and gave him the go ahead to start singing. He then proceeded to sing Danny Boy. I wish I did know how to record it because he really was a beautiful singer. When he was done he gave me permission to post it on youtube and generously told me to keep whatever money it earned.
My dad gave me a great sense of adventure, a fearlessness to go explore, and certainly an ability to create and handle chaos.
I will forever miss his singing.
