Last week, Charles Norman Shaffer died at the age of 82. Evidently he was a celebrity, known for his representation of John Dean during the Watergate trials, and his assistance in the prosecution of Jimmy Hoffa. (Details HERE and HERE) I did not know this. In fact, I barely knew him at all, but here’s what I did know:
Charlie was an avid foxhunter up until his death. Yes, in his early 80’s this man would be out there at sunup, charging through field and wood on his huge chestnut Thoroughbred, Slim. He was always impeccably turned out – full attire, braided mane on Slim, shiny boots that looked like he’d wrapped them in cellophane until he mounted his horse. He had an elegant way of speaking, a witty banter that went along with his Earl-in-a-Regency-Romance image. Just watching him sent me back two hundred years, day dreaming of manor houses and weekend hunt parties.
He sounds intimidating, but Charlie was so easy to talk to. He was friendly and well-mannered, generous with his flask. I’ll never forget him and Slim crashing through the brush to burst upon us in 3rd field. He’d excuse his abrupt appearance, politely ask the Master to join our field, then just as quickly disappear to rejoin 2nd field. He was known to say: “Madam, please forgive me if I pass you in the field, but it is only because my horse is so finely bred
The Jerk
Oh… and I happen to know that my dad was an a-hole when he lived… and the friend I mentioned really was a hero. Heroism isn’t a Disney sport. It is simply the ability to do the right thing when it really matters. Like Charles did for you, and like my former friend did for me.
The Jerk
I saw this post a number of times since it went up… nearly two weeks ago. At first I didn’t even fully understand why you bothered to post it. Then I realized that my dad was a big hero where I grew up. Unimportant to most… but in my hometown… and throughout much of Wyoming, he was a hero. He was never my hero though.
I met a dude some time after I left the army…. a dude who had no Vietnam stories and was as frail as my father was buff. I am pretty sure he taught me more about being a human being than my dad ever learned. My point is, context is a fickle judge and a discerning mistress. what we see of people is inevitably a facade, even when they are earnest, as we paint our expectations upon them. Once in a while we meet the people who have a facade to match who they are… that wasn’t the case between my father and I… but the man I speak of was exactly what I perceived.
I conclusion, I tell you that I am not surprised that your friend had chapters in the book of life that you had not read. I think he probably wanted you to focus on the chapters that described him as he was when you met him. We humans are weak and selfish creatures… but at times I suspect that those with the most cause to do so… have plenty of attention to run from.
Liz Holm
Beautifully said. I remember when I asked, as a new member, who he was, and was told “Oh, that’s Charlie.” I never knew his background, or that he was That Charles Shaffer. Only that he was welcoming, exuberant as he galloped by, and always kind. The world has lost a gentleman.
Mark Henwick
A moving eulogy. He sounds a wonderful man.