Funeral for a Neighbor

I went to a funeral for my neighbor, George T. Craig, last week. He was 77 and died from pancreatic cancer. We have lived next door to George and his wife, Sharyn, in Rancho San Diego since 2002. George wasn’t famous so people probably aren’t going to write books about him. He wasn’t an actor, although he did bear a resemblance to Bob Hope. George wasn’t an athlete or renowned musician. He wasn’t in politics and didn’t appear on television. He was a mechanical engineer who taught at San Diego State University before retiring in 2006. He was also a loving husband, a devoted father and grandfather, an avid golfer, and a man of faith who attended the same church with his wife since 1969.   

I can’t say that George and I were close. We were neighbors. We greeted each other in the morning while he was getting the newspaper and I was heading off to work. We sometimes ran into each other on Saturday afternoons on the way to the community mailbox across the street. George, in a plain T-shirt and shorts, would ask about my job at the community college, if we were keeping our enrollment up. We would chat about the weather, the scorching hot spells in San Diego that made him yearn for overcast skies and even rain. I am an introvert so it isn’t easy to get me talking, but George made the effort to engage me in neighborly small talk on a regular basis.

George would let us know when he and Sharyn were going on vacations so we could keep an eye out on their house, and we would do the same. Maybe this is a holdover from the past, a bygone era when Leave It To Beaver and Father Knows Best were television staples because the Craigs are the only neighbors I can recall doing this with. But if this is something considered antiquated in this “Look out for Number One” society, I say let’s turn back the clock.

When my children were younger, I would take them to George’s house first for trick or treating at Halloween. George would be the one passing out candy and he would try, often unsuccessfully, to guess our kids’ costumes. 

My wife, Quyen, loves to decorate for Christmas, and she would string lights throughout the front yard, attach illuminated Santas and sparkling snowflakes to the windowsills, weave flashing swirls around tree trunks, and even our shrubs would twinkle with holiday lights. George would rave about Quyen’s creativity, and this recognition always brought a smile to my wife’s face. On Christmas Eve, I would leave a gift-wrapped bottle of Martinelli’s on George’s porch and he would bring over a jar of Sharyn’s homemade peanut brittle on Christmas day.  

One winter, I took my son, Kevin, with me to run some errands, and Quyen was outside watering her plants with our daughter, Kristie. I had inadvertently locked the door, and Quyen was unable to get into the house. She had no way to reach me. She also had a customer scheduled that morning at the hair salon she worked at. Quyen went to George’s house and tried to call me, but my cell phone was turned off. So Quyen told George and Sharyn about her predicament and they drove her and Kristie to the hair salon in Mira Mesa, a good 20 miles from home.  

Another time, I had already left for work when the power shut down in East County. Quyen went to George to ask for help because the garage door remote wasn’t functioning. He showed her how to manually open and close the garage so she could take the kids to school.

George was that kind of neighbor; he was always there when we needed him, and I can’t tell you how much that meant to us. Rest in peace, George T. Craig. Thank you from our family for being our good neighbor and friend. We’re going to miss you.