Remembering Terry Strecker

Terry Strecker, C; as Santa with Scott Smoot; w/ Kitty, grandson, and Goofy

At Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in West Palm Beach September 10, those in attendance heard tributes to Terry Strecker from his grown son Andrew Strecker and from Carole Drew, sister of Terry's wife, my friend and longtime colleague Kitty Drew.

We heard how Kitty had calmed Andrew's nerves, telling him, "Don't worry about trying to be clever, or funny, or deep -- just be yourself." Big laugh. Then Andrew was clever, funny, and deep, taking us through his perspective on his father. Andrew made sure that we knew how Terry lived out a favorite quote from Johnny Cash: "All your life, you can choose love or hate. I choose love."

Like Andrew, Carole recalled Terry's gruff side, but left us with memories of his great generosity to everyone and great love for his own family.

The Rev. R-J Heijmen told us that Terry had bypassed the usual Gospel readings recommended for the occasion in favor of Luke 10.25-37, the parable of the Good Samaritan. "Terry lived that story," the priest said.

My own memories are mostly from social situations, as he and Kitty frequently hosted get-togethers at their own home or at a local wine bar. For my sake, he steered clear of sports to involve me in conversation about some of the things he knew I loved: great singers, literature, and martinis. I treasure the metallic martini chalice he gave me, unbreakable and always chilled.

He and I both had been drama teachers. He loved that work, but traded it for a business career to provide more for his family. With Kitty, we saw professional shows and dissected them. After Kitty's sixth graders performed in her annual "wax museum," the three of us would meet at a restaurant to compare notes. Terry could get very enthusiastic about those who cared about what they were doing, and pretty pointed skewering those few who blew off the project. He took me out for drinks after many performances by my own students and was always discerning in his appreciation.

Gruff as he was, Terry's tender side is what I remember best. I remember Terry at a party, crying as he talked about his old dog. He cared for his parents and parents-in-law through their old age. He also got to know my parents, who, like him, had graduated from Walnut Hills High, a unique public school they all loved, with its top-notch college prep program and tradition of diversity. Mom and Dad graduated in 1954; Terry was class of '64. When my dad died, Terry and Kitty drove the hours down to Valdosta for the memorial.

So I could not miss driving down for his. I'll miss you, Terry. Love to Kitty.