::  Eulogies

By Sarah (Jack's daughter)

He loved to brush my hair.  He loved making breakfast in the morning—omelets, especially—gritz, bacon, turkey sausage later on, when he woke up to taking care of his heart.  He certainly took care of our hearts, didn’t he?

An angel in a limousine, that was my dad.  He saw this city bared, and saw this city barely breathing, witnessing many a wild night from behind tinted windows.  But I’ve heard tale of so many young girls who grew suddenly fearful of an evening’s deviltry, and they would sit up front with him, and pour themselves out, saying, “I’m so scared…you won’t tell my parents, will you?” and he’d say, “oh, baby, I’m just here to do whatever you need me to do…I can take you home if you want.”

Y’all think it’s common for an uptown girl to open her heart to a chauffeur at her sweet sixteen?

Probably not.

That’s cause nothing about my daddy was common.

He had uncommonly good luck.
He had uncommonly bad luck.

He was a slapstick movie with divine serendipity in every plot twist.  He was an unstoppable force of unbridled love, of unending selflessness.  He played the guitar like Apollo played the lute,

And now he’s part of that sunlight, the all-over radiance that emanates from everything.  He’s the vines that curl around the leaves, he’s the rain that coaxes the flowers out of the ground, he’s the Santa Fe stars he so loved,

But I can’t hug the stars.  The stars aren’t waiting for me at the airport with huge arms outstretched like a wingspan.  The trees don’t come up behind me and rub my shoulders.  The vines won’t brush my hair.

So I have to learn how to hug him differently.  And I don’t know how.  But I start with his closest friends.  We carry his love with us everywhere we go, because he gave it to us all the time, constantly.  The way to keep him with us is to see in each other what he saw in us all—magnificence, heroism, beauty.

And my daddy was, is, magnificent, heroic, and beautiful.

You know he loved nothing more then laughter.  Wanna make Jack Neilson smile tonight?  Here’re some things you can do.

Eat a Krispie Kreme doughnut
Make a sharp illegal U-turn
Compliment a stranger

Tell a really good joke.  Or, next time you HEAR a really good joke, call ALL YOUR FRIENDS, consecutively, and tell them the joke.

LOVE. YOUR. CHILDREN.  Oh he had that one DOWN, y’all.

Be honest.  Always always always be honest.

And sing.  Sing allllllllllllllllllllll the time.  Doesn’t matter if you don’t sound like him, most of us don’t, just sing.

And whistle.  Whistle elaborate tunes.

If, late at night, you miss him more than you can stand, turn on talk radio.  Maybe now that he’s gone I’ll finally understand where the relentless pull came from.

Oh, and don’t forget, tip your chauffeur.  Always tip the chauffeur.

Drink an espresso shot or two, and wonder how he did it.  He once told me he could drink five espressos and promptly go to sleep.  The man was defiant.  His power to give was nearly impossible to contain, but at 6’3 he could hold it.  He could quake movie theatre floors with his laugh.

How I already miss his laugh.

I’m gonna have to learn to listen another way.  And I don’t know how.  But I’ll start with his closest friends.

By Roger Wilson (a life-long friend of Jack)

It’s moments like this that remind you just how ill prepared we remain for life’s only certainty. Nor does it seem appropriate to suggest closure for a presence that will resonate among us as long as there is memory and music.

Yet when someone like Jack Neilson passes through our lives, it’s essential we take pause and reflect, for rarely does greatness come your way. Leaving behind lessons that if we follow, can make us all better human beings.

Jack’s was a legacy born not out of wealth, but immeasurable warmth. His riches were measured not by the things he possessed, but the thoughts, lyrics, and music he composed. Rather than focus on his own welfare, Jack fixed his attention upon you and me. He gave as readily as most are apt to take. He lived in testament to the fact that’s it not what you own in this life that matters, it’s what you hold in your heart. 

If our reason for being here is to topple one another through power and position, then Jack got the whole thing wrong. But if it’s to live without judgment, love without prejudice, and give well beyond your means, then Jack Neilson’s one of the few people who got life right.

In the days since his passing, many of us have spoken to one other, searching for some reference to that which we are not prepared to refer. Isabelle Ochnsner told me she felt “This is our big chill.” Tac Career said he sensed “something had shifted – something permanent and profound.” John Zimmerman simply resigned himself to the fact that he could not process the loss of such a “gentle man.” What all of these comments suggest is that Jack’s death has become a turning point for his friends, and while youth long ago abandoned us, it’s only with Jack passing that we must finally admit it’s never coming back.

He was our first rock star, our class clown, the uptown poet who was more at home in a gospel church or honky-tonk than some illustrious mansion. Above all else, he was the kindest and most forgiving friend any of us ever had. In over 35 years of hanging out, hanging in and lately just hanging on, I can’t ever recall Jack Neilson saying one bad thing about another person. Quite the opposite, I can only recall the times he encouraged me to refrain from doing so myself.

Jack knew the only thing a person deserves more than the chance to fail, is the right to be forgiven for doing so. He practiced this philosophy as studiously as his music, and much of what draws you to his songs, and will I predict a great many others in the years to come, is the compassion and humility that lie beneath each haunting verse.

To you Lib, Beth, Martha, Margaret and Ed, Eileen, and certainly to Suzie and Ann were they here, we this assembled nation of friends, offer our deepest and most heartfelt condolences. But to you Sarah we’d like to offer something more. You are and shall forever be your father’s greatest composition. The symphony of your life has only just begun. As you already know certain measures will rise, while others fall again, but only together can they make up your song. Your middle name of “Marie” bears the name of the one your dad used to sing to all of us, that somehow, at least for me, has always defined the rest. And like the lyric says, he loved you the first time he saw your face, and he always will Sarah. Death can never diminish that.

Allow us his friends to bear witness as your life unfolds, and to remain as close and involved with you, as protective and nurturing as you see fit. If we’re never called upon, then simply know that we’ll be there should you ever need anything at all. It’s not just the most direct way we have of loving you; but also your father.
Jack was the glue that held these friendships together. He was the man, the minstrel, and it seems quite clear to me now, he was the message, too. Strange that his death may now bring us together in ways our individual lives never could.

My prayer to you Jack is two-fold. The first being that you’ll never forget how deeply you were loved, how desperately you’ll be missed, or how grateful we are for the melody of your life.

The second is that you’ll continue to speak to us in cellular static whispers of “hey daddy-o, and what’s up baby girl” while guiding our own personalities toward some approximation of your own. I think on behalf of all us, I can assure you we’d be eternally grateful if you would.

My friends. It’s entirely possible that when the sadness of these days starts to wear thin, and the mundane once more takes precedence above what matters, we all here will drift apart. I’m not sure we should. I’m not sure Jack would have liked us to. I think he would have seen a song in all of this and expected us to sing it. Together, for him, for each other, and for the unavoidable certainty we may never get the chance to again.

Okay daddy-o. Later.

By Margaret Neilson (Jack's sister)

I was having a hard time with the fact that this was happening to my family again and I was going to be standing here again.  Our precious brother Jack has gone just 10 months after our precious Susie, buy early one morning I was going to finish my thoughts for today and it hit me the name of Jack’s CD HERE WE GO AGAIN. I laughed to myself and could here Jack say, “hey baby girl, its going to be ok!”

       Jack was our baby brother, Jack Jr., little Jack, the boy, the best dad in the whole world and a fabulous son.  As my other brother, Johnny Parker describes him, “the gentle giant”.

       Just imagine the beginning of Jack’s life following FIVE girls, me being the baby girl.  Being born Jack Jr., I was told he was written up in every boat journal around the world and possible the White House heard Jack and Lib Neilson had a baby boy.  I always wondered why nothing was written about me being the FIFTH girl each one of us had a tugboat in our name and my dad would tell me the Margaret sunk twice, got pulled up and kept going and going so I got over not being in the boat journal. Being the baby brother of five girls I’d like to share two of my favorite stories my mom tells.  One time the whole house was sick and Jack answered the phone and said, yes, all of girls are sick.  Another time, Jack was about five, Jack, Mom and I were sick with fever all in her big bed, and the doctor had just left and Jack said, “are we going to die mommy?,  Cause I want you to call God and ask him if I can bring some friends”.

       During Jack’s teen yrs the words trouble and bad comes to mind. rather in trouble and being bad.  Coming from Paz, Jack, the St. Paul’s boys along with a lot of you here defined the word bad.  The good thing is time passes, we get it together and my brother became everyone’s idol in this room.

As I look around here today I know each one of you considers yourself Jack best friend and that’s why you are the luckiest people in the world to have had a friend that was so unconditionally loving I know he has made you a better person.

I know you all have heard Jack left us in his sleep and I would like to share what Ann and John Burr’s housekeeper said when she found him laying peacefully, “he just slept his self away”..what a beautiful thing!

You always hear people say, “why does God take the good ones before we want them to leave us.” And no one has ever given me an answer I really liked. until the other day a good friend told me her answer, “so heaven is that much better when you get there.” 

       So as I say good-bye to Jack I know heaven is the greatest now, he has all of Susie’s singing angels waiting cause daddy has organized it all and Jack is the biggest star of the show up there.  Jack, you may have to adjust for Susie a little and play her some Motown.  Thank you for all the music you left us, your piano and singing recordings.. so we will always be able to hear our own angel’s voice. I love you baby brother!

Jack Herman Neilson, Jr., died on Friday, July 21, 2006. Age 50 years. Devoted father of Sarah Marie Neilson. Beloved son of Elizabeth DeWeese Neilson and the late Jack H. Neilson, Sr. Preceeded in death by his sister Susan N. Plauche. Survived by his sisters Beth Neilson, Martha Neilson, Anne Neilson, Margaret N. Arbour and her husband Edgar F. Arbour III.  Also survived by many nieces and nephews.

Born and raised in New Orleans, Jack was  a graduate of St. Paul’s School in Covington and the College of Santa Fe.

Relatives and friends of the family are invited to attend the funeral services at Lake Lawn Metairie Funeral Home Chapel, 5100 Ponchartrain Blvd. (In Metarie Cemetery) on Thursday, July 27, 2006, at 2:00 p.m. Visitation Thursday from 12 Noon until 2:00 p.m. Interment will follow in Metairie Cemetery.

Jack was a talented musician / singer / songwriter attending Berklee College of Music before graduating from the College of Sante Fe, the Boston folk seen having impacted him greatly. He performed in New Orleans and all around the country. Jack considered himself honored to represent New Orleans on the recent Arlo Guthrie & Friends of the City of New Orleans benefit tour. He was excited to spend time with the many musicians and writers on this tour and said it was an experience of a lifetime.

The grace of his huge, loving heart poured itself in the grace of his music. This same grace was manifested in every facet of his short life: his love of laughter; his doting devotion to Sarah – the love of his life; his love and protectiveness of his precious mother Lib who has leaned on him and shared too much ice cream with him since Katrina brought through not only the destruction of New Orleans as we all knew it but the untimely death of Susan, Jack’s sister and Lib’s brave daughter.  Jack has remained at Lib’s side all these months, ready and more than willing to comfort her, make her laugh – he’s been a source of laughter and comfort to not only his mother but his 4 remaining older sisters and his many, many generous friends who were so dearly loved and appreciated by Jack. He was always grateful for his blessings. We so love you my dearest “baby Jack.” 

We are lost without you and hope to find a shred of your grace to carry us through. We have been robbed once again of a loving soul. There is now a humongous angel in heaven whose large wings are bumping into the other angels but they don’t mind because he makes them laugh and he sings to them. The angels who are not busy singing are out looking for his keys.

Reprinted from the Times Picayune ~ July 26, 2006

::  Eulogies   ::  Obituary :: Story in Gambit Magazine