Saying No Thank You to the Cure

Some people have already said, "no" to the pandemic vaccine. "I'll wait."  By that, they have chosen whatever outcome is "not the vaccine." This isn't the first generation do that, but what is different?

We rarely see entire nations of people united in common cause or belief for an extended period of time. Certainly, there's been shared outrage and condemnation of cowardly terrorist attacks in recent decades, on anyone's soil. Heartbreak for school and mall shootings. Generosity and volunteerism for natural disaster recovery from hurricanes, earthquakes and tsunami's.

Much of that is basic human empathy and compassion for someone else's suffering. It doesn't have to happen to you to imagine the hurt. Most of us can at least conceive the implications of loss, death, hunger, illness and emotional suffering. That's what informs how we pray and volunteer and support others who fight their way through grief and recovery.   

But the global pandemic isn't somewhere else, or somebody else. We are all experiencing it in real time. Worry, separation, frustration -  even sickness and death. Billions of people simultaneously yearning for "it" to be over. 

Some simple things were universally adopted. I'm impressed by the enormity of entire continents of people donning masks. Sure there's some drama and disagreement on deployment, but still -- overall, we've seen hundreds of millions of people adopt a single idea to combat a common threat. It's taken unbelievable coordination and cooperation. Unprecedented in our lifetime. 

And now that the vaccines are coming out, we'll soon see everyone inoculated under the same common cause. Or will we? No judgement from me, but some friends and family are choosing to wait and see how well the first round of 2021 vaccines work. Others say they may skip vaccination altogether if the tide turns and the pandemic wanes. Even after stark months of fear and anxiousness, hoping and praying for a cure - the once inevitable and unified response to the common threat is giving way to measured debate and delay.

Isn't that just like sin? We are unified in our human condition. The bible says, "All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God." Romans 3:23. It is a global pandemic of our fallen nature. A common threat with a commonly available solution. Jesus said, "Repent and believe the Good News." Mark 1:15. The cure. The remedy. The antidote available to all in the comfort of their home. Right here, right now. "Would you like to receive it? There are no age or employment priorities." 

In His widely distributed open invitation, Jesus said, "Whoever hears my word and believes in him who sent me has eternal life and will not be judged but has crossed over from death to life." John 5:24

No judgement from me either as some friends and family - and hundreds of millions of others - have said no to Jesus, or "I'll wait and see."  They've chosen "whatever is not Jesus." Whatever is not repentance or placing faith in God.  You can see the parallels:  We are in the midst of a devastating global pandemic and yet people are willing - not capriciously, but having weighed their options - to indefinitely delay their decision on the Covid vaccine.  Similarly, we have only to look around the same societies and see the devastation of centuries of untreated sin -- violence, abortion, poverty, selfishness, hate, pride. 

Having desperately asked, "what can we do about our crumbling moral framework?" and with the cure available for distribution, entire nations choose to dismiss and punish open discussion of saving Grace - the healing answer to those super-spreading societal ailments. "We'd rather wait and see if the pandemic wanes..."   While the infrastructure of distribution - the church - stands ready to help, and is largely ignored or ridiculed.

I heard Billy Graham say at each of the stadium gatherings I attended, "You may never have another opportunity like this. Right here in this place is the love and support of these hundreds of volunteers and those you came with. You might walk home tonight and be struck by a car, or be stricken by illness. I hope not, but we don't know. Come now. God loves you. You have but to repent of your sins and receive Him. Come now."     

What do you believe?    

Dad Zim – The Eulogy 12/30/2020

Faith, family, friendship, fidelity and simple pleasures….

In the amazing mosaic of dad’s life, we’ve each seen the portions that were right there in front of us...that we shared with him directly. We three kids, Angela, the grand and great grand kids, our extended family like the Soos’, Father Michael and his fellow members at St. Peter’s church...the many people who came to his visitation...nieces, nephews, cousins, co-workers, friends; Dad has been warmly and wonderfully appreciated here in our midst.

And yet…there are so many scenes in the mosaic that go off in directions that we won’t ever know, or could only see from a distance. For example, how in the world did a photo of Dad at the State Fair end up in the Foreword dedication of a John Deere Tractor History book? And how did WWII photo’s taken by Dad come to be published in a book about British Mosquito combat planes? He was just truly loved by the countless individuals who experienced his personal encounters...even across generations….and we heard many of those stories yesterday. It all helps to affirm for me that our dad was the most interesting person I ever met…

Dad was born in 1928 - the end of the roaring twenties and the lead up to the Great Depression. His mom was the oldest of nine hard working farm kids from Nebraska. Her brother Charlie coaxed his sister Myrtle to visit Wisconsin and introduced her to the handsome young stone mason who was my Grandpa Frank. They settled into the cozy yellow home that Grandpa built just a few blocks up from the Wisconsin State Fair grounds.

It was cozy inside, but the outhouse was...outside. And so was the hand operated water pump. Inside the house they had a coal furnace for heat and an ice box in the basement for the food - which operated on...ice. The “ice-man” would stop and deliver to the house whenever Dad’s mom (my Grandma Myrtle) placed a large card in a front window indicating the pound size of ice wanted. My dad roamed far and wide in the 92 years after his birth in the house that my Grandfather built, but he never shed the lessons of that humble upbringing.

He often repeated a Great Depression line remembered from my Grandpa Frank during the 30’s, "Waste not, want not." Even as a kid I'd see Dad tip our milk cartons and leave them to balance on a sturdy glass so they could drain every last drop.

His childhood memories are happy ones, many spent with his sister Shirley, and no complaints of what the Zimmerman family did not have. Maybe as a result, I noted his special appreciation for every blessing and comfort that came his way, and I never knew him to take anything for granted. 

Dad had scarlet fever at a very young age and Grandma Myrtle feared they might actually lose him to it. He was “quarantined” in their home (sound familiar?).
Dad fondly remembered that Grandpa Frank would stick his head into Dad’s room just long enough to reassure and encourage him. That memory of Grandpa’s comforting presence meant a lot to Dad and he mentioned it many times over the years.

Schlinger Avenue was home base to all his early adventures; every street corner and home and field used to remind Dad of days past,

· Like the family who did the local bootlegging during prohibition,

· Or the time Dad did a dry run with his homemade parachute by throwing it off the garage roof…with his cat safely tucked in as the volunteer test subject,

· And the time he and Aunt Shirley started a nearby field on fire (they were playing with matches!) and the fire dept. had to rush in to protect their neighbor’s home.

· As an 11-year-old, sneaking into the State Fair Grounds grandstand to see the Green Bay Packers win the 1939 NFL Championship.

· Working the State Fair Midway as a carney..."3 balls for a dime!"

· And whenever we ate at Johnny V’s diner, he loved to point out the “malt shop” building that was still standing on 84th street. It’s where Dad would stop after delivering newspapers on his neighborhood paper route (which is how he funded his first bicycle!).

· As an adult he could still point out some of the best climbing trees on the Milwaukee Zoo grounds that had been part of the woods he played in and went sledding in, long before there was an interstate 94. That expansive area from 84th to I-894 was all the personal playground of Dad and his friends.

· Further out by our childhood home on 109th street, the corner of Greenfield Avenue and Hwy 100,  Dad could still picture the vast farm field where he pulled weeds for a dollar a day.

Dad's love for travel began with early trips north to Mercer and the Zimmerman relatives. As he grew older he'd hitchhike “up north" to fish and socialize with cousins Gene and Marge, Uncle Bill and Aunt Hazel.

It was there that he met the Capone brothers, who chose Mercer as their getaway when things got "hot" in Chicago. One day in 1943 Dad asked a nicely dressed business man if he might be driving south toward Milwaukee or Chicago, hoping to “hitch" a direct ride back home. The man laughed and said no, he wasn't going back to Chicago for the time being. Cousin Gene quickly hushed dad aside and let him know that it was gangster Al Capone’s brother, Matt Capone, who was still “on the lam” for a Chicago murder rap he eventually outlasted while “up north!” Twenty years later, as a kid in the 1960’s, I remember my dad taking me into the Mercer Legion Bar on Main Street and the elderly bar tender’s greeting, "Good to see you back again, Jerry." It was Al Capone’s other brother, Ralph "Bottles" Capone, the "bookkeeper" who had stayed on to retire in Mercer - and Ralph still recognized Dad from all the years spent visiting in the area.

This is a great example of the "everyman" who was our dad. He was equally at ease in the company of governors, gangsters, grandkids, CEO's, cousins, nieces, nephews, grandkids, film stars, co-workers and friends. You can understand how his kaleidoscope of life experiences progressively built upon his confidence and character…

· As a kid, Dad and Aunt Shirley, Grandma and Grandpa bumped into a kind young cowboy and his friends as they were leaving one of the Milwaukee movie theaters. The cowboy gave both kids a hug as well as a handshake to my Grandpa Frank. It was Roy Rogers on his first tour of the country as a "singing cowboy." He and his singing group, “Sons of the Pioneers.” were on their way out of the theater for a quick lunch between performances.

· A West Milwaukee High School English teacher took her students on a field trip to see Victor Borge perform at a local theater. One of the teacher’s former WeMiHi students, a still unknown pianist named "Liberace" tagged along because he'd met Victor Borge elsewhere on tour. Mr. Borge was dismissive of Liberace and curt with the kids - and my dad never forgot that. It drove home for him the lasting impact that a positive role model can have on impressionable minds. And he often took time to encourage the hard workers who otherwise went unnoticed or unrecognized.

· At the Milwaukee Mile Dad would always walk me over to the track wall when drivers came by for autographs. AJ Foyt, Gary Bettenhausen, Al and Bobby Unser, Gordon Johncock, Dan Gurney, Parnelli Jones, Roger Ward, Roger McCluskey so many more of Dad’s favorites would chat! And one time we saw this short Italian fellow all by himself in a golf cart outside the grandstand. Dad walked right over to him and started chatting like they were lifelong friends. Both of them laughed and seemed to enjoy the comradery. Soon they were patting their pockets like they were looking for something. I stepped closer to get a better look at the affable fellow in the driver’s jump suit until he eventually dug out a scrap of paper and a pen, and so I still have Mario Andretti's autograph from his breakthrough year as the 1969 Indy 500 champion driving for STP in the Hawk III.

Dad first took me to the Canadian Boundary Waters in 1967 and introduced me to “Justine and Janet,” his outfitter friends at the Gunflint Lodge. They’d outfitted his canoe trips since the 1950’s, often with cousin Butch Kastelic or Donny Lautenbach. Half a century later, Angela and I happened into a lovely museum that highlights the lives of these two pioneering legends – Justine Kerfoot and Janet Hanson – still revered as icons in the growth of the BWCA and the Gunflint Trail. Authors. Role models. Just “Justine and Janet” to my dad.

One day before a State Fair opening ceremony, I walked up to my dad as he was having an animated conversation with an elderly gentleman who was chuckling along with him. Somebody else called out for my dad's attention and Dad handed this gentleman his clipboard. "Can you hold onto this for me, Pat? I'll be right back." "Sure, Jerry," he said and cradled the clipboard. Dad hadn't had time to introduce us, so I stuck out my hand and said, "Hi, I’m Tom Zimmerman, Jerry's son," "Ah, Jerry's boy. Nice to meet you, I'm Pat Lucey." “Pat” was Patrick Lucey, the 38th governor of Wisconsin and a former candidate for President of the United States. You just never knew who had befriended or been befriended by my dad.

Dad didn’t see color or race or social or culture barriers, ever. He built lasting friendships one person at a time, often drawing entire families and generations along with them. He did so with no pretension, and decades before the rest of the world caught up.

One of his first friends in the Navy was a Japanese American named Tom Nakamura. Both had enlisted to serve while underage at 17, having to get special approval to start boot camp. Uncle Tom (as I’ve always known him) was eager to serve his country in the Navy even after his family was horribly treated at the war’s onset and forcibly placed in the Nisei camps of Colorado. These two buddies quickly forged a lifelong friendship and I am proudly named after Tom Nakamura. After their honorable WWII discharge, Uncle Tom was a frequent family guest in Wisconsin and even went fishing in Mercer on our family favorite, "Bass Lake." When these two Navy vets last got together in 2019 to meet their great grandchildren, there was no word other than "brother" to describe their forever bond lived across 75 years. Our two families are pledged to carry on their legacy.

· Then, in the 1960's, at the height of racial tensions, my sister Judy was enjoying success as a ground-breaking women's middle distance runner. My dad saw that an all-black "Wilma Rudolph" track club was having some success in Milwaukee, led by coach Gary Dobbs. Dad realized that Judy and other girls in the Milwaukee suburbs did not have the depth to field winning relay teams at meets where both teams were competing, and the vice versa was true of Gary’s club. So, Dad approached Gary to consider a “merger” of sorts and together they created the Milwaukee Track Club. The brilliance of their collaboration was evident when, in 1968, their combined relay team (with sister Judy as the anchor) took a gold medal at the prestigious Iowa Drake Relays. It's hard to imagine now, but their easy friendship and collaborative co-leadership was extremely rare for that time. And the whole team had a lot of fun winning together.

· In 1996 Dad and I attended a 2-day Christian men’s conference together at Soldiers Field, Chicago, with 69,000 other guys. One of my buddies from Cincinnati met us there and we grabbed some seats together in an upper deck. I went to get some water and when I got back to our seats, my dad was gone. I looked at my friend Mark and asked him, only half-kidding, “really, you lost my dad in this crowd?” Mark just smiled and pointed over to a boisterous group of guys a few rows down. They were rousing everyone around them – my 68 year old father in their midst - in a joyous cheer that soon echoed and boomed back and forth across Soldiers Field…”We love Jesus, yes we do! We love Jesus, how ‘bout you?” And there was my dad looking back up at me, a big grin on his face, waving at me….c’mon, join in. You bet I did. And midway through the conference - in a brimming Soldier’s Field stadium - dad’s put their hands on son’s shoulder’s, looked into each other’s eyes and said together, “Jesus loves you, and so do I.”

Their song was “Always.”

Dad was smitten from the onset with the cute brunette in his homeroom at West Milwaukee High School. It was the alphabet, Warzon and Zimmerman, that brought them together, but it was a classic love story that played through their next 65 years together. There were countless street car and bike rides required for my dad to pursue Mom from Schlinger all the way down to 43rd and Burnham.

Then there were letters across the Atlantic while he was stationed in Morocco, North Africa. And the American dream followed, as they converted his 75 cents an hour apprenticeship into a loving, fiercely devoted family. He literally built our home from the ground up (with Grandpa Frank), and then fashioned a wonderfully creative combination of custom made closets, shelves, desks and alcoves. Long before Bose, Dad made built-in speaker cabinets with ported bass and reflecting tweeters. Stereo Headphones? Dad owned the first generation made by Koss and the earliest stereo component system that could play LP's....long playing records at 33 and a third. Just in time for Peter, Paul and Mary, Dylan and the British Invasion - what a cool dad!

As kids we helped write the next chapter of Mom and Dad's travels, camping our way from one coast to the next, thriving on their wanderlust and learning to find the true riches in life, even on a blue collar budget. The 50's, 60's and 70's were a marvelous blur of church, school, travel, extra-curriculars and family. So much laughter and joy - not without challenges and heartaches - but always landing on our feet and always looking ahead with the infectious, unstoppable optimism that was my dad's hallmark.


Through it all, Dad worked-his-butt-off. His employer, Mandel Company was willing to pay overtime, and Dad was willing to put in a lot of 12 hour days. Sixty hour weeks weren’t uncommon. But somehow he kept the balance. When we kids had events – athletics, band concerts, academics, theater, church activities, you name it – that time was sacrosanct, and you knew Dad would be out there clapping, cheering, participating or encouraging.

Then, as we three went off to college, there was a never ending stream of new friends coming back home with us to meet the folks, play cards, break out the guitars and make new memories. Many friends still checked in to keep Dad updated via cards, email and then Facebook over the years. It was not unusual to read a post or hand written letter from a former athlete or church member who looked up to him as a mentor and encourager – “just writing to say thank you, Mr. Z!” He loved them all.

Dad never slowed down after retirement. He and Mom traveled, kept up with the grandkids, tried new hobbies and relaxed at "Lazy Acres" with their best friends, the Lautenbachs. He was an “original” as the beloved icon of the Wisconsin State Fair -- their volunteer Historian. They published his photo book of memories, dating back to those years lived on Schlinger Avenue. And he collected on their behalf hundreds of Wisconsin State Fair memorabilia items which might otherwise have been lost to time and neglect. He was frequently acknowledged and recognized for his work by the very kind and protective State Fair team led by Kathleen O’Leary.

From co-workers and marketing interns to the State Fair CEO, Wisconsin Secretary of Agriculture, Chairman of the State Fair Board, Mayor of West Allis and yes, the Wisconsin Governor, they all took time to generously and kindly recognize and appreciate Dad Zim. I don’t think he ever had so much fun in his entire life as he did with the Wisconsin State Fair Family.

It’s a beautiful mosaic, isn’t it?

Faith, Family, Friendship, Fidelity and Simple Pleasures. Those are basics I learned from my dad about what’s most important. You’re all a part of it. He was the most interesting person I ever met, and the best dad a kid could have ever hoped for.

Jesus loves you, Dad, and so do we all.

Tom Z 12/30/2020