06.26.08
In Memoriam: My Uncle Johnny
From the Indianapolis Star, June 22, 2008:
Lt. John M. Rader, 64, passed away Sunday, June 16, 2008 while being cared for by friends and family. He devoted his many talents to serving in the Marion County Sheriff’s Department and volunteering as an interpreter and educator at Conner Prairie Living History Museum. Lt. Rader joined the Sheriff’s Department in 1971 as a Reserve Deputy, and in 1976 became a Merit Officer. In 1992 he was honored as Crime Stopper of the Year. In 2005, he was promoted to Sergeant in the Investigation Division and later to Lieutenant when he was appointed Commander of the Internal Affairs Section where he served until his death. An accomplished historian, storyteller, actor, tailor, craftsman, and writer, John enjoyed a variety of roles at Conner Prairie. He portrayed Sgt. Ross of the White River Guard Militia Unit and was known for the fine meals he cooked over an open fire for the militia. John helped visitors understand the hardships of slavery and the Underground Railroad with his portrayal of the Owner in the Follow the North Star program [view images] and helped develop scripts, characters, and props for the Mystery on the Prairie event. On numerous occasions he embodied the characters George Whitaker and Doctor Campbell among others and put his rich sense of humor to use as Harrison Hamlin Whitley, the side show operator at the County Fair. John taught many young people at Conner Prairie skills such as leatherwork, cooking, sewing, gunsmithery, and interpreting. With his late wife, Carolyn Lee Rader, John also peddled his handmade wooden measuring spoons and lanterns at area rendezvous and pursued their interest in early American history. Visitation will be Sunday, June 22, 2008 from 4:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. at Shirley Brothers Washington Memorial Chapel, 9606 E. Washington Street. Funeral services will be Monday, June 23, 2008 at 10:00 a.m. He is survived by his mother, Grace Dale; sister, Nancy (Nan) Brooks; nephews, Spencer and Matthew Sundell, and a wide circle of neighbors, friends and co-workers. The family requests that in lieu of flowers, contributions are sent to Salvation Army Flood Relief ( www.salvationarmyusa.org) or Conner Prairie Living History Museum ( www.connerprairie.org).
Related Link
“Back to the Frontier,” Smithsonian Magazine, May 2008 — a feature story about the Conner Prairie living history museum.
Reflections
To be honest, it’s quite late as I write and I don’t have the focus or energy to write about this properly right now (not with a pending morning alarm clock anyway), and I’m sure I’ll expand on this later. But my uncle John and his impending death has been pretty much my sole focus for the last month. John was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis about a year ago. It killed him slowly, until he was reliant on bottled oxygen at all times and was reduced to a frail shadow of the big, burly, robust man I’d always known. Through it all, he worked at the Sheriff’s Dept. in Indianapolis.
Just before the Melies show I did at the NW Film Forum on May 15, I got word that John’s wife, my aunt Carolyn, had died while he was in the hospital for a short stay to treat what amounted to a case of pneumonia. I flew out for the funeral and stayed 10 days to help care for him, which was at once a “clinical” experience — I was just doing what practical things had to be done — and also probably one of the most illuminating experiences of my life. It was agonizing to have to come back, even though one of the things that death teaches us is that it is important to live our lives.
Less than a month later, on Father’s Day, he died. His long suffering aside, his death was really pretty great. The day before, he went to the wedding of a young couple he knew from Conner Prairie farm. By all accounts he was his old self (as much as he could be), had a wonderful time, kissed the bride (”of course,” he said), and stopped for chocolate ice cream on the way home. The next day, a neighbor came by and said “We’re grilling some steaks, John, ya want one?” Steak was a favorite of his, and he gave precise instructions on how he liked it to be cooked. When the neighbor came back a short while later with the carefully-prepared steak — grill still going in case they’d cooked it wrong — they found him. He’d gone. Still in his own home, still calling his own shots.
I’ll share one story before I sign off for the night. In the waning weeks of his life, he was still working — bound and determined to die with his boots on. He only had enough bottled O2 to last four hours, but by god he pulled his four hour shifts every day. But at a certain point he would have to take a nap. A Department buddy of his told me that John’d sack out in a big overstuffed chair in the office of the Internal Affairs Section he commanded. He’d pull a blanket up to his chin for warmth, and under each arm he’d tuck…a teddy bear. Not one teddy bear — two.
This, to me, epitomizes everything John was, insofar as I knew him. A career deputy sheriff who was utterly devoted, tough, deeply principled and sometimes feared, and yet fulsome with ever-ready humor and a profoundly gentle kindness. The kind of man who could sleep with his teddy bears in his office at Internal Affairs, and still be deeply respected by all of the men and women working with him.
Goodbye, Uncle Johnny. You set one hell of an example. And wherever you are, I hope you’re getting all the homemade ice cream and blueberries you could possibly want.
