George Derr: Time Not Wasted

In my 20s I used to slip the confining sprawl of Houston for the slower pace of the Texas Hill Country like Huck Finn lighting out for the Indian Territory. I attended a lot of dances at County Fairs, rodeos or Honky Tonks and my heart was always gladdened at the sight of the old folks dancing. Some of those ancient cowboys and their belles could waltz and two-step with elegance equal to any of the plantation ballroom scenes in Gone With The Wind. I was always amazed at how light those cowboy boots could shuffle powered by legs and hips that were likely stiff with arthritis and the years.

I never saw George Derr dance. He was no cowboy, but rather an old fireman from New York state who giggled as he flew past his ninetieth birthday. I wouldn’t have bet against him as a dancer for George Derr was every bit a Renaissance Man. His age defying feats were equal to any old codger cowboy waltzing across Texas.

George’s muses were ping pong, fighting fires and singing in church choirs.

I also never saw George play ping pong, but understand he was a hustler at the senior center. He won the Tennessee Senior Olympics championship twice in the 90-95 division though I wonder how many others his age had his competitive constitution. Still, I’m told he beat men 20 years younger and since he could have beaten me I guess he could have extended to 30 years younger. I always wondered if he carried his ping pong paddle in a custom case like some pool sharks shelter their cue.

I heard George sing as he often sat next to me in my infrequent recruitments into the choir for Easter or Christmas cantatas. I’m sure the years diminished what was once a strong voice but he gave us passion and an assurance he was going to be one of the few who were on note all the time. He always patiently helped those like me who sing without reading music and often sound that way. He helped me find my way to what I was supposed to be singing more than once. He was a musical lighthouse for those singing in the dark.

George’s days fighting fires were behind him by the time he came to Tennessee. He was a founding member in 1960 of the Levittown, NY Volunteer Fire Department and served as its president twice. On George’s watch the department was integrated in 1969.

George left our choir and Tennessee last fall and was missed before he was even gone. As readers may have guessed from this tribute, the world lost a great inspiration last week. I feel a sense of duty to report his passing here in a website dedicated to old men. Part of the initiation rite of the brotherhood of old men is living with the knowledge there are more tracks behind than ahead though you’re on the trail of The Mystery.

I’m going to mourn but not lament the passing of George Derr, for at 93 his life had been long and he kept it full. There is a lesson for all us old men who need to make sure we’re not doing as Guy Clark once warned in song, “just sitting holding hands with the clock.”

So if you’re a hunter, hunt. If you’re a fisherman, fish. If you’re a golfer, golf. If you’re a musician, play or pick. If you’re a dancer, dance. If you’re a writer, write. If you're a singer like George, break out in song. If you’re just watching TV, you need to get out more unless something really good is on.

And if you’re George Derr, you will find some angel for a game of ping pong or lend a lesson in choir harmony to make the ultimate singing body even more glorious!

George's Last Solo