We’re all better off having known Lundin
Jon Lundin liked to stir his cappuccino slowly, deliberately and for what
always seemed to me like a very long time, scribing precise circles in the
foam-topped liquid and clearly enjoying the ritual. He said the small amount
of effort it took to evenly distribute the sugar resulted in a remarkably
better cappuccino. Jon was a patient man who understood better than most
that achieving good things takes time.
He was himself at the center of an infinite number of circles. He was like a
stone dropped into a pond by a benevolent God who knew that the pond needed
his energy, compassion and intellect. The concentric circles his life and
work generated will oscillate outward forever, touching the lives of
thousands.
Many of the beneficiaries of Jon’s work didn’t know him in life, but he
liked it that way. He made a big impact but preferred to keep a low profile.
My nickname for Jon was “Giant Brain.” It could just as easily have
been “Giant Heart,” for with his talent and scintillating intelligence, Jon
could have accomplished anything in his life. Anything. He chose to use the
past 24 years helping the poor, undereducated and disadvantaged pull
themselves up by their bootstraps as the able leader of the Abilities Center
— and in many other ways too numerous to detail here. (Which is to say
nothing of his work as a historian and writer.)
Jon certainly didn’t limit his good work to his day job. When my father
passed away suddenly two winters ago, Jon helped me pull myself up by my own
emotional bootstraps. Whenever I saw him in the wake of Dad’s death, he
never failed to mention that “Bull” Graham was one of his favorite people.
He told me stories that would make me prouder still of my father and lift my
spirits immeasurably. There is something about hearing one of your favorite
people describe your father as one of his favorite people that is incredibly
comforting. And Jon Lundin was definitely one of my favorite people.
He was a serious man, but he had a magnetic personality and a great
sense of humor. He was fun to be around. His laugh seemed like something of
his own design. It would build up from somewhere deep inside his soul,
eventually ending up in shaking shoulders, arched eyebrows and a mirthful
grin even his thick beard couldn’t contain. He looked like a great Norse god
of happiness at times like that. He’d nod his head exuberantly atop those
shoulders as if to say “That’s funny! That funny!” It was one of those
largely silent laughs — a more visual than audible display — but a pleasure
to behold. If you made Jon laugh, his laugh itself was like a reward for a
job well done.
Jon was also a cheerleader, as many of you know. A couple of years ago, I
was involved with friends and colleagues in an effort to return Rockford to
home rule. Our effort failed. I’ll admit that I’ve never been a particularly
gracious loser, and I hated that loss and the bitter taste it left in my
mouth. Jon managed to make me feel like the cause was worth the effort. He
reminded me with humor and a knowing wink that nothing is guaranteed in life
— but effort and hard work can be, in and of themselves, rewarding. He
laughed about how hard it can be to encourage positive change in Rockford,
but how worthwhile it is to try.
Jon was an imposing figure physically and intellectually, but among his
great talents was his knack for not making people feel inadequate in his
presence. It seemed as if he could tell I was in awe of him; but he wasn’t
interested in self-aggrandizement. He seemed more interested in helping me
see what I have to offer than talking about what he had already
accomplished. Jon was a great motivator and an inspiring and true moral
compass. I imagine many of you are nodding your heads in agreement as you
read that last sentence.
I was lucky to be uplifted by the gentle current of Jon’s radiating,
circular waves. I am better off in his wake, as so many others are. I’ll
treasure his memory always. Rest in peace, Jon. Thanks for being there for
me and all the rest of us in this pond called Rockford, Illinois.
Jay Graham is partner and co-creative director of GrahamSpencer, a
strategic communications firm in Rockford. He is a former member of the
Rockford Register Star Community Viewpoints Board.