October 11, 2012--John (Jack) Hake
Jack Hake was a good friend who died Wednesday after an inspiring battle with cancer. Inspiring not so much because of the way he handled the too many treatments (he nonchalanted his way through those) but because he showed all of us who loved him how to live until literally the final minutes are tolled and last words spoken.
He was a native son of North Carolina who never let anyone forget it. During Tar Heels' season, even though we pretended to ignore him, we heard about every three-pointer and touchdown.
But he adopted Florida, Delray Beach, as his home decades ago and along with that the Hurricanes and Dolphins. I for one, with great and relentless effort, forced him to acknowledge there was something to be said for the Big Apple after the Giants won the Super Bowl last year, their second in five years. But until his last breath he was claiming that his beloved Dophins were going to beat the St. Louis Rams this Sunday.
Wherever he is now I know he'll be rooting hard for them and saying to whomever he will be hanging out with, as he said to me hundreds of times, "One more thing and then I'll let you go."
That one more thing usually lasted half an hour, but who ever paid attention to time when Jack had something else to say, as he always did.
I met him six years ago at Delray's best breakfast place, the Green Owl. Come early and Jack would already be there holding court; sleep in for an extra hour, and Jack would still be there down at the last seat at the counter, behind the ice tea machine, right by the "library," so called because that's where Owl customers would leave their newspapers when the finished their last cup of coffee.
I know he chose the worst seat in the house to hide from Traci and the other waitresses who would threaten to kick him out when things got busy and there were people waiting. At those times Vanessa would arch her eyebrow and, with hand on hip, faux-surly say, "You've got the five minute warning." But she and her colleagues would rarely enforce it. Maybe they would after another 20 minutes had passed and if things were really jumping. But then Jack would guide you out to Atlantic Avenue where he would not let you go until he told you one last annecdote. And then, often, he would follow you down the avenue to the News Shop and regale Richard and Nancy with yet more stories.
In other words, this wonderful man, this only child, who did not have one living relative--both his parents died years ago and neither had brothers or sisters so Jack had no aunts, no uncles, no cousins, no siblings at any time in his 77 years--still he knew how to make a life for himself: at the Owl, where he was beloved, among his many friends at the Seagate Hotel where he sidled up to the piano bar four or five nights a week, to dozens of neighbors from the condo in which he lived overlooking the Intracoastal.
Those neighbors set up a schedule to be with him 24-hours a day during his last week at the hospital. They knew the end was near and did not want him to be alone for one minute. And he never was. He was the kind of friend to engender that kind of caring and his friends reciprocated in kind.
We were unable to get there during bis last days but heard daily from mutual friends who visited Jack during that time--especially from Ernst, the Owl's chief cook, and Harvey Brown, one of the Owl's loyal customers and best kidders. To listen in on his frequent encounters with Jack was more than worth the price of Jack's favorite--Eggs Benedict.
Harvey was with him the day before he died and just a few hours before Jack's passing.
During the last visit Harvey knew the end was near. Jack was barely responsive. But the day before--not too many hours earlier--he reported that he told Jack that he was about to go to the Owl for breakfast and did he have "any words for the crew back there."
Harvey said that Jack thought for a moment, looked at him carefully and, gasping for breath, said--
See what I mean about how he set an example about how to live until the last second?
Up to Jack's final words, W.C. Field's had been my favorite--
He was a native son of North Carolina who never let anyone forget it. During Tar Heels' season, even though we pretended to ignore him, we heard about every three-pointer and touchdown.
But he adopted Florida, Delray Beach, as his home decades ago and along with that the Hurricanes and Dolphins. I for one, with great and relentless effort, forced him to acknowledge there was something to be said for the Big Apple after the Giants won the Super Bowl last year, their second in five years. But until his last breath he was claiming that his beloved Dophins were going to beat the St. Louis Rams this Sunday.
Wherever he is now I know he'll be rooting hard for them and saying to whomever he will be hanging out with, as he said to me hundreds of times, "One more thing and then I'll let you go."
That one more thing usually lasted half an hour, but who ever paid attention to time when Jack had something else to say, as he always did.
I met him six years ago at Delray's best breakfast place, the Green Owl. Come early and Jack would already be there holding court; sleep in for an extra hour, and Jack would still be there down at the last seat at the counter, behind the ice tea machine, right by the "library," so called because that's where Owl customers would leave their newspapers when the finished their last cup of coffee.
I know he chose the worst seat in the house to hide from Traci and the other waitresses who would threaten to kick him out when things got busy and there were people waiting. At those times Vanessa would arch her eyebrow and, with hand on hip, faux-surly say, "You've got the five minute warning." But she and her colleagues would rarely enforce it. Maybe they would after another 20 minutes had passed and if things were really jumping. But then Jack would guide you out to Atlantic Avenue where he would not let you go until he told you one last annecdote. And then, often, he would follow you down the avenue to the News Shop and regale Richard and Nancy with yet more stories.
In other words, this wonderful man, this only child, who did not have one living relative--both his parents died years ago and neither had brothers or sisters so Jack had no aunts, no uncles, no cousins, no siblings at any time in his 77 years--still he knew how to make a life for himself: at the Owl, where he was beloved, among his many friends at the Seagate Hotel where he sidled up to the piano bar four or five nights a week, to dozens of neighbors from the condo in which he lived overlooking the Intracoastal.
Those neighbors set up a schedule to be with him 24-hours a day during his last week at the hospital. They knew the end was near and did not want him to be alone for one minute. And he never was. He was the kind of friend to engender that kind of caring and his friends reciprocated in kind.
We were unable to get there during bis last days but heard daily from mutual friends who visited Jack during that time--especially from Ernst, the Owl's chief cook, and Harvey Brown, one of the Owl's loyal customers and best kidders. To listen in on his frequent encounters with Jack was more than worth the price of Jack's favorite--Eggs Benedict.
Harvey was with him the day before he died and just a few hours before Jack's passing.
During the last visit Harvey knew the end was near. Jack was barely responsive. But the day before--not too many hours earlier--he reported that he told Jack that he was about to go to the Owl for breakfast and did he have "any words for the crew back there."
Harvey said that Jack thought for a moment, looked at him carefully and, gasping for breath, said--
"Tell . . . them . . . that . . . I'm . . . finally . . . getting . . . some . . . good service."By all accounts these were Jack's last words.
See what I mean about how he set an example about how to live until the last second?
Up to Jack's final words, W.C. Field's had been my favorite--
"All things considered, I'd rather be in Philadelphia."Pretty good, but I'll never forget Jack's. Or him.
posted by Steven Zwerling at
6:07 AM
3 Comments:
I'm going to miss Jack. Every night as I peer from my piano bench out into the audience of the Sea Gate Hotel's Atlantic Grille, I'll remember that true gentleman who sat listening to me. He was a special person and just the nicest guy you could ever wish to meet. Whenever I saw him he was very kind to me and always had a smile and a kind word. I was flattered when he brought his friends in to listen to me. I used to call him my agent. Perhaps he can put a good word in for me still at the next gig coming up in the sky. Rest in peace, my dear friend.
O. Whitfield
Jack would love to hear this from you since he talked about you all the time. You brought great joy into his life.
Thanks for singing Phantom last night. I know Jack was listening somewhere. This was a tribute Jack certainly would appreciate.
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