Bulletproof: The True Life Exploits of an Urban Superhero: Don Loegering Did Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

My friend has died.

You wouldn't know it just from the outside, but he was one of my closest friends. He was 47 years older than me, retired military, German heritage, lived in all the places I had not, was all the things I was not, but he was my friend...

And I just found out tonight he died this summer...
And that makes tonight very hard...
Because I miss him.

Our lives had become very busy from when we met over 15 years ago, and the hectic pace meant we would go a couple of months without seeing or hearing from each other, and then grab lunch or dinner and the months apart would melt away as we caught up on each other's lives. And then every year at Thanksgiving or Christmas, sometimes both, I'd invite him to join us because to me, to us, he was family. And so tonight, while I was shopping for food to cook for Thanksgiving, I called him to extend the annual invitation...But the phone just rang; no one picked up, no voicemail or anything. I tried his cellphone and got that funky "the number you have reached is no longer in service" message, and began to worry. I called his home number again, hoping that he would answer, hoping that what I had been fearing for awhile, what I knew would one day come to pass had not. The line rang a full 20 times before I hung up and open my browser on my iPhone and typed in "Don Loegering obituary"...

And there it was, the moment I dreaded, the moment I knew would someday come... "Loegering, Donald L. AF Maj., Ret. of St. Louis Park, beloved member of the Basilica of Saint Mary congregation, passed away..."

This summer was especially hectic with a tremendous amount at work, home and in the community. Don passed away two days after I had surgery and the funeral was the same day as Rondo Days, the largest festival for our community in Saint Paul...and so, his passing went by and I missed it...

And now I just miss him.

I first met Don in 2000 when I was living in Stevens Square in Minneapolis and running for city council. It was my first run for office, I didn't know what the hell I was doing and Don showed up at a meet & greet and we just hit it off. He offered to donate his time and talent to do the photography for my campaign. He had a small studio on 19th street just off of Nicollet Avenue, a lifetime of experience and a passion for photography. He was retired so he did things because he wanted to, because he enjoyed them, not out of obligation. He covered the campaign because it suited him. He enjoyed the challenge and the experience. And he did damn fine photography. Out of that chance encounter came one of the richest friendships I've ever known.

Over the years, Don would do other photography or framing jobs for me including my first wedding, sometimes donating his time, often times with my insistence that he accept my money, but always, always out of friendship. We talk about politics and life, heartache and hard experience, where we had come from and where we were going and we would laugh a lot. We shared our regrets, and our joys. He talked about children and especially his grandchildren, his journeys in Swaziland and Jamaica, his time as a fighter pilot and family. We bonded over our mutual love of choral singing and I never met a more interesting person in my life.

I loved him and the richness he brought to my life. He was a Renaissance Man.

You see, Don was my hero, and an American hero to boot. I don't mean a John Wayne swagger type of hero, but someone more real. He had flown in the Army Air Corps, served in WWII, Korea and intelligence work in Vietnam...and then left that all behind to join the Peace Corps. He had the soul of a man who witnessed all manner of good and evil and still was whole. He still had laughter in his heart and a passion to share his art and his friendship. He wasn't a blind patriot dolefully following the rhetoric spouted in the name of flag and country, but rather a man of honor and integrity that understood the difference between fighting a war and defending liberty. He understood truth.

He was a good man.

Last year, we hosted Thanksgiving at our house, my parents came out from the DC metro, my in-laws from here, my daughter's best friend and her family and our other found family, Martha and Don all got together, not knowing it would be the last one. Don enjoyed talking with people and loved to get to know them, and he had stories that would transfix you, no matter what your age. He spent a large chunk of the time talking with my mother and the two of them smiling happily through their experiences.

He was a wonderful part of our family.

Years ago, I had seen a photograph in his studio of him sitting in the cockpit of his F-80 Shooting Star, it was almost mystical. I loved visiting his studio and listening to him talk about working with the younger artists in Stevens Square. I asked him for a copy, and he gave me a framed picture with a note on the back. For years, that hung on our wall of family photos until an accident cracked the glass last year.

We talked about it at Thanksgiving, promising to get together so he could fix it...

we never got around to it...

I'm crying as I write this because I know he will not be here this year to join in our fellowship. He will not regale us with tales of far away lands and daring exploits; we won't commiserate over the most recent election; we won't talk about what the future may bring...

I miss my friend.

He was wise, he was fun, he was engaging...

He was my friend.

"Fare ye well
Fare ye well.