Remembering...

John G. Ryan
Class of 1978

My Friend, John Ryan

By Ed Haskins '78

I have come to believe that there are no coincidences in life. In August 1970, two fair-haired, very naive suburban 14 year olds from Xavier High got on a bus on 16th St. in Manhattan for a two-hour ride to their first high school football camp in Wurtsboro, N.Y., a place as glamorous as its name sounds. John had the window seat, but I took a chance on sitting next to him because he looked almost as lost as I did. About halfway to Wurtsboro I began to question my decision to sit next to him because I could not get him to say very much. In retrospect, this turned out to be one of the most fortuitous bus rides of my life. That two-hour trip was the start of a 31-year journey for both of us, a fantastic journey that has now come to an end, at least in its human form. Over the last few weeks I have cried more than a few tears for my fallen friend, but I have also smiled, and, yes, even laughed, as I thought of all the life we had experienced together over our four years at Xavier: football games won and lost, the Military Ball, the hideous tuxedos we wore to the Junior Prom. Four years later, somehow, we both graduated despite ourselves. But more importantly, a bond had been forged based on trust and mutual respect, a bond so strong that it would never be broken.

At Holy Cross there were many times that our lives took different paths. We both expanded our universes to include new friends, new loves, and new interests. But that bond from 16th St. never even wavered; in fact, I believe it grew even stronger. By senior year at Holy Cross we were roommates at the Homestead Hilton with an All Star cast of characters with names such as Harold and Melbie, Skip and Bowling Ball, Dudley and Rhino, Burkey and Buford. And yes, even a year of living in the same room with each other couldn't break that bond.

The stories of life at Holy Cross are certainly too many to enumerate and, in some cases, too unbelievable to repeat. After Holy Cross let both of us graduate for fear that we would come back for a fifth year, JR and I again set out to travel very different roads, yet I once again knew that nothing would ever break that special bond, not time, not distance, not tragedy. JR and I had literally been through it all-life, death, misery, suffering and as much fun as two people could ever have. To this day I vividly remember the late night call from Mrs. Ryan telling me that JR had been stabbed in New York. I was to have been with him and others that night, and I felt guilty for months afterward about not being by his side that night. And again in 1993, I walked into a restaurant in Burlington, Vt., and the headlines on the TV told of the World Trade Center bombing. I immediately called JR to find out if he was OK. As it turned out, he was smoking a cigar and playing poker. I thought to myself, this guy is invincible. But we all know that no one is invincible.

And so life has gone on until now. Weddings, funerals, barbecues by the pool, weeks at the beach at the Outer Banks, strawberry daiquiris, boogie boards, hermit crabs, his little green Army men, Sparks Steak House, dinners with Fr. Bill McGowan (the gentle giant of 16th St. who was always there with stern-yet-wise counsel) and, yes, children. This is the category in which I gave JR a run for his money. In 1985, I have one. One month later, JR has one. In 1987, I have one. One month later, JR has two. In 1990, I have one. And JR is nowhere to be found-he surrendered.

And now, God has taken JR back.

So where do we go from here? I have come to believe that nothing happens in God's world by mistake. This tragedy has happened for a reason, though none of us knows today what that reason is. As difficult as it may be, let us try not to dwell on how much we will miss our husband, our son, our brother, our father, and our friend but instead let us honor JR by remembering all the good times we spent with him. All the wishes in the world can't bring him back, but the remembrances of quality time spent together can and will ease our pain and honor his memory.

We must leave here today with a sense of purpose so that JR's death will not have been in vain and to send a message to those who wish to disrupt our way of life that we will emerge from the events of Sept. 11 a much stronger people. I saw this the other day on the Internet and thought that JR would certainly approve.

"Today we have higher buildings and wider highways, but shorter temperaments and narrower points of view
We spend more, but enjoy less
We have bigger houses, but smaller families
We have more knowledge, but less judgment
We have more medicines, but less health
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values
We talk much, we love only a little and we hate too much
We reached the moon and came back, but we find it troublesome to cross our own street to meet our neighbors
We conquered the outer space, but not our inner space
We have higher incomes, but less morals
These are times with more liberty, but less joy
With much more food, but less nutrition
These are days when two salaries get home, but divorces increase
These are times of finer houses, but more broken homes.

So I propose the following:

Do not keep anything for a special occasion because every day that you live is a special occasion
Search for knowledge, read more, sit on your front porch and admire the view
Pass more time with your family, eat your favorite food, visit the place you love
Life is a chain of moments of enjoyment, it isn't only survival
Use your crystal goblets
Do not save your best perfume but use it every time you want to
Take out of your vocabulary phrases like "one of these days" and "someday"
Let's write that letter we thought of writing "one of these days"
Let's tell our families and friends how much we love them
Do not delay anything that adds laughter and joy to your life
Let's treat others not as strangers but as friends we haven't yet met
Treat everyone we meet as if today were to be their last day on earth and assume that today is yours
Every day, hour, and minute are special, and you just don't know if it will be your last.

I know that JR influenced many more people than any of us will ever know. So how should we remember him now?

A soldier of God
A faithful and devoted husband to Patty
A loving father to Laura, Colin, and Kristen
A dutiful and respectful son
A wonderful brother
A good and true friend to all
A beloved son and brother-in-law

JR was every American. A quiet patriot. A good neighbor. A friend and fellow citizen. You see him every week coaching at Little League games and chaperoning school dances. You sit next to him in churches and synagogues. You stand in line with him to vote. John Ryan was the best this country had to offer to the altar of freedom. That very freedom is an ideal that the rest of the world can only wonder at. All Americans-both civilian and military-killed and wounded in these tragic attacks, join the ranks of patriots fallen in other conflicts. They are Americans all. It is our duty to remember John as a hero. Let us record that as his tribute. Let history record that as his legacy.

We pray that his rest is peaceful. Although ours cannot be, we rest easy in the memories of an American hero so very much touched by the hand of God. I know that John is in a good place right now, and that he will look over and protect all of us. But when he's not busy doing that my gut feeling is that he will either be going over old Xavier football game films with Xavier's Leo Pacquin or getting into mischief with his heroes, Moe, Larry and Curly.

Would you all please join hands now as we pay one last tribute to John.

JR, I will always be proud to call you my friend. We love you, we'll miss you, and may God bless you, God bless all of us, and God bless America!

* * *

The following remembrance was written by John Ryan's daughter, Laura.

So many people have come up to me to tell me how much my father loved me, and how he was so proud of me in everything I did. I just hope my dad knew how much I loved him and how proud I am of him. I don't know any other dad who would wake up at 5:15 to drive his daughter to crew practice, or spend hours watching his son play ice hockey, or make the drive to Pennsylvania three times a week to watch his daughter play basketball. I don't know anyone else who would devote almost all of his free time to coach softball and basketball and teach girls how to play the sports that he loved. When I quit softball last year, I asked my dad what he would do in all his free time, and if he would miss coaching. "I will miss coaching," he said, "but most of all, I'll miss watching you play."

There are so many things that I will miss about my dad, most of them just little idiosyncrasies. Anyone that's ever been in a car with my dad knows he had a tendency to mistake the steering wheel for a drum set. When I was little I thought the music he listened to was totally uncool. But, through my dad's persistent drumming, I learned who the Cars, the Rolling Stones and even Ozzy Osborne were. And eventually, I started to like the music my dad listened to. But, there will always be one group that will define who my dad was to me, and every song I hear by them will remind me of him. Every song by this group will remind me of my dad coaching me from third base every summer, or my dad working in the backyard, or of him trying to help me with my first report on Pearl Harbor, or of him teaching me how to boogie board at the beach, or of my dad walking through the door at 6 p.m. every night, or of my dad playing his real drums to his favorite band, the Who. Since I was little, there's always been one song that I loved, and I'd like to read a quote from it that epitomizes the love I will always have for my dad.

This is from "My Love Open the Door" by Pete Townsend of the Who:

When tragedy befalls you
Don't let them bring you down
Love can cure your problems
You're so lucky I'm around.
I have the key to your heart
I can stop you falling apart
Try today, you'll find this way
Come on and give me a chance to say
Let my love open the door
It's all I'm living for
Release yourself from misery
Only one thing's gonna set you free
That's my love.

* * *

The following remembrance was written by John Ryan's son, Colin.

I'm going to miss the way my dad always found a way to relay his football stories, no matter what we were talking about. He was a great coach. He had hardly even been on skates, yet he managed to give me hockey advice that my coaches overlooked. Seeing him at my games and practices always made me want to do my best.

He was always there to help me with algebra equations, science projects, and especially history papers. Whenever I got 100 on an assignment, he would say "A hundred? That's all?" I can't count how many of those A's I would have missed if he hadn't looked over the material with me.

But the things that I will miss the most are his little habits: The way he cracked his knuckles, the way be drummed to his music on the steering wheel, and the funny names he called me when I was younger. It scares me to think he's not going to wake me up for school on Monday morning, or come home at six o'clock on Monday night.

My dad has had some personal impact on almost everyone in this room; whether you're a co-worker, a friend, or a family member, he has touched all our hearts. He taught me to work my hardest at everything, and not to get frustrated if things don't go my way. I never had as much raw talent as most of the other kids, no matter what sport I played. My dad helped me to realize that as long as I hustled and poured my heart into every shift, I would be noticed, and I would be successful. My dad helped me accomplish many small milestones during my 14 years. But one thing stands out: He helped me succeed.

Back to Remembering index >