Our dear Gaylin is gone.June 19, 1926 - July 1, 2008
Allaboutjazz.com posted a great article about Gaylin's notable career in the movie business, which has sadly reached its final scene. You can see his IMDB biography here.
Those close to Gaylin Schultz watched as he fought the good fight while dealing with his cancer. As if the loss of his wife and best friend Marlene in 2005 wasn't challenging enough, there was also the constant battle with his health. With careful attention, he proactively took his treatments and visited his doctor when any new or unusual symptoms cropped up. He followed doctor's orders. Though he missed Marlene terribly, he managed to survive and transcend her loss, honoring her memory and their lives together.
I thanked him once for taking care of himself, knowing that wives were usually the force behind keeping their men healthy. Gaylin didn't see it as a choice. It was his duty if he wanted to stay around. He worked hard at beating cancer and staying healthy, and prolonged his life because of it.
We'd known him for about a year or so when I told him how much I enjoyed and valued him, and how I wished we'd met sooner. My comment must have been delivered with a sadness that revealed my concern for his health and mortality. He completely discounted my silly statement, telling me that he'd be around for a long time yet. He said we met while there's still plenty of time left for me to enjoy him. I wanted that to be true.
The last time we saw Gaylin was June 19th, his 82nd birthday. Scott and I could tell if he was on the island by checking for his bicycle (which I named Big Thunder). If it was parked outside of his house, it was the same as if a flag was flying, announcing his presence. Gaylin was an early riser, and we often met him at Joe's for breakfast by 6 a.m. He'd ride Big Thunder from his home on Eucalyptus to the little Vons, park it, and walk to Joe's. The three of us would have coffee together, and dine on one short stack of pancakes (which was two pancakes - see above: I'm eating the other half of Gaylin's and Scott gets his own pancake), sharing the "pure maple syrup" that Scott keeps at the restaurant.
He'd often tell us about his adventures on movie sets and travels (with Marlene along, of course) as a grip, which included stories about famous actors, directors and well known films. That day, Scott mentioned that the pancakes were exceptionally good and Gaylin said it was probably because it was his birthday. That's how we found out he was 82. I felt happy to know that he was celebrating the day on the island. After breakfast, we walked with him as he rode home on Big Thunder, knowing we'd see him again during the day.
Later that morning, my daughter and her husband visited the island. We were celebrating the fact that my son-in-law (a Marine serving his second tour of Iraq) had just arrived and was beginning his two-week leave. As we walked here and there, we saw Gaylin around town several times throughout the day, wishing him Happy Birthday each time. A few months before at breakfast I'd called him "Mr." Gaylin for some reason. Startled, he looked at me with perplexed surprise, explaining that his father always called him "Mr." Gaylin, even when he was a little boy. When we saw him again that day, I told him I had a special message from his dad which was, "Happy Birthday, Mr. Gaylin!" He nodded and waved as he watered his garden.
Though he seemed a little weaker than usual, he was as busy and industrious as ever, riding around town on Big Thunder, and relaxing in the harbor on his boat, Marlena. He was always busy inventing a way to improve something, even if he'd already invented it once and improved it twice before.
On Friday, I received a call letting me know that Gaylin suffered a setback with his last cancer treatment, and I called him immediately. At the beginning of the call he sounded very weak, but by the end, he sounded like Gaylin. I think he must have rallied just enough to convince me that he was going through a rough patch, but would be fine. He explained that his last treatment was Monday the 23rd, the beginning of a new series of cancer treatments. He said that after the treatment he had extra energy and did lots of chores on Monday and Tuesday. On Wednesday though, he was hit hard by the aftermath of the treatment. He fell down multiple times and was too weak to get up. He stayed in bed for 30 hours, trying to regain his strength.
He told me he knew he would need some help recuperating, and called a friend, who had stayed with him before under similar circumstances. She would arrive on Sunday. He said he had a doctor's appointment on Monday. He kept assuring me he'd be okay. I told him I thought Monday sounded a long way off for someone who felt as poorly as he did. "I'm feeling better," he assured me. "Do you want me to drive over right now? I will hop in the car this minute!", I said. "I'll even stay at the curb if you want. You can just wave at me through the window if you don't want me to come in, but you'll know I'm out there." "No," he said. "I'll take a rain check, but thanks for the offer, and for calling."
I spoke to Gaylin the next morning. Again, he assured me he was feeling better. I didn't anticipate that three days later when Monday came, it would be his last day. I set a "Gaylin" alarm on my phone that rang everyday at 8 a.m., reminding me to call him. I missed calling him Monday. When it rang Tuesday (church bells), I felt like it was Gaylin ringing my doorbell for a visit. He was the greatest. I'll miss him so much. I kept the alarm active for the rest of the month, taking that time each morning to remember the times we spent together and to think about him.
He'd told us many times that his nightly ritual was influenced by the years he'd spent on movie sets. His day ended promptly at 7:30 p.m., when he proclaimed out loud, "It's a wrap!", then it was off to bed. We imagined that his day's shoot was "in the can" and he would start shooting fresh in the morning.
Sadly, there's not another script, another set, or new creative challenges for the seasoned professional to conquer. Gaylin's story was one of the satisfaction of an interesting life doing exactly what he loved. It included the deep and lasting love of his wife, world travel, and a cast of characters who's affection, respect and friendship added depth and rich layers to the story of a remarkable man.
Gaylin changed me. Because of him, I know these things:
- That you can meet a person who instantly feels like family, yet they've lived their entire life without you in it.
- That the characteristics that define how valuable you've been in your professional life, also define how valuable you remain until the end of your days.
- That it's a comfort to have the "Gaylin" Mii in our Nintendo Wii game. He's still on our team in the virtual world and playing games with us. I'm happy that we played Wii bowling together and that his Mii looks just like him.
- That a stack of "rain checks" for dinners and visits to our mainland home doesn't guarantee they'll ever get used....but it's fun to imagine that they might have.
- That a custom-built-by-Gaylin outdoor table to keep our dog's food and water bowls in the shade is not ridiculous, but a pleasurable project, and can be impeccably completed by a man in his eighties only weeks before his death.
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