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You may not have known Jay Lohman, but you would have liked him. Although he was short of stature, he was big of heart. He wasn’t famous, and he wasn’t rich, unless you count all the relationships in his life. Then, yes, he was a billionaire.
He and his wife, Jane, and their four kids lived in Alta from the late 1970s through the late 1980s. I was lucky to have met them when I lived there, too. We were part of the BABS group, couples spanning a wide age range, who slept on Storm Lake’s Bare A$$ Beach one weekend a year.
Jay met his days with gusto, sometimes while wearing a pith helmet and carrying a machete. He’d been in the Marines, so he knew how to dig a toilet in the sand and whack down vegetation. That came in handy on the beach. The local DNR may have begged to differ.
When we tired of waking up with sand in our crevices, the group started to meet on firmer soil. The yearly BABS reunions persisted even as the members slowly moved away. We met in Des Moines at a backyard pool for years and later in South Dakota, the Northeast, and in Southern California. BABS persisted through all the things that friends experience: kids growing up and getting married, death, divorce and the toll of time.
Jay died on Oct. 30 after struggling with COPD for the last two years of his life. He fought a good fight.
So, it was time to celebrate his life last Sunday in Grinnell, and it was a celebration worthy of Jay’s spirit: pizza, beer, laughs, good memories.
His family helped us remember him just as he was: Steadfast husband, loving dad, gaga grandpa. Jane gave a wonderful tribute as she donned a Hawaiian shirt in Jay’s honor. She got through her speech celebrating their 59 years of marriage better than I did.
Son John remembered his dad stopping to help an elderly woman as they were on their way to an event. John said that, as a ten-year-old, he was kind of embarrassed to witness his dad stop the car and walk over to help this stranger, but his father’s selfless act left a deep imprint on John’s character.
Jay’s daughter, Gretchen, remembered that, at her wedding, “we played ‘What a Wonderful World.’ And it truly was — because of him. He made our world a wonderful one.”
Most of us remembered Jay’s zest for life. He could create a party just by sitting down with a few friends. I like to think that Jay was an actor at heart. He didn’t need a script or makeup. A few costumes, yes, but he could wing it from there. To Jay, all the world was a stage.
This is not to say he was a show-off or an attention hog. No, he just liked creating scenarios and adding appropriate clothing to complete the experience. On one of our BABS reunions, we had a Roman theme, complete with Centurion garb and togas. Another year, to mark the fact that one of our gang had moved to the Boston area, he dressed up like a Pilgrim.
When one of our group finished a master’s degree, Jay led a kazoo band up his friend’s sidewalk to celebrate. At a wedding reception, the table centerpieces consisted of small clear bowls filled with water and goldfish. As the evening wore on, Jay and the father-of-the-bride decided they needed a little snack.
My daughter, who was nine at the time, still talks about the night that Jay and Bob Hinkeldey ate live goldfish at Francine’s wedding.
Wild man. Crazy guy. There was that, yes, but it was meant to draw you in, to say, “You want in?” and not create a gulf between you and him. There was enough goldfish to go around.
And he was kind. Kristi Stienke Miller, a family friend, remembered when she was sick one Halloween. Jay and daughter Gretchen made sure that nine-year-old Kristi got some candy delivered to her house in the country.
Life will be poorer without Jay. And a lot less fun, but oh, the memories we share about him. He lives on.
Maybe you had a guy like Jay Lohman in your life. If so, you know how lucky you were.
Joan Zwagerman is grateful to have known Jay Lohman.
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