Farewell to a newsman's newsman, a collector and cantakerous, humorous friend

After soaking Sidney all day, the rain has stopped falling.
That would suit my good friend Eric, a former colleague and mentor, who died today.


Who enjoys rain, really? But it's impossible to experience the meteorological gloom that settled over Sidney today, and not make the connection.

Many a time, Eric and I would tentatively plan to engage in a weekend foray to some regional fair or tiny burg, or even simply decide to dine out during the week, and the decision whether to make the jaunt would hinge on the weather. Cold was abominable, but bearable. Same for the heat. He nearly wore out the heating and cooling system in that old Taurus of his.
But rain was about the worst nuisance, especially after Eric finally embraced retirement.


It wasn't always that way -- I can remember when he would almost derisively explain his mother's daily fixation on the weather wherever he was, the intrusions upon his daily life manifested in multiple telephone calls, even from several states away.

But then Eric got sick. And his mother died. Perhaps when she slipped this mortal coil, and he became the eldest (and last) in the American von Klinger clan, that worrisome vocation became his. Or maybe his grasp of time and what was important was colored by his bout with lung cancer.

Whatever the case, he suddenly became keenly aware of the weather. He didn't let it dictate his life but he certainly was shaped by it. Rain was cause for a grumpy exhortation. But then so were any number of slights, failures, or encounters.


If only it were thundering outside, to mimic his sonorous bellows at whatever injustice, mistreatment or stupidity he encountered, at the hands of the retailers who dared to stop carrying his favorite soup, or the newspaper carrier who couldn't manage to locate his apartment, time after time after time, or the neighbors who made a habit of helping themselves to that paper on Saturdays.

Eric was a journalist's journalist -- it was always about the story, and never about its author. If Eric knew of my need to put fingers to keyboard to sort this all out, he probably wouldn't be very happy.

Nor would he want to read this description of him, peppered with more "I's than a politician's promise.
Intellectual.
Irascible.
Inimitable.
Infuriating.
Integrity.


Those are just some of the things that I will miss.


No one could eviscerate a wrongheaded political argument better than Eric. His vocabulary and humor were unparalleled. He might even chide me -- gently -- for wearing out alliteration, one of my favorite exercises. Too trite, he'd say, always the editor, the coach refining my prose.

But it was his life in recent months that has refined me, like a crucible in the hottest fire, giving lessons for living as he drifted into dying.

Even on the bad days, that mischievous twinkle couldn't be totally hidden, upon the telling of a horrible (and horribly funny) joke, or reminiscing about past loves. And those weren't all women, ya know?
I never understood it, but it was a marvel to hear him talk about his childhood dogs, recounting their travels and characteristics as if they were in the other room.

And he always fought, for what he thought was right, what he deserved, and even for a few more months on this earth, after that cancer spread to his brain.


Sic transit gloria mundi. Rest in Peace, you cantankerous, hilarious, unforgettable curmudgeon.






The official obituary, for print:
Eric J. von Klinger, formerly of Sidney, died Aug. 22 after a lengthy battle with cancer.
Von Klinger, a former staff writer with Coin World, was 66 years old. He was born in 1946, the son of World War II veteran Joseph, a pharmacist and lawyer, and Louise von Klinger, a homemaker.
Von Klinger, a noted expert and researcher in error coins, and authored the Collector's Clearinghouse and Readers' Ask columns during much of his six-years on staff.
Prior to joining Coin World, von Klinger served in writing and editing positions at daily newspapers in Indiana, North Carolina, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Utah and West Virginia.
Von Klinger was also a veteran numismatic journalist. From 1993 to 1996 he served as an associate editor for Numismatic News and as a writer for Coins magazine.
While growing up in Wilmington, Ohio, he got his first exposure to numismatics.
When the Lincoln, Memorial Reverse cent was first released in 1959, von Klinger's seventh-grade science teacher brought a roll of the newly minted coins to the classroom, giving a cent to each student.
An intrigued von Klinger remembered that his father had a bag of old coins, and he began examining those coins, beginning a lifelong hobby.
His interests grew to encompass nearly every area of United States coins, early American coppers and tokens, as well as world coins.
Von Klinger was a charter subscriber to Coin World, which was first published in April 1960.
Von Klinger earned a bachelor's degree in English from Miami University of Ohio, where he also pursued graduate studies in English.
He was a member of the American Numismatic Association, Civil War Token Society, and Token and Medal Society.
He is survived by two nephews, Mike (Jenny) and Matt (Phyllis) Smuland, and former wife Shawnee (Mark) Culbertson.

Love graffiti, or a bridge to nowhere?

There are objects everywhere waiting to tell you stories, if only you'll look for them.



If you ever find yourself nestled deep in Tawawa Park in Sidney, take a stroll and  look for the big red covered bridge.

The Ross Bridge, named as these things often are -- for a local mover and shaker -- crosses Tawawa Creek, which is more formally known as Mosquito Creek.

There is something alluring about a covered bridge, the more timeworn but viable the better. Objects of utility, their simple beauty is striking. And they once littered the landscape in Ohio amid the latter part of the 19th century. Just a few scattered sentinels can be found today, a reminder of a different era.

This bridge is a modern iteration of the type that were once found across west Central Ohio, made by Reuben Partridge. I wonder what Mr. Partridge would think if he saw the way people have left their mark on something meant to honor him.



Scratched and dug and gouged and chiseled into the beams and the rails and the window frames of this bridge are the names of thousands of people, mostly presented in pairs, likely reflecting the youthful glow of love's first gleam.

Who are Kevin + Jen?
Their names still stand out like supernova amid the heavens, but what about their love? Did it rage as brightly and flame out as quickly as their celestial doppelganger or does it still burn, strong and bright?

You can't help but wonder who exactly is BVF, and whether he is still in "LUV" with Virita, as he was in 1981.
Where has time taken these two? What joy and grief have they experienced, and were they there to share and bear it with each other?

Bill and Anita made their mark in 1974. But this is 2013.
One hopes that they are about to celebrate 40 years, marked by times good and bad, but always together, but time and love both have ways of playing funny tricks on people.

Does Joyce still love Don?
The romantic in me says yes, that each of these couples' love has stood the test of time, that it is deep and true and etched in their hearts like their names on that wood.

The cynic says that, given the explosion of divorce and rise of single-parent households, there is, at best, a 50 percent chance that these two are still together, seven, 23 or even 39 years after they made it public. Of course, maybe they have a better shot than that -- it must be true love if you're willing to attempt vandalism.


It is just a bridge, and these are just carvings. But when I see love graffiti, I can't help but wonder whether the metaphor of these hearts and names represent love as a bridge to nowhere, or the solid foundation for a life of love.