Jack Crandall, M.D.

Play this while you read.

 

 

My friend Jack passed today.

I can’t remember when I first met Jack, but it was probably 15 years ago.  He quickly became part of my extended family.

Jack loved music, and big band, jazz and blues were probably his favorites.  He made me dozen mix tapes over the years.  The song posted above was on one of those tapes.   I have pages of his hand-written notes wherein he shares his knowledge and history of the various artists on these tapes.  I think one of his favorites was Count Basie.  One Christmas I gave him a book on the early blues and the following year I received a blues mix tape.

Jack spent most of his life in Aspen, Colorado.  He was the town doctor back before Aspen became the glitzy community for the super rich.   He made housecalls in his jeep and delivered babies, including his daughter. He built his house and the commercial building that housed his practice, both of which were designed by Tom Benton.

After he retired from medical practice, he continued to manage the commercial building  (now re-named The Crandall Building).   His office located in the basement boiler room was his man-cave and it was a treat to see Jack’s other side.

Jack was the epitome of “easy going.”  He never let stuff bother him very deeply.  If it was something out of his immediate control, he didn’t spend much time dwelling on it.  He was extremely easy to talk to.

Several times a week, he would go to the Weinerstube for coffee and breakfast and join the Stammtisch.   I joined him on a dozen occasions and met some of the old-time colorful characters behind Aspen.

Jack had been living with cancer for years now and he’s been a real trouper — another thing he didn’t let bother him deeply.

He passed very peacefully with his immediate family at his bedside.

Goodbye, Jack.  My life is better for knowing you.

 

Gesine and Jack Crandall on Jack's birthday Sept 22, 2002.

 

 

 

Small Town Morning

It snowed more than 32 inches over the past 24 hours.   I step out into the sunless early morning to a muted white landscape.  It’s so quiet, even my own sounds don’t propagate far.  My snowboots don’t make a sound in the fresh powder.  The scent of woodsmoke fills the air.

My walk to the post office to pick up yesterday’s mail will take me across the two-lane state highway and the center of town.  I see that the road is already getting congested with skiers and snowboarders heading up from the cities.  None of the sidewalks are clear so I have to walk on the edge of the roadway.

Leaving the highway, I turn down First Street.  I peer into the co-op to see if it’s open yet.  The lights are off and the sign in front says “closed”, but I can see steam accumulating on the inside of the windows.  I know someone is in the back kitchen baking scones and muffins.

I continue to the other edge of town where the post office is. The air here has a different scent of woodsmoke.  It smells like fine tobacco being smoked in a pipe.   One thing I love about this town is the variety of wood that is burned in stoves and fireplaces.  Each block has a different scent.

I pickup my junk mail and deposit my Netflix DVD into the mail slot.  I contemplate taking a different route back home, but decide I want to pass the co-op again to see if it is open.  The idea of a fresh baked muffin sounds so appetizing.

I walk up First Street and peer into the co-op windows.  Yes!  The lights are on and the sign says “open”.  I ask the clerk if there are any muffins yet.  Just then a women carrying a tray of fresh baked chocolate covered raspberry scones emerges from the back, answering my question.  She puts the scones into the display case and tells me about all of the other baked goods in there.  It was a tough choice, but I settled on the banana cranberry, peach muffin, a large one.

Outside, I break off the crispy top part and begin nibbling on it as I walk up the road.  The bottom part of the muffin is steaming.

The highway has even more cars on it now.  Although the traffic is only crawling along, nobody wants to stop to let me cross.  Finally I just go for it, forcing the issue.

Looking up at the Divide as I walk west, I see the sun is shining.  It won’t be long before it’s sunny here.

Back at home, I make some Earl Grey tea and finish my muffin.  I look out the window, between the houses, and see the traffic is stopped dead on the highway.  I’m content not to be in that mess.

Grounded

I was hiking down a nearby gulch after work last week, when I saw what I thought were the fingers of a leather glove sticking up through the snow.  When I took a closer look, I realized they were raptor talons.

I dug down through the snow and ice and uncovered an eagle.    This was next to a power pole.  I determined the eagle had been electrocuted when his/her wings crossed two of the wires.  The power pole even had a raptor guard on it, but that didn’t save this eagle.

I later confirmed that it was a juvenile bald eagle, a little over a year old.  It was a meaningless death that left me sad.

Power pole where the eagle was killed, with trianglular raptor guard on the left.