Moline, IL

In memory of Gibbs Johnson, my friend.

To those regular journal readers who do not know me personally, this is going to be a very personal post. One of my best friends, Gibbs Johnson, died over the weekend. This journal entry has little to do with the Yanni tour other than the fact that it is why I am not at the funeral, which is occurring right now in Chattanooga, TN.

I am sitting here on the bank of the Mississippi River in Moline, thinking about our friendship. It is a sunny day here, with temperatures in the 60's. It was a similar spring day slightly less than a year ago, when I decided to give Gibbs a call in between innings of assistant coaching my daughter's softball game. I remember wanting to tell him a quick joke I'd just heard. Before I could get to the joke, his voice broke and he told me he'd just returned from the Doctors office with the news that he had a golf ball size brain tumor. I continued to coach third base, through tears, knowing what was ahead of us. Later that week he had the first of two brain surgeries that would prove futile against the giant cell glioblastoma which would take his life in under a year.

It is fitting that I am having my private memorial service here by the river. Rivers are where Gibbs and I had some of our best experiences. He has everything to do with my love for white water kayaking. We spent hundreds of hours playing on the Occoee river over the years. Those are memories I will cherish forever.

Gibbs was a giving person in life and in death. In our visits over the past few months he often spoke of wanting to share with everyone the new perspective he was gaining on life, as the end of his drew near. To do so he wrote a letter a couple of months back, and requested I read it at his funeral. Our touring schedule made it impossible for me to be there today, so someone else is reading it for me. Another mutual friend, Briggs Smith, read the letter to me over the phone today, so I could include it in this journal entry. Here it is:

"I want to tell you about a gift I have received. I am sure you know about my brian cancer. It has returned and my life is measured in months now. I have been fighting for 7 months, and have not been depressed for more than maybe an hour total. That is a gift in itself.

The greatest gift I received is from God, and it is the ability to enjoy the moment, and to appreciate the small things in life that He has provided.

A wonderful friend in my life, Dan, has always seemed to have this ability and for this, I have envied him. He enjoys the moment, appreciates the small things in life and seems to be able to accumulate them. He always seems happy. He once told me that he hates to go to sleep at night because he feels that he will miss conscience hours of the day!


I have been too busy and too concerned about other things to enjoy the moment. This does not mean that I have not enjoyed life, for I have. How many people do you know who have trekked the Himalayas, hiked the Andes, white water kayaked the Grand Canyon 3 times, trout fished in New Zealand, sailed the Atlantic and island hopped around the Caribbean. I have had a truly blessed life. But still I have had a hard time appreciating the small things in accumulating them as joy.


My friend Dan told me about how he likes to walk near his home and sometimes just stops and looks down at the ground and sees what God has put at his feet. It may not seem like much to most, just some dirt, twigs, leaves, but he sees the beauty, enjoys and carries that with him as he continues his walk.


The other night, I envisioned him standing by a wood, staring down at the ground. He was looking at a relatively small fiery reddish/orange maple leaf, and enjoying that God put it there. He took it with him - not the leaf but the joy it brought him. Several days later I drove past a maple tree that still had all its fall colors and all its fiery red-orange leaves on it and saw Dan’s life with the cumulative multitude of the small leaves each representing joy he was able to save. The tree was joyous to see and made me think not of his life but of my live, your life, everyone's life. Each of us should be that fiery maple tree of joy.


Through my illness god has given me the ability to enjoy the moment and appreciate the small things. It is a most incredible gift. I am told I am dying, yet each day I am a happy man filled with joy - a deeper joy than I have ever known. I have thanked God for this great gift and have promised to try to pass it along to others. We are guaranteed not another minute of life, or seeing our loved ones, or enjoying this wonderful world. We need to gather our maple leaves, save them and become the fiery tree. If only I could have understood this before, my life would have been even more incredible.

Thank you Dan for so freely sharing you spirit, thank you friends and family for your support and prayers, thank you Lord for this most incredible gift."

I am relating this personal experience in this public journal as a way to follow Gibbs advice of capturing the moment. As I sit here by the river's edge in profound sadness, I'm comforted by the beauty that surrounds me. The Mississippi rolls slowly by. A Mallard with its iridescent green and blue head, white ringed neck and glowing brown breast feathers swims alongside a smaller, less splendid mate. Several Chipping Sparrows hop through the weedy grass pecking at seeds, and under the bridge which provides my shade, I hear the gentle cooing of doves.

Gibbs, this moment is for you. ¶ 4:52 PM