Carl Chelius was an old friend of my husband's, and thus of me, ever since we arrived in PA more than 30 years ago. As you can see in the candid shot above, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Papa Hemingway. Although I was not close to him as I define a friend, he was nonetheless instrumental in our lives. He gave us gifts of enormous value and his hospitality was without par. At a time of great stress in my life (cancer treatments) he was kindness itself, showing me what I did not know existed, that a crusty old Marine could have a heart of gold. He gave us our first custom wooden canoe paddles (his own) and a canoeing book, both of which immensely expanded our field of operations. He took us out to dinner many times (strike range 50 miles), provided endless quips and phrases (the most famous is probably "and this is a problem how?"), and, most personally, gifted me with a priceless tiger skin rug. It now lies in the master bedroom where I see it every day.
My tiger rug is 9' 3", seriously respectable although probably not trophy. Carl bought it in Hong Kong in 1962, when he was a young helicopter pilot during the Vietnam war. At that time it was one of the best to be had, and featured glass eyes and an open mouth with wooden teeth. When I acquired it in 2014, I demounted the head and developed the current display, which uses a pillow and some turquoise suede leather for the eyes. About all I can say of "Felix Tigris" is that he was going to throw it away. Being a leather person and otherwise drawn to big game trophies, I could not resist. Being Carl, he asked whether I'd posed nude on it. Ah, Carl, you knew we were happily married; that is enough.
Carl Chelius was Associate Professor of Meteorology at Penn State until he retired in 1994. He flew the H-34 in the Marines deployment in the Vietnam war, subsequently serving with the Golden Eagles (HMM-162), and then the Knightriders with the CH-46. He was awarded 14 Air medals and the Expeditionary Medal during those tours. Later he also flew Penn State's research airplane. He was an active member of the Army Navy Club in Washington DC and of many other clubs and organizations. He also donated a great deal to Penn State Athletics. Since George had been a pilot and glider pilot (as well as being a Penn State Meteorology Professor Emeritus), the two men had much in common.
Carl was at once both terribly vulgar and royally a gentleman. He became an in-loco-uncle when my own nearest uncle was an unavailable 800 miles away. He leaves behind a wealth of stories and a standard of behaviour that, despite the bad jokes, would do well to be adopted by more people in power these days. And oh yes, at least once he saved George's life -- as if I could owe him more.
I only have a few pictures of Carl and his family. These were taken during a picnic on private land, a place we could never have reached on our own, another gift. The man was a gourmet, and even picnics were occasions for rejoicing.
On the left above is Lizzy Kanavy Chelius, Carl's daughter by his first wife Joyce. Carl and Joyce were an inseparable pair for as long as she lived. (Amoung other things, Carl was a role model in how to care for an Alzheimer's patient until she died.) Lizzy's husband Mike stands to the right of the table. In the shade, looking down in a black t-shirt, is George Young, and seated next to him is Judy Burke, Carl's second wife. Lizzy was crazy about horses, which of course sparked our own friendship. Model horse people may recognize her name: She was the artist who knitted the blankets for my Clyde Goehring Mexican parade saddles.
Taken in the woods near the ridgetop of Bald Eagle Mountain, overlooking State College: From left to right: Lizzy, Carl, Judy, George.
Pretty good for a candid shot, I must say.
Dear Carl, I didn't thank you enough for the rootbeer floats, not to mention all the cooking advice. No one could take your place. You will be missed.
No comments:
Post a Comment