The saying goes that you never know what you’ve got till it’s gone. Despite being an overused cliche, it’s the absolute truth. There’s something about loss that brings about a sense of appreciation.
Monday, my family bid farewell to my late uncle William Ryder Jr. Some knew him as Bill or Ryder. I simply knew him as Uncle George. As a child, my grandmother Virginia, who was his oldest sister, would tell us about him from time to time — that he was an artist and how his ingenuity would sometimes take the form of destruction; he’d rip their toys apart and put them back together in his own unique way. I also remember the times at my Aunt Belinda’s house when we kids would hear the adults talk about his most recent exhibition or news write-up. My first personal recollection came when I was in elementary school and he challenged my brother to a foot race down our block. It was hilarious. Though I never saw him very often, the moments I got to share with him over the years were never lacking in laughs or lessons. I learned a lot just listening to him. I learned to not let a painful past dictate the course of my life. I learned to use what I have to propel me, rather than allow my shortcomings to be a stumbling block. He was brilliant.
Two years ago, my uncle had fallen ill and had to spend some time at the VA hospital. Though his breath was labored and movements constrained to the small bed, which swallowed his even smaller frame, his mind was sharp. He’d tell every doctor or caregiver that entered the room what his plans were. He wanted the hospital to showcase his art somewhere. They’d listen politely, but we all knew these people had neither the power to fulfill his wishes nor the intent to assist in reaching those who did. In his latter years, this was a common occurrence. Uncle George: the artist not without honor from his peers, but wholly disregarded by the powers that be. He had huge dreams … transforming Martin Luther King Jr. Street into a Black art oasis, taking a city block in the middle of the ’hood and making it a sanctuary that celebrated us in all our glory. On Easter, the last time I saw him, he shared more dreams, goals and plans … a book he was writing, a museum he wanted to open and even an exhibition at the Louvre. He was always working and strategizing. In his mind, nothing was too far out of reach.
On Monday, as we all gathered in a small chapel on the city’s west side to celebrate his life, there was a sense of peace. The ghastly funeral home music was swiftly changed to something more fitting: the sounds of John Coltrane. Uncle George would have been happy. Later in the gathering, a number of people took the mic to share their own George Ryder stories, each of them funny, thoughtful and heartfelt. Vickie Daniel sang “God Bless the Child” and remarked that Uncle George was one of the freest people she’d ever known. Others spoke on his unique personality and strong will to do exactly what he wanted, how he wanted. Some remarked on the beauty of his many creations. At one point, there was a discussion about some local art institution wanting to feature his work. A relative remarked how it was sad that in life, he worked so hard to make these things happen, to no avail. She noted how it was odd that many of our greats are not given their just due until their life is no more. I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t piss me off a bit to know that while these moves are being made, Uncle George won’t be here in the physical realm to enjoy the fruits of his years of labor. Another side of me finds solace in knowing he did it his way, with love, never seeking to brag, boast or sell out for fame. He was an original, and I believe his reward was manifested in the relationships he built and the lives he touched. We can all only hope to be so fortunate.
I do not know what the future holds and if my uncle’s legacy will go the way of folks like Gauguin, Monet or Van Gogh, whom he often quoted. What I do know is that he was loved and he was blessed — blessed enough in this life to smell his flowers before the sun set and be appreciated by the people who loved him best.
