The Effect of a Philip Dedrick 

There came a time when I was in jeopardy of losing my scholarship at the college due to an English history class that I was close to failing (due to it being taught so poorly by a less than efficient instructor, naturally).  Panicking, I sought out the advice of Mr. Dedrick.  He invited me to his home, told me not to worry and let the future take care of itself, and then presented me with a bowl of vanilla ice cream.   

 
In the past 27 years there have been many bowls of vanilla ice cream.  Granted there have been times we argued and fought, the causes for these acrimonious moments being completely his fault, of course.  But in the long run this is the man who has shown me many of the beautiful things in the world, this is the man whose wisdom and humor I have always cherished, and this is the man who has been the family I never had. 

Though I will never, ever understand his appreciation for all that ugly primitive artwork or his dislike of the superlative creations of Gianlorenzo Bernini, I could never imagine my life without his comfort, understanding, laughter and unconditional love.  

Philip Dedrick, The Ancient One, my Bo-bo, and fellow Mahler-hater has taught for forty years and has many sons and daughters.  I consider myself very, very lucky to count myself amongst them.

 "Something is created out of nothing, out of chaos; and as we succeed in shaping our intractable material into coherence and form- a relief comes to mind as a new accretion is added to that projection of oneself.   As happens, it is likely that new ideas, new fashions, and the pressing forward of new generations will soon obliterate my small contribution.   Yet I like to think in each generation may be found a few responsive minds.   To shake hands with a good friend over the centuries is a pleasant thing, and the affection which an individual may retain after his departure is perhaps the only thing which guarantees an ultimate life to his work."                  

Gerald Finzi
Composer
(1901-1956)

Dr. Jerry Hoffman’s Eulogy for Philip Dedrick

At times like these one can be mysteriously lost for words.  I think it might be a way of not thinking of sad things and, perhaps, coming to tears.  When asked to speak for a moment, I thought for a while and decided to list a few things I call “Life With Phil”.

We traveled quite a bit together.  He was a fine companion: he was always game and ready to do anything that I wanted to do!  No fuss or muss… and always “on time” no matter how early in the morning.  I was the banker watching our pennies and found, luckily enough time to follow his eye.  And what a wonderful eye he had, (raising) me to a level of appreciation for Art about which I never dreamed possible.  Phil’s eye lives on in me, as I am sure it does in many of us.

Phil, with his love of people and collecting (art), introduced me to the finest people I know and whom I consider my closet friends.  I am not mentioning other names for fear of leaving anyone out.  You all know who you are and I, through Phil, appreciate all of you. 

I always said, half in jest, that Phil taught me how to be nice to people.  Whenever I think: How can I be nice to this person without gnashing my teeth?  I think of what Phil might say.  Slowly, for the most part, I hope some of it has sunk in.  I think of it now as another way of Phil living on through me.

I think of his spiritual guidance for my wife Pat and me a year or so ago during a time of unexpected trial.  He simply said, “You are good people and everything will work out fine”.  He said this with such strength and conviction that we believed him, and it did.

He also said to me, many times, that there was no place for guilt in the world.  He considered it one of the worst affects that plague mankind. 

Some of my peak memories are:

• Dragging heavy bags across a large plaza in Madrid (Pat says it was several miles) without complaint.
  

• His distaste for expressed anger.  I can just see him curling up like a raisin and rolling off the back seat of the car when I became so frustrated getting off the north end of the bridge over the bay of Lisbon.

• I see him sitting on a rock eating a sandwich among the marvels of Tikal.

• The last true Victorian gentleman, he wore a tie and wool sport coat in the jungles of Honduras.
  

• I remember how knocked out he was seeing the rear end of the horses of St. Mark’s Cathedral.  Temporarily housed in a museum, he walked around and around them while I thought he was developing a “checking compulsion.”  With considerable incredulity and excitement, he said, “Oh no!  You never see them from the rear!”
  

• Belatedly, I studied his negotiating techniques when buying (art).  He studied almost everything in the shop and, when deciding on the purchase of the most unusual species of the lot, he would ask the dealer with great authority and dignity, “Now what is your your best price?”  It was a line I borrowed ever since.

• Oh for the love of restaurants we’ve been in…. I cannot count the number of times I had to surreptitiously pay the bill without him beating me to it… as he often did.

• Walking in the rain in Christchurch, New Zealand with our functional and aesthetic Tilley hats doing their thing.

I could go on and on.  All I can say is I love the guy as he loved all of us.  When I first met him I did not think he was for real… but (even with his many kind words) he did, indeed, turn out to have strong opinions.

If Phil is listening to all of our compliments today I am sure he would reply, “How kind of you.”

We can accept his affirmation.