I met Larry Lesko in the summer of ‘78. I was 25 and he was 30. We were both working seasonally on the Kaibab National Forest, surveying timber sales and getting seriously crazy, living the hippie, rugged individualist lifestyle, first out of Williams, Arizona (which later became his home after he settled down with TC), and soon thereafter, on the primitive north side of the Grand Canyon.
Larry was a big brother to me and best friend who taught me the Southwest ropes. We were inseparable for over a decade and the best men at our respective weddings. From Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon; to walking Barkley Bear, their lovable lab, on Bill Williams Mountain; to Zion, Bryce; and Lake “Foul”; or the snowy peaks of Telluride; we left no canyon, peak, river, creek, lake, or party unturned.
When Larry decided to get his archaeology degree at NAU he met his soul mate Teri Cleeland, affectionately known as TC, and we then began the next chapters of our lives. But over the next twenty-five years we remained close, especially when he and TC moved to Northern Virginia to work in Washington at Forest Service Command Central. I used to regularly hop the Metro out to their lovely home in Dunn Loring and Larry, TC and I would play together just like in our old Canyon days. We would venture into D.C. for shows at the National Geographic, concerts, or monumental celebrations like the Clinton and Obama’s inaugurations. And we routinely teamed up for vacations in places like Savannah, Georgia; St. Augustine, Florida; Amsterdam; and Larry’s wonderful hometown of Pittsburgh for milestone shindigs like the Rolling Stones at Riverfront Stadium. Our traveling road show was always on the move.
Over the years, I watched Larry’s son Jesse, a troubled east coast youth, suddenly uprooted from his familiar home in Pittsburgh and replanted in the sleepy little railroad town of Williams, Arizona, grow into a confident young man of the world who gave the gift of life to his dad when he needed a bone marrow transplant a few years back. And in the process TC became a mother.
I always marvel how meeting Larry — undoubtedly one of the best things that ever happened to me — was essentially pure coincidence. Or, as one of Larry’s favorite poet songwriters, Bob Dylan, once crooned, “a simple twist of fate”.
So, I was with Larry for a big portion of his life and we definitely had us some fun.
But it was TC, lovely, brilliant, fun-loving TC who stole Larry’s heart and made him complete, happy, and content — which is to say: eternally enchanted. How rare a gift it is to find the person who makes you whole, and for it to work for both lovers is the closest thing to magic I have seen while putting in time here on planet earth.
As a writer AND a storyteller, I have delivered more eulogies than I wanted, but less than I have imagined. Each one has been a wondrous unraveling of a life well lived. And while it’s hard not to cry when putting down on paper or speaking the words that breathe life into sudden death, the memories they elicit are always ones of joy and happiness. And whatever I say today about Larry is guaranteed to make you smile, even through the tears.
After my wife Inna met Larry for the first time, she was going on & on as we were driving home about how much she liked Larry. Inna is Russian and very straight-forward. She always speaks her mind, very much like someone else I know named Teri Cleeland.
Inna said, “Larry is so cool, not like most of your other stupid friends. He has a calming quality that makes you feel so relaxed and comfortable. I feel like I have known him my whole life”
And I replied without thinking, “Yeah, he’s Buddha.”
Over the ensuing years, I have often been touched by the truth of that offhand remark.
I am definitely not a religious person. I sometimes say to others that I am a spiritual person — whatever the hell that means.
Larry and I often talked about a higher power. He steadfastly insisted there was some force at the cosmic wheel and there was life beyond death.
In fact, he wrote in vivid terms about a near death experience he had during one of his many cancer treatments in which he KNEW he was dying and as he was heading slowly toward a glowing light at the end of the Limboland tunnel, he was filled with an overwhelming sense of perfect peace; and he knew he could just keep going and he would enter another plain of existence even better than this one. But he didn’t want to leave his friends and family just yet, so he turned away from the celestial light and returned home to this crazy place we affectionately call the “real world”.
The one thing Larry and I could agree upon when contemplating the unknowable was karma. You reap what you sow. And Larry had all the right gifts and tools he needed to achieve the illusive karmic balance known as Nirvana, starting with …
GENTLENESS — Larry was the gentlest person I ever met. He was completely open and this was perhaps his greatest gift to us all. He treated us all like family and had this wonderful aura of …
STEADINESS — He was always calm, cool, and collected — never the excitable boy — except under the rarest of circumstances. And when everyone else was freaking out, Larry was just steady-on and the rock of …
CLARITY — Larry had a unique way of looking at life, especially problems. He could see through the fog and get to the essence of any situation or person. And many times he would lead you to the truth and make you think you had figured it all out yourself. In this very important way, Larry Lesko was the rarest of teachers. And he always managed to figure out the right way to go with an amazing ...
CALMNESS — Larry was totally chill. And being around Larry was to always feel at peace. Like the many Indians he befriended, Larry mastered the ability to just sit and be quiet. He didn’t need to talk, though he was a great thinker and speaker. He didn’t feel that ego push that made him feel like he had to tell you what he thought about everything under the sun. He was happy to just …
LISTEN — Larry Lesko was a great listener. But it was more than that. He made you feel like whatever you were talking to him about was interesting. And you always had his undivided attention. He could smell bullshit a mile away, and he could hold his own in any argument, but he generally let others speak their minds because at heart, he was …
KIND — Larry was always kind and respectful to others because he cared about what was happening to you — be you friend or stranger. He hated to see people get screwed and if he could help in some way, he did so, because Larry was …
GENEROUS — What was his, was yours. One field season, he showed up at Masaw-ki, our A-frame home in DeMotte Park, with an old, puke green Ford LTD, a beast of a roadster with a 429 horsepower engine that he had inherited from one of his many uncles in Pittsburgh the previous winter. He already had his turquoise Chevy truck, so he just donated it to the entire crew, several of whom didn’t have their own transportation. And when Griz totaled it on his way back from the North Rim, Larry’s first words were, “Is Griz alright?” He showed no anger and later concluded, “A car is just a thing. But we could never replace Griz.” Larry never expected anything in return, because he was not a lover of things, unless they contained some sentimental value — or sported the logo of his beloved Pittsburgh Steelers. His office, wherever he lived, was filled with mementos of his travels. Larry was indeed a man of heartfelt ...
CHARITY — Larry gave to others because he cared about people in need, and never so someone else might notice. He was a man of genuine ...
HUMILITY — Larry had zero ego. Confidence, yes. But he never needed or tried to impress. Every job was worth doing well and he took great pride in a job well done. But he didn’t care about recognition or reward. And, in fact, he approached the competitive games of life with a bemused sense of ...
HUMOR — Larry always seemed so happy and content that people never thought of him as a threat or an enemy. And this was in large part because of his happy and infectious sense of ...
JOY — Larry immediately disarmed everyone he met with a smile. I once said to our mutual friend Jimmy Martin that running into Larry was like being greeted by he and TC’s favorite old, giant black lab, Barkley Bear. Some people are friendly. Larry Lesko was ...
WELCOMING — Larry made everyone he met feel important. And he acted like he had been just waiting around for you to show up and make his day. And in so doing, he made yours. Larry was a magnet for ...
FRIENDS — Larry and my mother were great pals. TC and Larry were like my mother’s adopted children and TC made a special trip to see her before she died. Something my mom truly cherished. I once asked my mother what she valued most in life, and she said without any hesitation, “My many friends.” That describes Larry to a tee. Larry and my mom had more friends than any other people I have ever met. They say that most people have three to five close personal friends. I was blessed to have ten. Now, apply that equation to Larry and it seems almost laughable. The man had more real friends than most people have acquaintances. I have thought about this often. Why did Larry have so many people who were near and dear? And I think a big part of it was his ...
CURIOSITY — Larry was a Renaissance Man, a fellow who was interested in pretty much everything. And this was especially true when it came to people. This at least partially explains his unquenchable interest in archaeology. He wanted to know what made people tick. And this need to understand others invariably led to great …
WISDOM — Larry Lesko was one of the wisest men I ever knew. Let me give you an example that illustrates Larry’s approach to life. I was what was called a para-archaeologist when we worked together on the Kaibab National Forest, which meant that I knew just enough to recognize lost cultural artifacts and not damage them. I liked finding old cowboy and Indian remnants, and I was pretty good at it. But I didn’t like the tedious cataloging, and the bagging & tagging part of the show. Whenever Larry and I found a habitation site, Larry had a routine. Now, most archaeologists immediately get out their gear and start meticulously recording the site. But not Larry. He taught me to head toward high ground where we would sit and just take in the surroundings. He used to whisper out loud, “What would it have been like to live here in 900 AD? Where would we get water? Firewood? Meat? Where would we plant our crops?” Larry liked to walk around inside other people's lives. And this insatiable hunger for knowledge made Larry a tireless …
EXPLORER — Larry was always searching for uncharted territory. In the Southwest it’s hard to find a spot where some fool rancher hasn’t run their cattle. And parodying the Star Trek line, Larry used to describe our treks as, “To boldly go where no cow has gone before.” And while Larry was never careless he loved a good adventure and was always ...
FEARLESS — For Larry, there was no canyon, river, or challenge that wasn’t worth at least checking out. He wasn’t crazy. If he got into a hole, he never kept digging. He’d just climb back out of the hole, learn from his mistake, and then go have a cold beer. But I never, in all our travels, saw him get spooked, because Larry was ultimately a great warrior. I don’t use that word in the sense of fighting — I never saw Larry get into a fist fight in all our years together — but rather, because of his ...
FIGHTING SPIRIT — After years of battling cancer, almost dying several times, and never whining, who among us could say we could have — would have — walked in his shoes? And, yes, he had a helluva lot of support. I mean, who would have tried to walk in TC’s resolute steps? But in the end, I think there was one overriding thing that made Larry hold on so dearly to life. And that was …
LOVE — Larry loved his family, his friends, his memories, and his unshakable dreams for us all.
I started this little walk down memory lane with the assertion that Larry Lesko was a reincarnation of Buddha. And if he wasn’t, well then, he sure as hell was Buddha’s stunt double.
I talked to Larry on the day he decided he’d had enough and was heading to hospice. It was wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time and I thank my lucky stars we got to say goodbye properly. Though in truth, we had been talking almost every week and had been saying our goodbyes for quite awhile. But we were blessed to have one last time to tell each other that we loved each other more than life itself. That was a rare gift indeed.
Larry was the bestest friend ever! Far better than I ever deserved.
And Larry had a most remarkable life. Almost incandescent.
He found Teri, the woman of his dreams, and together they shared a tantalizing and truly rewarding life of work, travel, and play, doing that which they loved the most in the magical canyons of the Southwest. Their love for each other was the stuff of dreams. I mean, they got married at Shoshone Point on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon on the Summer Solstice, with an added twist of the Wazoo Peachpitters Bluegrass Band for good measure, and with both of their parents there to bear witness to the blessed event, no less. Man, that’s livin’ the dream!
And Jesse is a spitting image of his dad in so many wonderful ways. Larry, the Master Gardener, planted and tended his garden well. I wish Jesse and Bonnie the love for life and each other that Larry and TC shared.
Who could ask for anything more?
All the days of one’s life usually amount to muddled regrets. Larry lived life on his own terms and at his own speed. I asked him before we said adios if he had any regrets, and he confirmed what I already knew: he had a fucking ball.
Larry left the field battered and bruised, but with his head held high. He lived life to the fullest. He caused no harm and played by all the rules that really mattered. When faced with cruel adversity he didn’t whine and ask, “Why me?” He fought his terrible illness with courage and resolve. And in so doing he squeezed more precious time for the three F’s: friends, family, and fun. Larry definitely got his money’s worth, and still managed to give more than he got.
Larry is no longer with us physically, but he will be with us as long as we can breathe life into a dream. And he will pop into our heads when we least expect it.
Better yet, try playing the game I have been playing for years. It’s called “What Would Larry Do?” When faced with a dilemma — especially something that pisses you off — ask yourself that simple question: “What Would Larry Do or Say?”