This weekend, the family of Sonny Ebert will gather to pay tribute to him and to the love that they shared with him through the years, then honor his wish for his cremains to join those of his daughter, Mickie.
Sonny passed away on March 12. I’m diminished when I lose someone who has meant as much to me as Sonny. For 45 years, he was one of the dearest and closest friends I have ever known, and it was a blessing to have him in my life. Sonny’s life was not an easy one, but he remained a man of strong character – and an unflappable sense of humor – who cared about others and was always ready to help those in need. He loved his family and regularly shared the latest news about his kids and grandkids.
This tribute is for Sonny, but it’s also for his daughter, Dawn, whom he affectionately called “Peanut,” and all of Sonny’s family and friends. I’m indebted to Dawn for keeping in touch with me in recent years whenever Sonny was in the hospital, and then informing me of his passing and plans for his memorial. I know Sonny was proud of her, and he would be proud of what she is doing now to care for her dad’s memory.
Sonny Ebert (his real name was Otis, but I got the idea that he wasn’t terribly fond of it) was a gentle soul. For the vast majority of our friendship, we lived hundreds of miles from each other. We lived in the same area – Denver, Colorado – for only the first six years of our friendship. In 1987, Joanna and I moved to Texas. Years later, Sonny moved from Denver to Florida.
But distance never got in the way of our friendship. We spoke on the phone regularly, usually at least once a month, sometimes more. On our phone calls, we reminisced about our old days working together at Mountain Bell in Denver and our friends there, shared news about each other’s family, our health . . . often talked politics (we were on the same page politically) and even religion. I don’t know why, but whenever I called him, he never said, “Hi, Bill” . . . it was “MISTER JONES,” always said in his own humorous way. As we talked, he would call me Bill, but his greeting was always “MISTER JONES” (I can hear him saying it now . . . I wish I could convey his tone in writing, but you had to be there).
Sonny acknowledged mistakes he had made in his life, things he regretted, and said that he was still paying for some of them. But then, at our age, all of us can look back and see plenty to regret. On the other hand, Sonny was a person of faith who emphasized to me, more than once, that Jesus Christ is his saviour and lord, and he trusted God’s grace through Christ.
Sonny had a strong sense of justice and often emphatically expressed his disgust with the injustice shown by many – calling themselves Christians – to those whom Jesus called “the least of these” (Matthew 25: 31-46). He cared deeply for those who had been marginalized, discriminated against, and left behind by society and by our government.
But Sonny also had a wonderful sense of humor, and we spent a lot of time laughing together. We especially found ourselves laughing when recalling some of the antics in which we and our friends at Mountain Bell indulged in the early 1980s.
Sonny suffered serious health problems for most of the past 30 years or so. Somewhere along the way – probably in the late 1990s or early 2000s – Sonny asked me to give a eulogy at his funeral. Unfortunately, I’m not able to travel right now, so I will miss the memorial observance in Florida this weekend.
So consider this little essay my eulogy for Sonny.
I guess I can best convey my friendship with Sonny by sharing a few vignettes – some funny, some sad, and some simply about friendship.
THE “GONG”
April 1984 – the “Gong,” L-R: Pat Trumble, Norma Diesing, Lena Drajem, Bill Jones, Marty Croxford, Nancy Currigan, Sonny Ebert
I got to knowing Sonny in the early 1980s while working at the Mountain Bell Accounting office on Zuni Street in Denver, about 5 miles northwest of downtown.
Sonny and I had both been working in that office for at least a couple of years, but never in the same group, so we didn’t really get to knowing each other until I was promoted to management in October 1981. Sonny had been promoted to management a few months earlier. After I was promoted, I soon began going to lunch and coffee breaks with a group of other Accounting Dept. supervisors, including Sonny.
1987 party with the “Gong” – on the right are Marty Croxford & Sonny Ebert (I’m holding Travis – 1-1/2 years old)
This lasted for about 2½ years, until I was transferred to the Corporate office downtown. But the friendships I made in that group continued after I left the building (though I was no Elvis).
We had some fun times – and not so fun times – during those 2½ years.
There was the time that Sonny took a vacation to Mexico. In a postcard sent to one of us, Sonny scrawled, “Say hi to the gang.” However, his penmanship left something to be desired, and the word “gang” looked more like “gong.” From that day forward, we called our group “the GONG.” To his last days, whenever Sonny and I talked about our old days at Mountain Bell, we would refer to the GONG.
We laughed plenty with the group of fellow supervisors who made up the Gong. Not only did we go to lunch and coffee breaks together, we would occasionally get together at one of our houses for a party. I remember that Joanna and I hosted the Gong at our house once or twice. When I transferred to Corporate in April 1984, the Gong gave me a going-away party, complete with the gift of a new wristwatch. Then, when Joanna & I (and our kids) moved to Texas in the summer of 1987, the Gong gave Joanna & me yet another going-away party. They either really loved us or they wanted to make sure I finally went away, lol!
“BALDY”
In the Gong, you had to be a little careful about what you said, because there was one among us (not mentioning any names, but he looked an awful lot like me) who could take one careless comment and turn it into a nickname, etc., that would haunt the “victim” the rest of his/her life. One day, either Sonny said something about going bald, or maybe one of the others mentioned his receding hairline. From that day forward, I called Sonny “Baldy.” It was, of course, a term of affection. It eventually got to where Sonny felt slighted if I failed to call him “Baldy.” Truth be told, I was always in at least as much a state of hair loss as Sonny, but I got there first with the nickname, and he was stuck with it.
ME? A DEVIL? MAYBE A LITTLE
Sonny and I – and the rest of our Gong – were 1st-level management. We all had 2nd-level managers, our bosses, whom we respected and liked. However, our bosses’ boss, the 3rd-level manager (his title was district manager) was a bald (truly), obese, middle-aged man named Doug Gillespie, whom most of us had learned not to trust. He could be real friendly, but he could also lower the boom on you if he felt the need. I had experienced his lowered boom on an occasion or two.
One day, I was working alone in one of the conference rooms by the main office – which we could reserve if we needed either a conference or simply to get some work done without interruption. As I worked, an idea came to me. As the old comedian Flip Wilson would say, “The devil made me do it.” I called Sonny’s office. When Sonny answered the phone, I put on the best Doug Gillespie impression I could muster and said, “Sonny, this is Doug Gillespie.” I could almost see Sonny come to attention and sit up straight in his chair as he replied, “Yes sir!” I burst out laughing. When Sonny realized it was me, he said, “You devil!!!”
BONDING OVER TROUBLES WITH OUR EMPLOYEES
All of us in the Gong had come from the non-management ranks and had been members of the union, Communications Workers of America (CWA). Each of us had great respect for what the union represented. However, as management, we found ourselves on the other side of labor-management disputes, and frequently found ourselves in meetings with union reps, defending our actions in personnel matters.
Sonny and I worked closely together in the Mountain Bell Accounting Department for only about 2½ years, but we went through a lot of things together in that short time.
The harassment that Sonny and I both endured at the hands of the union during those 2½ years may well have cemented our friendship more than anything else, as we found ourselves commiserating with, and supporting, each other through those frustrating times.
I had one employee who hated me from the time I took that job – mainly because she, as supervisory clerk (assistant to the supervisor), had expected to succeed the previous supervisor, Claire Shurtz, when she left. Instead, here came this interloper from another area, who hadn’t worked in this unit before, as supervisor. So she constantly filed grievances against me, and I was routinely defending my actions to union reps.
On the other hand, Sonny had a roomful of employees who brought him before the union, and he referred to them as “the killers.” So Sonny and I had plenty to commiserate about during those 2½ years. When my supervisory clerk filed a lawsuit against both Mountain Bell AND me, Sonny was one of our witnesses in the trial. The trial lasted 4 days, and we won easily.
In August 1983, the CWA went on strike. During the three weeks that the strike lasted, management worked long hours, but there were perks. We could dress casually, and the company gave us free meals – breakfast, lunch, & dinner – in the cafeteria. After dinner, the Gong would usually go outside, walk around the building for 10 or 15 minutes, talking and laughing together before going back to work. Sonny and I shared fond memories of the Gong through the next 40 years.
HELPING US MOVE
In November 1984, when Joanna and I moved to a new house, about 2 miles south of our previous house, Sonny came over and helped us load the U-Haul. He was always ready to help.
MICKIE’S PASSING
In late 1983, one of Sonny’s two daughters, 13-year old Mickie, was struck with a mysterious illness. In January 1984, she passed away. Sonny was devastated. Our Gong had grown very close, and we all rallied around Sonny. Mickie’s funeral was in Pueblo, about 2 hours south of Denver, and all of us drove down there to show our love and support for Sonny. It was a very emotional funeral. A 13-year-old girl just isn’t expected to be gone like this. It was obvious she was well-loved. Many of her friends were there and couldn’t stop crying. Sonny and all of her family were obviously in shock – as would be expected. As for those of us who were close friends and co-workers of Sonny, who we loved dearly, it was emotional for us as well. Joanna and I had our daughter, Alison, with us, who was only 2 years old. We couldn’t help but put ourselves in Sonny’s place and think, What if this were our daughter?
In recent years, Sonny told me that one of his special memories was what Joanna said after Mickie passed away. At the time, Joanna was studying for the CPA exam. On the Saturday of Mickie’s funeral, Joanna was scheduled to either attend a CPA exam preparation class or to take the CPA exam – I don’t remember which. Anyway, it was important that she be there for that; however, Sonny remembers Joanna saying, “No, we need to be at the funeral for Sonny. I can make this up another time. We’re going to Pueblo.” Sonny told me that he has always remembered that and been grateful for Joanna’s empathetic and loving spirit.
Last fall, Sonny texted me the following: “You may remember I was angry at God after my Mickie died. But by talking to you and the minister that was preaching the service, I began to see the errors of my thinking.” Of course, I always assured Sonny that it was normal to be angry at God in such a situation. It’s something we just have to work through, and I believe that God understands our emotions and is big enough to let us express them, even anger at God.
In February 2021, about 20 minutes from the hospital after being summoned to return because Joanna had grown increasingly unresponsive, I received a call from a doctor who told me that she had just passed away during a C/T scan. After hanging up, my first reaction was to bang repeatedly on the steering wheel and cry out, “Why, God? Why God? . . .” time after time, at least 10 times. It’s a natural response.
Two or three weeks after Mickie’s passing, the NBA held its annual all-star basketball game in Denver. I asked Sonny to go with me, and he did. I just felt he needed to get out of the house and be with a friend. We had a good time at that game, though I know Mickie was never out of his mind.
CARING FOR BOB & RAE
In August 1987, when our family moved to Texas, Sonny kept our dogs, Bob and Rae, while we made the drive. Then, after we got settled in our new house, Sonny took the dogs to the airport in Denver, in their crates, and booked them for the flight to DFW. He said those dogs howled and looked at him with sad eyes as if to say, “How can you just leave us here?” He also told us that, during their stay at his house, they had gotten away from him one day, and he thought they were gone for good, as he wondered how he was going to break the news to me. Then here they came walking slowly down the road toward his house. He said they stunk to high heaven, as they had obviously been rooting through garbage, but he was relieved to see them.
TRAVIS AND THE POWER OF PRAYER
Late in the evening of April 2013, my son Travis suffered a massive stroke at the age of 27. Around midnight, after their initial examination, doctors told Joanna and me of their diagnosis and that Travis had a 50/50 chance of surviving the stroke. I then texted everyone for whom I had a cell #, asking them to pray.
Though Travis was left with severe “deficits” on his right side, along with a seizure disorder, Travis has survived the stroke to this day. By June 18, he was discharged from the hospital and back home.
Through the years, Sonny has told me many times that it was Travis’s survival, his return from the almost dead, that convinced Sonny of the power of prayer. This past November, Sonny texted me the following: “Travis is the reason I know Prayer works.”
MY LAST VISIT WITH SONNY
May 2024 at Sonny’s home in Clearwater, FL
In May 2024, I flew to Orlando, Florida, for a conference of an organization on whose board I serve. After the conference was over, I drove to Sonny’s home in Clearwater, about 2 hours away. It was the first time we had seen each other in about 30 years since I had visited him while in Denver for the annual meeting of my then-employer.
For a couple of hours, we talked, reminisced, and laughed, then took a “selfie” together. It was a wonderful visit. I had written a tribute to him, which I intended to turn into a blog post. As we sat there, I read it to him. He was very moved.
As for finishing that tribute and publishing it to my blog? Well, this is it, over 2 years later. He seemed to be pleased with my “first draft.” I hope this finished product would please him, too.
That visit in May 2024 turned out to be the last time I ever saw Sonny in this life. I’m so thankful for that visit with my dear friend.
In recent years, as Sonny acknowledged the toll his health problems were taking on him, and realizing that he didn’t have a lot of years left, the two of us made it a point to never hang up the phone without telling each other, “I love you.” Friends like Sonny, and friendships as close as ours, don’t come along very often. I could count on one hand – and probably have a finger or two left over – the number of friends I’ve had who meant as much to me as Sonny did, and I’m so thankful for those 45 years. I loved my friend, and I miss him. He’s healthy now, reunited with his beloved Mickie, and is with Jesus, just as my Joanna is, and that’s the safest and best place to be.