Sam: On Celebrating Jon

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An iPhone note with a Dec. 18, 2014  1AM timestamp reads “365 things about dad.” It was this middle-of-the-night thought that inspired Celebrating Jon.

This time last year, I hoped that this year’s worth of missed moments would help you learn about how special daddy was. I didn’t realize how much it would help us all. The fact that he gave so many people such vivid memories that they can remember him well over a decade later is astounding.

To this day, Mrs. Stewart still uses his “Fat Cows, Good Dogs — All Eat Bread” pneumonic to teach her students the order of the sharps. Bob Arents has transferred dad’s number to each new phone. My friends now know how to keep themselves from sneezing during allergy season, and Joelle’s friends have found a new drinking game. We still laugh whenever we see daffodils in bloom, and the phrases “half-assed” and “be a thinking person” live on. I think about “Mr. Normal” whenever we talk in silly accents around the house. I thought about him while sitting in the stands at  each of your swim meets, wishing I had a heat sheet to pore over. We started watching Survivor as a family. The bar for our future roles as Santa and the Tooth Fairy were set unreasonably high. We learned what chung-maoed means. We realized that your affinity to technology and computers is probably genetic (as is your addiction to Netflix and propensity for bad handwriting). We also learned to appreciate the little reminders like seltzer water, chocolate soda, fish oil, cream cheese & jelly sandwiches, long family-update emails, office knickknacks, puns, acronyms, mix-tapes, circle cheese, poems and so much more. We saw countless photos. We learned how meaningful cards and letters can be, along with how funny gag gifts can be. And, most importantly, we realized just how much he loved being a friend, husband and dad.

Though the daily posts are ending, the sharing of memories is not. To everyone who followed, thank you for taking time to learn about the incredible man Jon Halle was. If you knew him, please continue to share your memories with us. And to those who didn’t know him, know that you have helped us keep his memory alive by listening to us recount our stories over the years.

Happy birthday, Dane. It was only fitting that you stained your shirt today.

All my love, all the time. I’m so lucky to call you my brother.

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Chip Robie: On walking with Jon

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Jon loved sharp wit, horrendous puns, and intellectual brain teasers. He was amazing with word games. He’d stroll by the desk at lunch time, and utter an acronym. Your job, should you choose to accept it, was to translate the acronym. For example, FYF stood for “Feed your face” and SGF, a more difficult one, stood for “Sample the Gourmet Fare”… If your guess was right, it was time for a giggle and a walk to the cafeteria…

Ah, the Philip Morris Manufacturing Center cafeteria… it was one of the two places where I learned more about life and living from Jon Halle than at any university. We’d sit and talk work and intersperse it with bad jokes, worse puns, and the occasional update on what brother Stan was up to. Lots was said in the cafeteria, but it was loud, crowded, and some topics just didn’t do well in that environment… but Jon had a solution for that problem too.

Unless it was hammering down hailstones or deluging buckets of rain, we would always go for a walk after lunch. It was preventative healthcare, it was a digestive aid, it was fresh air, it was isolation from the chaos and noise of the manufacturing bays… it was a perfect time to talk. It was on those countless laps of the enormous factory parking lots where I learned many important lifelong lessons… walking with Jon Halle. I learned about people and personalities, work and work strategies, investments and opportunities, negotiation and negotiation strategies, and always interspersed with witty word plays, bad jokes, and cringe-inducing puns.

Jon’s love for fun matched his sharp intellect. He had a gift for making predictions based on available information. One thing I remember about walking with Jon Halle was The Daily Bet. As we navigated the sidewalk leading to the parking lots, Jon would make note of the temperature, humidity, and wind speed, then ask the same question each day: “OK, where will be be when it happens?” Then each person in the walking group would offer up a location along the path of the parking lot perimeter, while Jon chuckled evilly.

The Daily Bet, and “It” was an event, whose conditions were met when I managed to visibly sweat through my work shirt during the parking lot walk. I swear, it’s true. I’ve always been the first person in a room to sweat. Call it a curse, call it a gift, I’d always be first in a group to sweat anywhere, and on most Virginia spring and summer days, the Philip Morris Pit Stain Gambling Pool had betting sessions. Thing is, Jon’s guess usually would be within 20 feet of where it happened. The man had skills. Even thinking nervous thoughts couldn’t throw him off!

Jon was a great mentor and a legendary friend. He let me into his life, and let me share time with his family and see his absolute love for his wife and growing family. I remember coming to Jon’s Richmond home to hang wallpaper in the kitchen, and in a room for a baby on the way. Jon loved life, celebrated family, and did all he could to help others around him, and I saw in him a role model who was my own age, but much wiser in years. Every time I emulated him, my life improved.

The world grew sadder and smaller the day Jon left us without warning, and I still mourn his absence. However, I celebrate seeing the amazing kids he and Lisa raised becoming brilliant and successful adults, and the love and intelligence and kindness that characterizes the Halles I’ve known. Jon is gone from us, but I will always keep, use, and remember the many incredible life lessons I learned, working and walking with Jon Halle…

Joelle: On pooping in your room

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Sam and I have a vivid memory of Daddy getting Dane ready for bed one night. All was going well and as normal when all of the sudden, Dane started hysterically crying. When we asked him what was wrong he repeatedly mumbled, “Daddy pooped in my room!!” between violent sobs.

Confused, we asked Daddy what happened. Through huge belly laughs, he explained that he had passed extra stinky gas and the odor was so powerful that baby Dane thought the only explanation was that he pooped in his room. By that logic, Dane poops everywhere he goes. Pretty funny stuff!!

Sam: On Tamagatchi Pets

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672f4a57fb3de9da158cd6164e1d9d43In 1996, the Tamagotchi Pet came out and it was the thing to have. The level of care you provided for the pixelated creature would determine how it grew (if it even stayed alive).

I spent an embarrassingly high number of hours feeding my Chi slices of bread; turning its lights off for bedtime; nursing it back to health via a syringe; cleaning up its poop, monitoring its happiness meter; and disciplining it as needed. Unlike some games, the Tamagotchi required a lot of attention and care. In fact, mom can tell you about the times she took it to work to help it stay alive!

As you’ve hopefully gathered from this fond recap, I loved my Tamagotchi and took my role as parent very seriously. I couldn’t half-ass it, after all.

428129One winter night, the four of us (this was pre-Dane) were driving home after a hearty Italian dinner. Joelle and I were sharing a blanket while strapped into the built-in car seats of our old, blue mini-van. Per usual, I was absorbed in caring for my growing pet when Joelle started crying. She said her stomach hurt and then proceed to, sans warning, throw up an entire meal of spaghetti and meatballs.

Mom’s reflexes sprang to life and she quickly gathered the blanket into a puke pouch to contain the mess. However, distressed by the vomit covering my lap and trying to suppress my own gag reflex, I still managed to drop my beloved Tamagotchi vet into the vomit satchel she had created. For the remainder of the drive, we both cried. Joelle, because she felt sick. I, because I was angry at Joelle for killing my pet.

It would have been easy (and probably smart) to simply throw away the blanket when we got home. But dad saved the day. He dug through the vomit and retrieved my Tamagatchi — a particular feat because its color unfortunately bore a close resemblance to that of Joelle’s spaghetti dinner. He used a Q-Tip to clean it and a hair dryer to bring it back to life. Not all heroes wear capes.

Sam: On burglar alarms

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As you know, I’m not exactly immune to irrational fears. I’m a self-diagnosed hypochondriac after all.

As a kid, a reoccurring nightmare fueled my intense phobia of getting kidnapped. One day, I told my friend and next-door neighbor, Kelsey, about this fear. Her response? She wasn’t worried because her home’s security system would deter the would-be kidnappers, meaning they’d likely venture next door to my unprotected home.

Yikes!

My anxiety kicked into high gear. Yes, living on the quiet, back-most street of the neighborhood would make for a slower getaway, but it also meant fewer people would see the crime in question take place. A corner lot meant someone could more easily determine the house’s layout – as well as who lived there. Three children under age nine? This was clearly a kidnapper’s dream. Three doors, two sunlight windows and 19 windows on the first floor alone meant our house was prime real estate for a break-in. Additionally, the shaded yard with trees and shrubbery (a true flashlight tagger’s paradise) offered plenty of hiding spots for the sneaky. Also, because of the warm spring weather, those who were determined would likely feel comfortable hiding for as long as necessary. Not to mention, Lacy wasn’t exactly a fierce watchdog.

Following several attentive bike rides, I found that the majority of households on my block had signage marking a protected home. The notion of “majority rules” meant home security must be a wise investment. This also meant that the pool of targetable homes was small, increasing the odds that us Halle’s would attract roaming criminals. And so, I began begging mom and dad for a security system. Yes, I was a total PITA.

My pleas were met with countless no’s before they relented.

Well, almost… Not to be outwitted, dad had a plan to appease his desperate yet gullible daughter. We ventured to Costco to “get a security system.” He successfully convinced me that the new, digital carbon monoxide detector was a security system. The “0” on the reading screen indicated that zero bad guys were detected within a 100-mile radius.

Each night, like clockwork, “Dad, what’s the reading?” echoed throughout the house. Jon: 1 – Sam: 0.

Things Daddy Loved: Mancha

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We rescued Mancha from a shelter the day after Christmas in 2000. She instantly took a liking to daddy and appropriately earned the nickname of “velcro dog.” She’d follow daddy into the bathroom, wait for him at the door each evening post-work and would rest her head for hours on his thigh as he sat at the computer. Of course, he loved her. Plus, she had the softest head ever.

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Sam: On managing dream catchers

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unnamed (2)I had a lot of nightmares as a kid, so I was relieved when we made dream catchers at school.

Carefully draped on the left side of my bed, this sucker was my faithful guardian for years. However, it didn’t always work.

Daddy knew how upsetting this was for me and patiently explained that my dream catcher sometimes failed me because it was working so hard to protect me that it had become filled to the brim with bad dreams!

To keep me from barging into mom and dad’s room in a cold, bad-dream sweat, he’d “empty” out my dream catcher each night in the trash can, tapping it gently on the side. Every so often, he’d even spray canned Dust Off air in each “section” of the catcher to give it super thorough cleaning!

 

Jolle: On Anthrax

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I was only in first grade when 9/11 happened back in 2001. There was a lot of paranoia about potential terrorist attacks in the weeks following 9/11. The Anthrax Attacks were a major headline, and daddy took them very seriously. Like absurdly seriously. If you don’t know what the Anthrax Attacks were, here’s a pretty basic summary: Letters containing anthrax spores (which are very poisonous) were mailed to several news media offices and two U.S. Senators, killing five people and infecting 17 others.

Daddy was VERY paranoid about these attacks and thought Anthrax might get mailed to our house. Every day when he got home from work, he would get his “Anthrax kit” which consisted of rubber gloves, an economy size bottle of Purell, a letter opener and a hospital mask. Fully protected, he would walk to the end of the driveway and carefully open each piece of mail and examine it closely. It was hilarious! I have no idea why he thought he would be the target of an Anthrax attack since he was neither a newsperson nor a Senator, but there was no talking him out of it.

Sam: On proving the Tooth Fairy wasn’t real

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Around age 10, I fancied myself a detective. Rumors had begun circulating at school that the Tooth Fairy was (gasp) actually your parents. And so began my quest to prove she wasn’t real.

Before placing my tooth under my pillow one night, I wrote a note asking if she could provide a picture of herself. The next day, on a perfect cutout of a tooth (dad took his Tooth Fairy duties very seriously), I received a note saying she, unfortunately, did not have a photo.

Dejected but not deterred, I wrote a note with my next tooth saying her passport photo would do. Surely she had one with the amount of travel required by her job. Her Dad’s response? You can’t take a photo of a fairy.

Not to be outsmarted, I concocted a plan. The next time I lost a tooth, I would make sure no one in my family knew. The stars aligned and my next tooth fell out at school on the exact same day Joelle lost one, meaning the attention would be on her. Even better, I lost a molar (not particularly noticeable), and it was a Monday which meant I’d go straight from school to Extended Day to my 2.5 hour dance class. By the time I got home, I’d be able to go to bed without much conversation with my parents, meaning the likelihood of them noticing was slim.

Excited for my scheme to unfold, I even scripted an entire speech for the next morning. I’d ask Joelle what she got from the Tooth Fairy in front of my parents and respond with “that’s funny, because she missed the memo that I lost a tooth!” Brilliant, right? I couldn’t wait to see them panic. They couldn’t even claim that the Tooth Fairy forgot to visit our house/was on vacation, because she had been down the hall in Joelle’s room!

The next morning, lo and behold, I found a note in the shape of a tooth along with her signature silver dollar. The note read that she would stop visiting me if I didn’t have faith in her existence. To say I was mindblown would be an understatement. Immediately, I checked the caller ID. My teacher must have spilled the beans. But nope, nada.

I later found out that my friend Layton had told her parents about my plan at dinner. In an effort to look out for my parents, Mrs. Osgood called my dad to warn him of the trap I was setting. He even knew to delete the call entry from the caller ID!

In case you were wondering, I did later feel daddy’s hand under my pillow one night, ending his reign as Tooth Fairy.

Karen Suter: On remembering Jon

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I remember Jon‘s gift of poetry.  I remember that he wrote a Christmas poem referencing people in the PP&C group; and we loved it. (I am 90% certain that he rewrote “Twas the Night Before Christmas“).  I remember Jon in a video illustrating the appropriate way to pronounce “Altria.”  I remember Jon was a “jokester.”  I’ve heard Steve St. Mary talk about Jon and his love of playing a joke or trick on someone in the group.