Common denominator

Though hardly a math whiz, I used the term "common denominator" in reference to Bud Moon in the sympathy card I wrote to the family.

Bud's hardly alone in earning that label through his lifetime, but his memorial service yesterday, set in the grandly restored auditorium at the Sandpoint Events Center aka Sandpoint High School aka Sandpoint Junior High School aka Ninth Grade Center aka boarded up school on Euclid, bore overwhelming proof that he knew how to draw a crowd.

The service was a tribute to a good man's life, but more than anything, it served as a reminder that we all unwittingly serve as unique common denominators in bringing people together. The many lives touched by Bud's influence gathered and remembered their individual associations with the man who loved boats, politics, puttering and people.

He was also the man who ran the local funeral home, and it was in that capacity that Rev. Chuck Wigton remembered him in his eulogy. Chuck came to Sandpoint as a young minister back in the late '50s, and Bud took him under his wing.

Chuck remembered and appreciated that support in his sermon yesterday, also noting that the whole town was just that way back then. He observed nostalgically of moments spent at the old post office or the back room of the funeral home where local businessmen gathered, often asking each other, "How are the kids?"

He also sadly lamented that we'll probably never see the Sandpoint of those days again. Chuck was right, but I believe Chuck was also wrong. As long as human and abstract common denominators continue to exist, we can continue reclaim the essence of what Chuck talked about in his eulogy honoring Bud Moon.

Yesterday served as a classic example, not only because of Bud but also because of the setting. Hundreds of people felt like they had "come home" by attending yesterday's service in that beautiful auditorium. All who came enjoyed a smorgasboard of old-time Sandpoint as visiting and observing spanned the generations.

Businessmen gathered, and, no doubt, some conversations still dealt with how the kids were doing. Some attendees delighted in playing, "Guess who I am," to others who hadn't laid eyes on that face in 30 or 40 years.

My most startling recognition came after I kept seeing that man with the crewcut and glasses talking to several Moon family members. I learned later from his younger brother, Dave Darling, that Larry WAS INDEED a Moon family member. I hadn't seen Larry since the late '60s.

Many Sandpoint High School alums, who graduated in that very building, got a look for the first time of the exquisite care and love that owner Brad Scott and his wife Lynda are putting forth as they meticulously build upon the past while preparing the old school to embrace the future.

One graduate came pushing his walker. Elbert Gunter of Sagle graduated in 1939. He said he may have entered the building once or twice since he left school, but yesterday served as his first visit since the restoration process began. Later, on one of my trips to the ladies' room, Elbert's son Wayne, SHS Class of 1967 and local library director, appropriately pointed out to me that I was entering the old junior high library.

Another graduate, Elaine Clark, quickly corrected me when I guessed that she had graduated in 1941.

"No, it was '42," she said, anxious to tell the graduation ceremony when her class sat up on the stage and some boys in the back had a "bottle" hidden behind the curtain. I told Elaine I was shocked----that I thought kids didn't do those bad things until the '60s. She assured me they did.

Toby Carlson, Class of 1976, attended junior high there. I saw him and his brother Tom standing over by the window surveying the crowd prior to the service. I told him my story of removing the nuts and bolts from the former seats in the auditorium and how I'd gotten caught by my choir teacher Dona Meehan because I giggled too loud in mid-crime back in 1959.

Then, I wondered out loud if Charlie's ghost was there, Charlie Stidwell, that is. Toby countered with the assertion that Dona Meehan's ghost was surely there. I told him Dona doesn't have a ghost, cuz she still lives out at Hope. Sixty seconds later, Dona walked in the door. I left Toby and went over to see if she wanted to catch me again down on the floor under those new fancy chairs.

While strolling from group to group during the reception, I heard stories of scary boat trips out on the lake, of people in failing health, of people regaining their health, of plans for retirement, of tough times during this winter, and----of kids and what they're doing with their lives. Speaking of kids, I had a brief talk with one of Bud's grandkids, Josh Moon.

Seems Josh has bought the rights to BatWaves, a snowboarding glove logo, created by some other Sandpoint boys, the Sanborns. They got out of the business a few years back, and Josh has recently jumped in. I'm anxious to talk with Josh more about this because of forking over five bucks to him several months ago when he first told me about his new enterprise.

"Let me be an investor," I told him that day at the Chevron station, so, of course, I've got a stake in seeing him do well. By the way, he told me yesterday, his website is up at (www.batwaves.com). So, check it out.

Like any smorgasboard, you always want to fill your plate with a little bit of everything, but like every smorgasboard with more than ample offerings, Bud's good bye yesterday made it hard to see and talk to everyone.

I'm sure, though, that Bud, the common denominator of this magnificent gathering in his honor, was pretty pleased with all those folks who benefitted from knowing him and from getting to know each other because of his influence. Not a bad legacy, if you ask me.

Thanks, Bud.