I knew John (Szar) best when he went to Concord Elementary. John lived a few doors down from me and we played football and street hockey with his brother Tom (TJ) on many afternoons. Tim Burke lived next door and also got in on many of the games. Mark Gempler occassionally stopped by to unleash some football carnage as we emulated Vikings football heros of the era.
John also helped our local organized team win a 5th grade football championship (with Mike Burnett as the awesome quarterback) and was quite tough and gritty on the field. Those were good memories of a simple time.
John's family was rather large, with lots of older siblings who had interesting stories and were headed in different directions of life. His father had a really cool train set built into the ceiling of their family room in the basement. There were mountains, tunnels, station platforms, and everything cool to a young kid.
Unfortuantely, I lost touch with John during our high school years as he developed different interests and hobbies. However, last year, I coincidentally ran into his bother Tom while playing hockey at Augsburg college. We skated together and had a nice chat reliving some old backyard football memories.
When my Dad passed away in 2010, I was pleasantly surprised to see Tom at the memorial service. His sister Jody, and my sister Susan, are still good friends.
I wish I had a better explanation for John's untimely death, but we'll leave that to a Higher Authority. I only know that as kids we were destined to have maximum enjoyment by tossing-around the football in the backyard and shooting hockey pucks in the driveway. I can still recall those images quite clearly, it was fun.
As a kid he was smart and sharp. For school and for life understanding came naturally. John lived between the wilds of Pamela Park and Crosstown.
John liked the word, a simple statement and sarcasm was a twist away. He looked the part but was different. He liked grammar and history, writing it all down. He liked the quick wit; John was funny.
Before the advent of cars and girls, before the advent of proper, legal rights, the weekends would walk away. ‘Oh, boy is this great,’ weekend juveniles with juvenile tricks.
One weekend, he discovered punk music, attitude, Rock and Roll High School. He liked the Ramones and actresses, beautiful like Edina girls.
He skateboarded and built the things. He had a ramp in his driveway. John put wheels on trucks on cut boards, colored and decaled. Rochester had a skateboard park. He would go there to skate. California had something too; he went to find himself.
John loved Mr. Herzig. John loved the barrage of stuff on Mr. Herzig’s desk. John loved his informal instruction. Mr. Herzig told us that we would have to defend his 3rd floor classroom against the enemy. We would see them coming across the courtyard. His classroom would be our last stand. We imagined keeping watch out the open windows, amidst books, maps, overhead projections and a chalkboard with scrawlings. Mr. Herzig would be instructing us that life is nasty, brutish and short as the spools of Nicholas and Alexandra and Lawrence of Arabia unwound, spilling. Born to be Wild over the intercom system and the desks would be toppled, because that’s what you do with desks when attack is underway. But things went differently, the enemy never came and John never left.
Dick Schulz
I knew John (Szar) best when he went to Concord Elementary. John lived a few doors down from me and we played football and street hockey with his brother Tom (TJ) on many afternoons. Tim Burke lived next door and also got in on many of the games. Mark Gempler occassionally stopped by to unleash some football carnage as we emulated Vikings football heros of the era.
John also helped our local organized team win a 5th grade football championship (with Mike Burnett as the awesome quarterback) and was quite tough and gritty on the field. Those were good memories of a simple time.
John's family was rather large, with lots of older siblings who had interesting stories and were headed in different directions of life. His father had a really cool train set built into the ceiling of their family room in the basement. There were mountains, tunnels, station platforms, and everything cool to a young kid.
Unfortuantely, I lost touch with John during our high school years as he developed different interests and hobbies. However, last year, I coincidentally ran into his bother Tom while playing hockey at Augsburg college. We skated together and had a nice chat reliving some old backyard football memories.
When my Dad passed away in 2010, I was pleasantly surprised to see Tom at the memorial service. His sister Jody, and my sister Susan, are still good friends.
I wish I had a better explanation for John's untimely death, but we'll leave that to a Higher Authority. I only know that as kids we were destined to have maximum enjoyment by tossing-around the football in the backyard and shooting hockey pucks in the driveway. I can still recall those images quite clearly, it was fun.
Good bye John.
Dick
Dan Sundseth
John was the original skateboard punk.
As a kid he was smart and sharp. For school and for life understanding came naturally. John lived between the wilds of Pamela Park and Crosstown.
John liked the word, a simple statement and sarcasm was a twist away. He looked the part but was different. He liked grammar and history, writing it all down. He liked the quick wit; John was funny.
Before the advent of cars and girls, before the advent of proper, legal rights, the weekends would walk away. ‘Oh, boy is this great,’ weekend juveniles with juvenile tricks.
One weekend, he discovered punk music, attitude, Rock and Roll High School. He liked the Ramones and actresses, beautiful likeEdina
He skateboarded and built the things. He had a ramp in his driveway. John put wheels on trucks on cut boards, colored and decaled.Rochester California
John loved Mr. Herzig. John loved the barrage of stuff on Mr. Herzig’s desk. John loved his informal instruction. Mr. Herzig told us that we would have to defend his 3rd floor classroom against the enemy. We would see them coming across the courtyard. His classroom would be our last stand. We imagined keeping watch out the open windows, amidst books, maps, overhead projections and a chalkboard with scrawlings. Mr. Herzig would be instructing us that life is nasty, brutish and short as the spools of Nicholas and Alexandra and Lawrence of Arabia unwound, spilling. Born to be Wild over the intercom system and the desks would be toppled, because that’s what you do with desks when attack is underway. But things went differently, the enemy never came and John never left.
John was a skateboard punk.