Duane was truly larger than life. He was a rodeo bull rider
as a young man, rode a Harley (and he was the genuine biker article), and was
quite simply the toughest dude I’ve ever encountered. The first real organizing
campaign I ever worked as a cub was just north of our jurisdiction in the
remote desert town of California City. Duane tutored me throughout that effort,
and though he was highly frustrated by what he no doubt thought was my naïve and
less combative approach, he always gave me the latitude to do it partly my way.
He could never resist the urge to also let me know my candy-assed approach was
destine to fail…but he always gave me a long leash.
Often times on our long drives down the lonesome two-lane
hardtop that descended gradually into the Mojave valley, Duane and I would talk
strategy as we rolled down the road toward the jobsite. Duane would go over in
detail the tactical moves he was advising we make in almost military precision,
then…at some point…he’d turn to me grinning and say something like… “so…now
that we know what we should do and what works…what kind of dumbass thing do you
suggest we do when we get there…invite the owner to lunch?” He always said it
which a genuine smile too…legitimately entertained by whatever farfetched softer
plan I’d no doubt propose.
While Duane was often frustrated by what he often
characterized as my “kiss ass” demeanor…he always gave me high marks for hard
work. He also loved walking on jobsites with me…precisely because we had such
antithetical styles. I remember one night we were driving back from a big pizza
party that we’d had with about 30 of the company’s workers…when he turned to me
and said… “you’re a good organizer…and the best thing about you is that you believe.”
To me, that was like getting a compliment from god, and for years after and
until this day, Duane and a handful of other veteran organizers still proudly
refer to ourselves as “believers.”
After pure luck intervened and I had the opportunity to head
up the national construction organizing efforts for our organization, my first
call was to Duane W. Moore. Ironically, this was one of those incredible
situations where the pupil finds himself in charge of the giant that help put
him there…and to be honest, the team that was assembled as part of that effort
included more than a few of those types of mentors. While it was a genuine organizing
all-star team, nobody worked harder, cared more, or achieved a greater amount
in the way of genuine results than Duane. I loved everybody on the magical
team, but nobody ever made me look better or helped grow our membership more
than Duane.
We experienced a lot over the years. We walked a lot of
jobs, shared a lot of laughs, and I was with him earlier in the afternoon of
the evening he laid his Harley Night Train down at over 100 mph on the Golden
State Freeway just north of Los Angeles. I was also with him years later,
riding our beloved bikes (he was riding the very same repaired Night Train)
with some brothers through the Black Hills of South Dakota. I remember that
trip vividly, because as we met up in the southern Black Hills town of Hot
Springs, he was incredulous when I rode into the parking lot with a detachable
windshield on my bike. Because this is largely a family show, I won’t even tell
you what he called me (repeatedly for the rest of the trip).
Duane was diagnosed a couple of years ago with some sort of aggressive
cancer that I don’t even know how to pronounce. Throughout his valiant fight he
was perpetually Duane…never complaining, always fighting, and ALWAYS far more
concerned about his friends than he ever seemed about himself. There was a lot to
love about him, but I think what I liked most was that his despite his gruff
exterior…he truly loved the people that loved him. That was especially true of
his family, his brother, his son, his step-children and his beloved wife…and you don’t often hear guys talk about
their spouse with the reverence that he always reserved for her.
About a week ago I received an email from a dear friend at
approximately 8:25pm EDT. Compared to most of the electronic messages I get and
send, this one was pretty brief. All it said was…
“Just so you know,
Duane passed on several minutes ago.”
Duane…I am going to miss you more than I have the words or
talent to convey. You were a giant…and at the end of the day, I guess I just
want to say thank you for making so many lives better.
What’s the point of all this? Well, if you’d dropped in here
before you probably know there usually isn’t one. Seems to me though you might
glean at least this though. Today is Friday, and on the cusp of your weekend
that people like Duane worked so hard to provide, take some time to acknowledge
the fragility of life and do some stuff that matters. You will no doubt face
some level of frustrations and challenges today, but in the big scheme of
things, it is the people (and pets) you care about that will matter to you a
lot more in the end.
Have a great weekend, and if you can, give someone you care
about a hug.
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