On the Passing of Jerry Parker

Sonoma journalist Jerry Parker died recently. This is in memory and honor of a man I knew and admired.

I knew Jerry Parker, I liked him, I admired his writing style and I’ll mourn his passing.

Jerry was writing a weekly column for this paper when I first came to town in the mid-80s, and I wrote in to the paper that it was the best thing about it. This did not endear me to the paper’s former editor. C’est la vie.

In those days Jerry’s column ranged from the intricacy and inherent beauty of the natural world, reminiscent of Thoreau, to critiques or commentaries on the political, social or environmental issues of the day, local and otherwise. His writing was incisive, succinct and direct to the matter at hand, but never hyperbolic or ranting. He was an iconoclast and a fierce critic of the cultural excesses and vanities he considered extraneous distractions. He was a serious man, and an astute observer of and witness to the failings of what he considered an overindulgent and superficial culture caught up in the pursuit of wealth and self-aggrandizement.

He was never petty or personally insulting, but he spoke his truth plainly and, in my estimation, poignantly. He had a great writing style, careful and precise, honed over many years in journalism, and inspired by a voluminous and well-read library of the literary masters. Just as well he could artfully explore the beauty of the natural world that he felt more attached to and aligned with than the human one. He could also take the reader on walks with him and his beloved dog Chester through the Sonoma hills, which gave one entry to his heart and soul and truly moral nature.

I got to know Jerry personally when I did some work around his very modest cabins off Warm Springs Road when he’d reached an age where he needed help with roofing or other small building projects. Around that time I started publishing a newsletter that focused on Sonoma City and Valley issues, featuring commentary pieces by local writers. After work we’d get into long political, sometimes philosophical discussions about all sorts of things, finding common ground in our critical and sometimes jaundiced view on the passing parade, and directions in which our country had been going. Or we’d talk about New York City where I hale from and where he lived and worked in the 40s, or about the dignity and nobility of dogs and how much we enjoyed their company, or about some of the writers, none contemporary, that he loved and I pleasured in learning more about.

He could certainly be irascible and extremely opinionated, but I always found him to be a gentle, self-effacing and non-egoic man. He had regrets and failings that he talked about, and probably loved books, and nature, and dogs as well as if not more so than most humans. He did speak glowingly about his wife and family, always remarking that he did not feel worthy of their love and devotion. Whatever his failings, real or perceived, he was a man of great character and deep substance, and Sonoma and the world beyond is the lesser for his passing.

If there’s a world beyond this one I hope it looks like the Sonoma hills and valley, and I’ll catch up with Jerry Parker and we’ll walk our dogs through the valleys of eternity. Maybe we’ll stop for a cold beer at day’s end.

See ya, Jerry.

Will Shonbrun