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Man of Many Faces

I attended funeral services for a friend and colleague of mine. I knew Gibb when we both worked for the same engineering firm in New Jersey, twenty years ago. He was a manager that everyone loved, not because he had a passion for engineering, but because he had a passion for life. It came through in the warmth he exuded when he greeted you, in his love for community theatre and his zest for singing.

In engineering circles, he was a light weight. While other managers read technical specifications or reviewed project status, Gibb read the morning paper. Oh, he was intelligent and could follow the technical details with ease. Yet, he came alive with people and the arts, not with memos. He was engaged in the world outside of engineering.

Gibb and I both moved to Colorado at about the same time in 1990. He came out on temporary assignment to US WEST, from our employer in NJ. I was hired as a permanent employee. During those days, before my husband and I had kids, and before Gibb’s wife moved out to Colorado, we explored the state together — ski trips to small out of the way resorts, day trips to Rocky Mountain National Park and to mountain towns, a morning in Boulder trying to get football tickets to the University of Colorado game. Together with another friend, my husband and I spent evenings with Gibb, hosting dinners followed by a good game of bridge. When he discovered community theatre opportunities in the Denver area, we attended his stage debut.

I lost contact with Gibb over the last 10 years. I moved on to Lucent Technologies and Gibb retired from the telecom world. When I did see him, he resented the fact that he was no longer desirable on the engineering market. He had come to Colorado at the end of 30+ years with Bell Labs. I thought he would be happy to retire, to have time for theatre auditions and singing in choirs. But it only served to frustrate him that his day job no longer wanted him.

And so I was pleased when I walked into the church for services, to see how Gibb had fared in retirement. Inside, there sat a choir of over 100 people, an ensemble aptly named, The Friends of Gibb Singers. They were Gibb’s admirers and fellow singers from three different choirs that he was a part of. They had come on a Friday afternoon to honor his spirit and his booming tenor voice.

Close friends from Gibb’s music world gave the eulogies. They reminded me of his essence, his teddy bear hugs and his chipper attitude that could have come straight out of a Gene Kelly movie. I had forgotten about his vibrancy, the twinkle in his eyes, and the sweetness of his voice when he broke into a Broadway show tune or an Irish brogue without warning. A slide show at the end gave me a glimpse of Gibb’s life with his large family — his wife, five grown children and many grandchildren. I remember the names mentioned in passing, but I never had a face to put with the name. Now, there were faces.

To describe only the happy side of Gibb would be to give a skewed image. Gibb was the person who introduced me to my psychotherapist. He had his own troubles — depression, relationship issues. As one of the eulogists noted, Gibb was not perfect. But he was perfectly human. In between jokes and light remarks, Gibb’s face became serious and his voice quieted down. In those moments, another part of Gibb came through. The one who felt and thought deeply about life and experienced sadness or anger or disappointment.

It was an odd feeling to know these sides of Gibb, but to only see a few portrayed at the funeral. There was no mention of his long career at Bell Labs, of the many people he touched as a manager or as an engineer. It makes sense. He spent only a short time in Colorado in the technical ranks and had been retired here for over decade. In that time, people knew him for his artistic muse, not for his engineering mind.

As the choir sang their hopes and dreams for this spirit now on the other side, I cried. The tears came out easily with the tenderness of each song. At one point, part of the choir surrounded the audience, holding hands. I could hear the sopranos in front of me and the basses to the side of me. It was almost too much to take in, the poignancy of the moment.

What I am learning from Gibb’s life is a sense of what happens when our passion takes a back seat to our day job and then finally gets moved to front and center. Gibb stole time from his work day to go to auditions and when he finally left the work place behind, he left unsatisfied. He waited a long time to be fully uncorked. In the end, he found his people. The Friends of Gibb Singers are a testament to that.

The last time I talked to Gibb was almost a year ago. He had found out about my work with interviewing a friend dying from ALS. I was surprised to hear from him. He was looking for answers, in dealing with a dying brother. I remember telling him compassionately that I had no answers, only more questions for my friend. Death and dying were unknown territories for both of us and we were learning in our own ways.

It’s hard to sum up a man’s life when there are so many parts to it. My best attempt is to say that Gibb was a man of many faces. I feel privileged to have seen so many of those faces.

About the Author:

Carol Ross is known as The Whole Brain Coach. After making the transition from Bell Labs engineer to certified executive coach and team consultant, she now enables intelligent, analytical thinkers to power up their creativity and energy. Learn Carol’s tips on developing and applying whole brain thinking at www.squidoo.com/wholebrainthinking and www.wholenewmindpodcast.com. Experience Carol’s coaching at Live Action Coaching, www.liveactioncoaching.com. Get inspired with her blog, Ordinary Life, Extraordinary Living, blog.carolrossandassociates.com.