Charles Minihan

Charles in Death Valley in 2005.

Losing someone with whom you share daily interactions can leave a profound impact, as I discovered when my co-worker Charles Minihan passed away due to complications from Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis on July 20, 2015. Over the course of twelve years working together, our relationship had grown beyond mere colleagues. Although Charles's passing did not carry the same weight as the loss of my father in 2006, who had been a constant presence in my life, the absence of a familiar face like Charles's was deeply felt. Co-workers often become like a second family, and Charles and I were no exception. Our professional connection as technology support providers for academic classrooms blossomed into something more.

 

Beyond our collaborative troubleshooting sessions, Charles and I engaged in extensive conversations that may have irked those within earshot. Like clockwork, each morning he would perch on the cadenza near my desk, curious to know what was happening. He frequently probed my thoughts, delving into our IT division's politics. Charles, perhaps influenced by past experiences, harbored a fear of being laid off, perpetually distrustful of management regardless of the actual circumstances.

 

On some mornings, our discussions took a turn towards American politics, quickly revealing Charles's disdain for the current brand of Republicans. Having grown up in a working-class Michigan family in the sixties, he embodied liberal thinking and maintained an inherent suspicion towards wealth and power. Unlike many males I knew, Charles held no interest in organized professional or collegiate sports; for him, politics was the ultimate spectator sport. I can only imagine how enthralling and terrifying an election cycle featuring the likes of Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders would have been for him. Regrettably, he missed the bizarre election spectacle of 2016 by a few short months, but I can vividly imagine his commentary.

 

Television held little appeal for Charles, despite his AV background, as he saw it as manipulative and dangerous. He believed that TV news easily manipulated emotions, either tugging at heartstrings or inciting false anger. Additionally, he found the act of passively observing others' suffering on a television screen while comfortably seated at home to be complacent. His primary sources of news and opinion were the New York Times and the Economist. His political beliefs, while sometimes complex and thought-out, could also veer into knee-jerk cynicism. That was simply who he was.

Beyond office and world politics, we shared many common interests. We often discussed which walking shoes to buy and delighted in comparing observations of the natural world. Whether it was the birds we had seen, the appearance of clouds on a particular day, or conversations about the ancient glacial markings etched into rocks, we found joy in exchanging our observations. We both had the habit of walking to and from work, allowing us to share notes on the changing seasons, the chill or heat in the air, and any peculiarities we encountered along our respective routes.

 

Naturally, we also joked about child-rearing, and Charles imparted valuable wisdom based on his experiences. With his kids now grown, and mine still young, he shared an insightful observation that young children are generally "Little Conservatives." According to him, they assert their desires with precision and seldom deviate from their chosen path without a resounding "NO! I don't want to do that!" I have found this tidbit to hold true.

Charles was thirteen years older than me, he had seen and learned a lot over his life, and he had settled into many personalized  “truths,” but go deeper, and he could bend from his settled notions. My zig-zag evolution of thought and principles, with few certainties to vocalize, often left me vulnerable. He was an Atheist and fallen away Catholic, while I am Catholic with growing explorations in my faith. I found it hard to bring up topics related to religion with him so bathed in cynicism. People’s religious faith was in his view often ego based, too dogmatic, and to his long-held conclusion, fanciful. There were times when his views were such a changeling aspect in my head that I would have been happy not to hear from him again, period; I wanted him gone!

With Charles, I often felt I was defending an evenhanded view of the status quo and allowing it some wiggle room, and he took me down. Now, I have grown to at the very least “get” his view. Oddly, I have noted that his views were not far from activist roles that religious individuals bring to justice, working for those who are on the margins of society, the poor and downtrodden. I never got the chance in conversation to fully tie my defense of Christianity, with its many public dogmas and complexities perhaps getting in the way, to his sense of justice where we had much agreement. 

 

Charles had an insatiable passion for traveling. In June 2005, we had the opportunity to co-present at the Infocomm audiovisual convention in Las Vegas, focusing on Adaptive Technologies for Persons with Disabilities—an issue close to Charles' heart as he himself was hearing-impaired. Following the convention, we embarked on a road trip together through the untamed landscapes of rural Nevada. It was a journey that mirrored one I had taken alone in 2003. Charles readily embraced my travel plans, eagerly exploring lesser-known communities that rarely made it onto the average tourist's itinerary: Rhyolite, Beatty, Goldfield, Tonopah, Belmont, and Manhattan, NV. We even ventured into Death Valley National Park, just inside California, braving the sweltering heat of 100+ degrees Fahrenheit as we marveled at the barren terrain. Our shared experiences brought us joy, and we found amusement in our misadventures along the way. Unbeknownst to us, we accidentally ran over a Jack Rabbit one late night and encountered an unexpectedly endearing Kangaroo Rat—a creature that, sadly, ended up stuck to the front of our rental car, I found the poor creature as I pumped gas one morning in Beatty, NV. On a particular afternoon, we stood in awe-struck silence as we witnessed a dust devil gracefully meandering up a dirt road, reminiscent of a ghost on an otherworldly excursion. In 2007, after another Infocomm event, we explored Los Angeles together, with Charles finding fascination in the La Brea Tar Pits, especially the life-sized model of a panicking mother elephant watching her young sink into the tar.

During Charles' battle with illness, he spent January to April 2015 in hospitals and rehabilitation facilities, desperately striving to regain his respiratory capacity. It was during this period that his second grandchild was born. Visiting Charles during his illness was a challenging experience as I struggled to provide him with meaningful encouragement. He possessed unwavering determination to reclaim his health, yet uncertainty clouded his mind. I am still unsure about the events that transpired in the final stages of his life. Perhaps, overwhelmed by the strain of his recovery efforts, he reached a point of surrender. To my surprise, as he faced the infinity of death, he came to accept the possibility of a higher power. Although he is no longer with us, his memory remains vivid, and at times, I half expect him to appear before me with remarkable tales of the afterlife or his unique perspective on the journey towards it. In an unusual way, I feel that my conversations with Charles are far from over.