From Steven Burris to Stephen Earl – Happy Birthday!!

February 17, 2001

Dear Uncle Tim,

Congratulations on your 80^th birthday! My dominant vision of you is that of a man of good humor and great love. You always manage to have a smile on your face; you embrace life and your family with sincere, robust passion; your laughter punctuates family gatherings. You are a great man!

My memory of you begins when I was but a lad. I’d met you a few times as a toddler, but my prevailing impression of you was that of a brother – As dad told it, “fella name a Rastus” had taken it upon himself to bite one of the Main boys in the forehead, and after school that day, you were involved in a minor mishap whereby Rastus was left sprinting down the railroad tracks missing his pants. Musta been quite a sight, and I can just imagine you there, your cackling laughter echoing down those long forgotten railroad ties. And then there was the time a few of the boys managed to get a car up on the high school roof…. My impression of my uncles and father during those depression years was that they were anything but depressing, that you were all loyal and protective, and grew up having a hell of a good time at Alamo - that Ted, Willise, Tim and Bill somehow were the center of life in that rural site, tending the animals, doing the chores, setting off fireworks, sliding down the roof of the house, roaming with Carlo, playing “Monkey in the Bay Leaf tree” and generally being boys who learned to love and cherish life and one another. And how that bond continued into what all of us know as the Main family is legend. You have generated a tremendous debt of gratitude in me. From those stories, I have learned to appreciate the sense of being a brother, of loving fully and freely, of good times and late nights and stories never told. Tell me a few more.

You have always been a phenomenal athlete. My memory is of you at Alamo, on the lawn in a touch football game, with hips like Hurrying Hugh McEllehney, dodging we tikes that flew at you like darts, close to but always missing the bulls-eye, frantically grasping at air as you eluded us and tossed another lazy spiral to that damn Tuck, behind us all in the end zone. And I know you were there with Pappy Waldorf at Cal, (“Up with the blue and gold, down with the red, …”) and on a dozen other fields and courts, always just beyond an opponent’s clutching hands, always one step ahead of the opposition, your knees driving high and hard as you hustled past those who would stop you. I am only glad I had to defend you when you were well past your prime, and even then, it was always a daunting task. You have always played the game above the field or court.

Except as an athlete, it is hard to imagine you as a warrior. But dad recounted the time when on a ship in the Pacific Theater, you came rushing in to tell your mates, “They got the old man!” after a Jap kamikaze plane struck the tower where the admiral was. It is hard to imagine you in war. It is hard for me to just imagine what life on that edge was like, but you have lived it, and devoted yourself to our country’s well being with valor and pride. For that I am grateful.

In my early years, I also knew you as the big fisherman. You and dad and others would disappear for a day, returning to Wilshire Drive with a string of beautiful browns or rainbows, fresh from Coffee or Hat or Clear Creek. The old 8mm home movies still float through my mind, capturing the images of your expertise and your pride. We were always so enraptured by your return on those late afternoons, so much so that there are those amongst us who would charge through plate glass windows, intent only on greeting you and sharing the joy of your never ending string of successes. Once, at Stinson Beach, you helped me send a line out into the surf, and not long after, I pulled in not one, but two fish. And you have even dropped a line at my property on Willow Creek, a time which gave me great pleasure – we won’t tell anyone you didn’t get a nibble. Your love for the outdoors, and for the pursuit of the wily trout or bass or whatever was to soon be on the menu is another of the many roles you have played in my life. You have truly been a magnificent fisherman and a fisher of men for we Main boys.

I admit to occasionally seeing another side of you, the inept, incompetent, misguided and befuddled timekeeper of countless clam bowls - that guy on the sidelines with a watch that was upside down and backwards, as far as we could tell, that is, unless my team was behind. I see you there now, announcing that only two minutes remain until the end of the game. Twenty minutes later, when the north team has eked out what appears to be another narrow and miraculous victory, you inform us that, in fact, there is still a minute and a half left in the game. By the way, I’d love to have that watch, and donate it to the Smithsonian as one of the true icons of Clam Bowl lore.

You have always been a husband who shared a marvelous marriage with your bride Margaret. The two of you always had that easy balance of joy, mirth, love and friendship, punctuated by your perfect way of hosting all of us in a whirling myriad of family gatherings at Las Trampas. Whether on the deck outside or in the front yard, whether in front of the old Sony Trinitron TV or in the kitchen with snap jacks, you have always been a man who knew how to lead a family, who knew how to love your spouse. The easy intimacy between you two, the never-ending sparkle in your relationship, from the beach to Buck’s Lake, from the cabin at Little Grass to the table at Las Trampas, has shaped the image of a man who knows how to love.

And certainly, from my idolization of your son to my great friendship with and love for your daughter, I have learned, by watching you, something of being a father. Your enthusiasm for and support of your two kids, and now, their own children, has modeled for me much of what I aspire to as a father – you have always “been there” for your kids, whether at the football field or in insightful conversation and advice, whether on a long walk in the damp fog or in front of a warm fire. Their love and devotion to you reflects what you have provided for them. Through the tough times and the celebrations, you have been a great dad. Through the heartbreaks and the happiest moments, you have guided your children on their own paths to lives filled with love and passion and joy and how to “know the difference”. A man could not ask for more.

Most of all for me, you are a family man. All these roles I have watched you play, all these roles I have experienced in my relationship with you, have left me with that one clear and indelible impression. That after 80 years of life, you can say, truly and without the tiniest doubt, that family is what has been at the forefront of each moment of your life – your blessings, your gifts, your intensity and passion, your inspiration and your patience, your trials and your most powerful life experiences have all come together in your role as the family man. From the cigars and drinks at Bodega or Jenner or Stinson, from the golf courses at Redding or Pebble Beach, from the logs to split and the stumps to remove, from a sunset’s last embrace of a day to dawn’s new greeting, from a young girl’s tears to a wife’s embrace, from a touchdown to a perfect tackle, from the furniture store in San Francisco to the beach at Marina Del Rey, from Alamo to Lafayette to Loma Rica, from Chico to Napa and Redding and Modesto and Yuba City and Bieber, from all those perfect days and long convivial nights, from tears to laughter, you stride through a life, living fully in the glow of the value and importance of family. From the times you set me straight to the times you let me soar, in your way you have nurtured me and my brothers and my cousins, taught us about the way to live a life fully and without regret – as a family man. From your love of wood and what you have done with that passion, to the plastic in your knees, you are a man who lives life the way it should be lived. I am so fortunate to be a part of that legacy. Thank you, family man, for your role in my life. You have helped shape so much that is good and right with our world, and life. Thank you for the little things and thank you for the joy you bring. Thank you, family man.