My uncle Guenter died recently; my dad’s only sibling. He’s been in Guatemala for probably the last 30 years and I haven’t seen him once in all that time. While I only saw him occasionally back in my teens and twenties this man left a giant impression on me as a growing adult. He was a singular character, unlike anyone I have met since. He was weird, cocksure, endlessly fascinating, and an acquired taste to be sure. He moved in circles I knew nothing about but gained glimpses of through his stories.
Uncle Guenter had embraced the 60’s flower power counter-culture movement with gusto and he carried that torch as long as I knew him, right down to his trademark blue denim embroidered pants, shirts, jackets, and caps — I’m not sure he had any clothing that wasn’t denim, except for a long leather trench coat and knitted scarf that he used in the winter. To a young man with a middle-of-the-road, white picket fence upbringing, every visit with Uncle Guenter revealed some new and fascinating idea. He extolled the virtues of hashish, marijuana, and hallucinogens, clued me in to Wicca and Taoism, waxed on about the occult, explained the meaning of Pink Floyd lyrics, and perhaps even implanted in me a nascent interest in programming.
Once he told me that when security pats you down at a concert they’re not looking for drugs (which is what I had always assumed); they’re looking for booze. Why? Because pot makes people docile, but booze makes people violent. Ironically, the thing that was legal was the thing that they didn’t want getting snuck into concerts. Mind blown. On another occasion he explained to me that in order to be a good salesperson you must have the ability to hold in your mind and fully believe two directly opposing ideas. When I expressed confusion, he pointed at his silver lighter (he smoked a lot) and said “You have to be able to believe that this is white and that it is black at the same time.” I suspect he had a vast distrust of salespeople, but also perhaps a grudging admiration.
He was a master of yoga and body control. He could pull his abdomen in and up so far that it was distressing to look at, two sinews connecting his pelvis and ribcage clearly visible. He could put a string in his mouth, work it up through his sinuses, and pull it out his nose. His preferred sitting position was usually the full-lotus, and he eschewed beds, preferring instead a simple mat on the floor for sleeping.
He was a good person, but nobody is a perfect person. Along with the weird interesting stuff came weird weird stuff. He was generally paranoid to some degree, convinced that he was being watched by government spooks. Also, convinced of his own genius, he had yet to be caught in one of their laughably transparent schemes.
In so many little ways Guenter opened doors in my mind that might easily have remained closed for the entirety of my life. He was unique and full of life, with strange, thought-provoking ideas that I lapped up with wonder and glee and that informed my future growth to a considerable degree. Without a doubt, I’m a richer person for having known him, and for that I am forever grateful.
Rest in peace, Uncle Guenter.
He sounds amazing! Would love to have met him. Rest easy, Guenter.