Born Brooklyn, New York in 1933, first child of Charles Wapner, attorney, and Lillian Greenberg, teacher. One sister, Cynthia, four years younger (d. 2008). Attended Midwood High School, Brooklyn. Met future wife, Grace Bakst Wapner, in Hebrew class when they were both sixteen. Attended Lehigh University, Columbia University and New York University law school. Admitted to the New York State Bar in 1957. Married Grace Bakst in 1954. Son Kenneth Wapner born 1956. Daughter Erika Degens born 1958. Practiced law on Wall Street. Involved with left wing causes. Lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Moved to Woodstock, New York in 1964. Opened a poorly attended lecture hall off Yerry Hill Road. Founded the law firm of Wapner, Koplovitz & Futerfas in 1970. Founded Riverby, an ecological land development corporation around the same time. Dabbled in music management (Tim Hardin). Folded Riverby in the mid 1970’s and became a country lawyer. Real estate, wills, not-for-profit law, estate planning and general problem solving (at which “he was a master”, says his partner Josh Koplovitz). Worked mostly if not completely on a pro bono basis for the Catskill Center for Conservation and Development, Woodstock Land Conservancy, Woodstock School of Art, Woodstock Artists Association & Museum, Woodstock Guild, Maverick Concerts, Family of Woodstock, KTD Monastery, Zen Mountain Monastery and Woodstock Jewish Congregation, among other non-profits and community organizations. Died in the early morning hours of May 22, 2022 at his home on Chestnut Hill Road, Woodstock.
Recollections
Josh Koplovitz: When my long time law partner and wonderful friend Jerry Wapner announced that he would be retiring and closing the doors on his office on the very day of his 80th birthday, November 27, 2013 — and not a day earlier or a day later — this was classic Jerry Wapner. Precise and very much “on point” and needing to be in total control of when and how the event would take place.
Although I kept in close touch with Jerry thereafter both socially and on a variety of legal matters that came up from time to time right up to the time of his passing, the most immediate effect of his retirement is that I and our third partner, Rod Futerfas, proceeded to begin representing a large number of Jerry’s former clients. This was a daunting task and big shoes to fill, because to a person they all loved him as a dear friend and worshipped him as a counselor. When Jerry spoke, it was as if his words were coming directly from the gospel. He gave advice and they followed it. And as I said in my remarks several years ago when Jerry was honored by the Woodstock Land Conservancy, they all felt the Jerry “walked on water.”
An additional problem was getting these clients used to a different style. Jerry would tell them, “This is what you should do,” and that was it. My style would be to give them a number of options — which took many of Jerry’s client’s a while to get used to. But what was most amazing to me is that whenever I dealt with one of Jerry’s clients, they would inevitably ask me at the end of the session to send him not their “regards” but their love — which I of course always did. He was truly beloved.
We were partners for 43 years and amazingly never had an argument or even exchanged a harsh word. Besides having a brilliant mind, he was a beautiful human being. And I loved him like a brother. I will miss him so much.
Geddy Sveikauskas: There are a handful of friends, one learns from travel along the winding road of life, upon whom one can always depend. They have your back.
These folks know the connection is mutual, no less so because it is usually unspoken, at least in these parts. They care. You care. Enough said.
No one could ask for a stronger supporter than attorney Jerry Wapner, who died this week. Jerry and I had a great relationship for a half-century.
As a young lawyer moving here from the city, Jerry thought everybody should have the opportunity to live surrounded by nature. He adopted local nature writer John Burroughs’ cabin’s name Riverby for the several very large tracts of land he bought for that market. The recession of 1974 caught him overextended, and he spent years paying back every cent of his debts.
An upside of his Riverby experience was his close contacts with local people, many money-poor and land-rich. A civil-rights liberal by instinct, Jerry developed a lifelong respect for the values of local rock-ribbed conservatives.
When I and many friends started a weekly newspaper called Woodstock Times, Jerry handled the legal paperwork. What did he take in return? A half-page ad consisting of a map of Southeast Asia showing where Big Oil got its raw materials.
Jerry liked to refer to himself as a simple country lawyer. He was anything but. Most of his varied clients shared my appreciation of his legal work. One couldn’t have hoped for a better advocate.
If I have any complaint, it is this. In 50 years, Jerry never billed me for anything, even personal legal papers. The pretense was that he was exchanging his careful services for occasional advertising.
We used to have lunch once a month or two at a Woodstock restaurant. Conversation strayed far from legal matters or journalism.
He knew a lot about a lot of things. His understated, faintly distant and ironic sense of humor was unforgettable. Though Jerry didn’t ever gossip, I found his judgment of personalities both small-town and global unerring.
I’ll miss Jerry enormously for the rest of my life. Condolences to his wife Grace, their son Kenny and daughter Erika, and all others, including myself, he leaves behind.
Mary Frank: Clearly one of the most curiously opinionated people I’ve known, yes the weathered but still strong ones and then the odd fringe, such as “I hate day lilies”, maybe the only Hudson Valley resident to think so…Before my husband Leo met Jerry I described him as a mover and a joyous piano improvisor, a great cook (it was his art) — but when he was having digestive problems, having cooked a superb chili dish and heaped it on his plate, he crumbled maalox on the summit. We loved each other for many seasons.
VICTOR.SUPER POTENTIALIS
SALVATORE. CAVERNA MINGUS
REX. CIVITAE. REGGAE.
CONFUTOR. TSCHAINICORUM
NUDNICUS. GLORIOSSISSIMOSS
GLORIFICAMUS. TE
EL TANGO PLAYER SUPERIORE
AMIGO EXTRAODINARIO
Leo Treitler: In one of my earliest recollections of Jerry after I had met him upon my arrival as a newcomer to Woodstock, we were having lunch together and he was greeted by a young woman in the restaurant with effusive expressions of gratitude for some way in which he had helped her out of some difficulty. She gave no details and he explained, modestly, that he had helped her with some legal difficulty without billing her. I came to learn over the years of our friendship that such generosity was characteristic of him. Our friendship grew in all directions from that time: long political and philosophical conversations in which he displayed much wisdom; collaboration in Woodstock’s adoption of the Central American village of El Buen Pastor in El Salvador as a sister city. Jerry was a great improvisor of jazz on the piano. Together we improvised tangos. It was altogether a most enriching friendship.
Mamie Spiegel and Alan Siegel: Jerry was a romantic. Of course he was. That’s why he was often so outraged by the state of things; the reality he met spun his visions, his hopes, his expectations on their heels, gave him the world upside down, basically, the OPPOSITE of what he thought the world could or should be.
But he loved the world, too, and one of the things he loved in it was music. He played the piano for years. As a physical object, his piano was one of the things he was loathe, in his old age, to let go of. Piano playing was part of his identity. It must have reminded him of his youth, his pleasure in jazz, his jobs as a piano player in nightclubs.
And do you remember how he and Grace used to love to dance? They took so much joy in dancing together. Jerry was graceful, which is why, I suppose, he married Grace.
We enjoyed things about Jerry that were, to us, bizarre. That he HATED sand. It made us laugh. And he couldn’t STAND bananas — something having to do with his hateful mother, who forced him to eat too many bananas. So Jerryesque. Goofy.
We met Jerry deep back in the old century, when he was our lawyer for buying our first house in Woodstock. He was also the lawyer for the seller of the house we were going to buy. Isn’t that illegal? That was how things were done in the olden days. Jerry was a man you could trust. Didn’t matter what side you were on.
Trust. Seems a good word to leave with Jerry. Integrity, trust, and love. Can’t leave Jerry without love: his for us, and most of all, ours for him.
Jane Traum: I met Grace and Jerry very shortly after Happy and I moved to Woodstock over 50 years ago. We connected immediately on every level. We were enamored of their beautiful children, Erika and Kenny. Grace and Jerry were role models for raising our own children.
Jerry was a unique and a profound thinker. I loved to argue with him, laugh with him and celebrate life with him. He was my go-to friend for advice and guidance on all matters great and small. He always had perspective. He saw things “from both sides now.”
Jerry’s generosity extended beyond friends and family. No matter how busy his schedule he always seemed to make time for town organizations and issues. I had the good fortune of working with him in that capacity. Jerry’s vision was always enlightening.
The spirit of my loyal, passionate, brilliant friend will remain in my heart forever.
Happy Traum: It’s difficult to extract just one memory after more than fifty years of friendship, certainly of someone with a life as fully and richly lived as Jerry Wapner’s. There were innumerable dinners, many cooked and served by Jerry himself; treks through fields and woods to find boundary markers; political discussions with his surprisingly contrarian, but always well-thought-out, points of view; the pride he unfailingly showed in Grace’s artwork; and, of course, his fathomless love for Grace and their children.
One image that comes clearly to mind is of Jerry sitting in his modest law office off Mill Hill Road in what is now a busy bar called Early Terrible. When Jerry inhabited the place it was a calm oasis surrounded by a well-trimmed lawn and lovely specimen trees that flowered spectacularly in the springtime. In my mind’s eye, Jerry is sitting back in his swivel chair, helping us with legal matters or giving sage advice for which he invariably refused payment. From that little office he used his intelligence and compassion to help clients from all walks of life with sensitivity and a clear moral compass that is increasingly rare these days. We will all miss him deeply.
Rosie Morgenstern: Jerry Wapner was a very attractive and deeply serious man who loved to laugh and dance. His standards were very high and tough for himself as well as for others. Though he was a kind man, he rarely handed out praise and usually only to those whom he truly believed in.
If the music was right, Jerry could cut a mean rug and also a slice of delicious bread from a loaf he’d baked. He adored his family and still had a crush on his gifted and beautiful wife Grace Bakst Wapner.
Joe Morgenstern: What we saw in Jerry barely hinted at what we got.
The first time I met him more than half a century ago I found him undemonstrative, to say the least, someone who did more listening than talking — a rare trait then as now — and who seemed to be considering what he heard with a lawyer’s cool demeanor. I remember seeing him at his desk in his law office on Tinker Street, a big American flag hung on the wall behind him. Then as now, the flag might have signaled the presence of a staunch conservative, an anomaly in the liberal redoubt that was Woodstock during the turbulent years of the Vietnam war.
But Jerry was infinitely more complex than that, and endearing in his complexity. He was a true believer in what America could be, rather than what it had become; a defender of counterculture kids who couldn’t afford a lawyer; a person of principles driven by profound passions in his private and professional life; a slow smiler with a rich sense of humor and an appreciation of the absurd, but, at the same time, an unquenchable reservoir of outrage at injustice.
He was also the dearest of friends, someone who didn’t have to say a word — although he often spoke with great eloquence — to let me know he got me, just as I got him in a way that didn’t need certification by conversation. When I think of him now I see him at home with Grace, cooking in the kitchen; in the library that served as a dining room, serving elegantly simple dinners to friends; or in the living room, basking in the love of his family. I also see him at the piano, tossing off casual jazz riffs. I wish I’d heard more of his playing. He was good at improvising, but always from a strong, unwavering structure.
Mike Stock: I met Jerry some 50 years ago at a poker game. He was good, hard to read and he loved to win. He became my friend and attorney and as time went on I looked up to him as a father figure. He always gave me good advice and wouldn’t hesitate to say no if he thought I shouldn’t be doing something. The pleasure of meeting his wife Grace! We met at a party and boy could the two of them dance. Jerry also loved to cook, especially Italian food. He has left a legacy in the town where he started Riverby Wittenberg, where many people have built their homes over the years. Jerry held his closings in a teepee. No need to say what a great person he was. I will miss him but he will never be forgotten. Peace to you Jerry.
David Hornung: Among my fondest memories are of times spent sitting together with my wife Ellen, Grace and Jerry in what was called the “cozy room” of their home. On those occasions, Jerry supplied us with his signature margaritas, vivid stories and worldly wit. In the twenty-five years I knew him I never lost interest in his opinion or his advice.
Ellen Tarlow: Jerry liked to get to the heart of things. No matter what he was going through, and often it was a lot, he was always interested and always remembered the details. Just a week or two before he passed away, I experienced his Jerry-magic one last time. I came into the bedroom to wake him up. He smiled. “Did you talk to your boss?” he asked, his voice now barely audible. “Yes,” I said. “Everything is fixed. Just like you said.” He smiled and patted my hand. “That’s good.” I never had the chance to know Jerry as a lawyer but I have the feeling that the sense of peace I felt in his presence was probably how his clients felt when they entered his office, like the problems of the world had just been greatly reduced because Jerry Wapner was on the job.
Alice and Bob Greenwood: When we were looking for a lawyer, almost 40 years ago, to help us buy our first house in Woodstock, one name came up repeatedly. As if there were only one lawyer in Woodstock. And so, at everyone’s recommendation, we called Jerry to do our closing. We said, it might be complicated. No problem, he said. But the closing was with a fancy prestigious law firm in Rockefeller Center. Would he be able to come down? No problem, he said. Excited and nervous, we dressed up in our finery and went to the city and up 50 floors to an impressive glass and chrome office full of men in suits. Jerry walked in in a black tee shirt and sandals. Perfectly at home. The suits blinked. Jerry didn’t. It was a wonderful introduction to Woodstock. And to Jerry. There would be no pretense, no falseness, no one upmanship. We closed on our house, and moved, and became friends with him and Grace. We shared many meals and ballets and opinions and music with them. And chocolate cookies, Jerry’s favorite.
Alice Radosh: I had three good reasons for recommending Jerry to friends who needed legal help. First, I knew they would get good advice; second I knew he would take into account the impact on our wonderful community as well as on the needs of the individual, but secretly, my favorite reason was the third: the look on their faces when I said, “you have to call him, he refuses to do email.” What, the beloved lawyer of Woodstock does not have email? And then it would get even better when I added that he won’t let his secretary use email either! Jerry was a principled man who refused to compromise when he knew he was right and when he knew that the world was going in the wrong direction. A very sad loss for me and for Woodstock.
Sarah Blum: I loved Jerry. David [Sarah’s husband] loved Jerry. His wonderful capacity to be himself, to speak his truth allowed us to know him at his core. But, he could not be otherwise —Jerry’s definition of friendship required that he love honestly and fully. He tempered his impressive intellect with feeling and tempered his feeling with a wonderful whimsical, satirical humor that often subtly concealed an imagining of what still could be. Jerry was a quiet, powerful humanitarian, gifted with a flawless vision of what is right and just, and the willingness to realize — through his lifelong advocacy — that pristine vision.
Julia Kofke: I only knew Jerry beginning last winter, when he and Grace were in need of some extra help. I could see he was weak, but determined to do as much as he could. He tired easily. I ferried him to doctor appointments, and took notes; to the lab for blood work; and once or twice for food and supplies. We chatted about all kinds of things driving to and fro; I amused him with some of my stories and he reciprocated; he praised my driving skills. He was erudite, a principled man of conscience. I think he may have had a larger book collection than my father. When he was confined to the hospital bed at home, he was so happy when I played Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater for him, it was so beautiful and calming. I am so glad to have known him.
Pamela Chadwick: My friend; in spirit, my grandpa. I will hold memories of his complexity and simplicity. Our time together was filled with stories and oatmeal. Always precise with butter, maple syrup and salt. Like him, with richness, sweetness and a little spice. Somewhere between his great grandfather capturing wild horses for the Czar of Russia and when Jerry shaved off half of his mustache to tease his children lies his spirit. I am honored to have been able to serve him. A deeply loving experience.
Fred Backhaus: What started out as a business relationship in 1974 turned into a life-long friendship. I took care of Jerry’s bookkeeping and banking needs through the years. He was always appreciative of my services and there was never a bad word between us. I consider him one of my best friends and will miss him dearly.
Judith Woodard: How can anyone put into a note all the qualities which are embodied into this wonderful Jerry…Starting with his deep ability to love: wife, children, friends, and his history of serving friends/clients through using his profession of the law.
My early encounters with Jerry include his openness in doing something few of us are capable of doing — the act of sharing. This sharing included sharing of knowledge but more importantly sharing of friends. We sometimes discount the importance of introductions.
Friends introduced to new friends; this makes for a safe and secure and happy world. Jerry did this for me time and again and I cherish each of his friends as I know he did.
His love of Grace shines through everything. How many of us know couples who always think of each other? My joy in having Jerry as a friend was seeing how this love was expressed in each decision he made.
Carter Gebert: I got a call one day from Jerry asking if I would be interested in doing some yard and handyman work. That started things. Later along, I also drove Grace and Jerry back and forth to the city and such. On one trip I said something about self-driving cars. “Never catch me in one”, said Jerry. I thanked him silently for the job security.
One of the last times I spent with him was when I drove him to the eye doctor last winter. He was losing strength in his legs, so he was using a walker, and I was his back up. In the exam room, we were waiting and got talking. He asked how I was dealing with my Dad’s passing the year before. I blurted something like, “I think my Dad was one of the few atheists I have known that I can confidently say was totally comfortable with being one.” He smiled and replied, “Well, now you know another.”
On the way out we stopped at the water fountain and had a sip of what he always said was the best water in Ulster County, and then we went to Adams and got some flowers for Grace.
I’ve been lucky, and I’ve had some good fortune in my life. I had both in getting to know Jerry Wapner. One of God’s most mysterious creations…an honest man.
Tad Wise: Jerry was my best friend’s father. At ten and eleven that was all I knew of him. He was guarded, at times downright foreboding. Then around puberty I put the family dinner table into stitches — and that was it. From then on Jerry greeted me with, “ah, young Tad,” which eventually morphed into “ah, not-so-young Tad.” Between these two stages in life Jerry represented me, gratis, on my pot bust at sixteen, and in my divorce at twice that age, in exchange for which I built his office a set of stone steps I’d secretly delight in watching Jerry skip up and down like a Talmudic Fred Astaire. But my fondest memory of him goes back fifty or so years and finds us all, again, at the Wapner dinner table where I’d just recounted an adventure — involving tremendous personal derring-do — in explanation for the cast on my leg. Jerry might have resorted to cleaning his glasses or perhaps he was chewing a post-supper toothpick; in any case, a pause greeted my finale into which Jerry sagely interjected, “the fact remains, lad… you skied into a tree.”
Ardis Brown (Pyxe): Jerry, to me
Protector. It’s the 1970s. I’m a kid, and Jerry is driving me home from a sleepover with Ook, commonly known as Erika. Blizzard conditions on Hutchin Hill Road, as far as I was concerned a white out. We’re sliding sideways down the hill, with steep drop-offs into the Sawkill. My inside voice was screaming. I was terrified. But I also heard what I was sure would be Jerry’s reply, “I’ve got this.” And he did.
Husband. 73 years of dedication to beautiful Grace, who, if you knew them you’d see what loyalty, respect, accountability and love in a marriage looks like.
Friend. Much later in life, I reached out to Jerry not knowing how to proceed with my mother’s passing and estate, completely fragile emotionally. Jerry guided me through one of the hardest times in my life. He was Team Pyxe all the way. I never questioned his strategies.
Jerry was my dictionary definition of the perfect Woodstock lawyer: Extreme intelligence. No compromise about what he thought was best. No need to guess about what he was thinking.
Roxanne Degens (granddaughter): Of your many lessons, the two that I recall most vividly are the banana and the Monty Python lessons: For the banana lesson, you sat Jasper [Roxanne’s brother] and me on your bed. You revealed a banana (an object of total detestation) from behind your back. You proceeded to peel the banana and eat it, bite by bite, in complete silence and with no expression. Once you finished eating the banana, you threw the peel in the trashcan and left the bedroom. The Monty Python lesson began much the same way (Jasper and I seated on the bed) — you showed us the clip of the very fat man at a restaurant who ate and ate until he exploded. No commentary or explanation for why you showed this to us or what you wished to impart.
Elijah Wapner (grandson): This one goes out to all the Gerald Wapners in the world that I knew (meaning the only one). I know for a fact that he’d be overjoyed if I met more, but I’m not ready to make that leap of faith quite yet. Fellow rock star and bandmate, what can I say? The creative differences were extraordinary but that’s what made it work to create a brand of ragtime infused heavy metal that was second to none. I always thought it was cool that you had accepted bets for catfish wrestling as a side business too. There were so many questions left unanswered that I always wanted to ask, such as what your favorite episodes of Downtown Arby’s were. I always loved doing arts and crafts with you out of wildebeest hair. Another fun memory I have is how we played leap frog in the supermarket and I fell into the tomatoes; you laughed and commented how I was absorbing blood from the vitamins of the sun and called me a sun god. I hope you find more winkles at the grocery store wherever it is you went.
Jasper Degens (grandson): When joining Jerry on his adventures, I became an eager accomplice. He had a focus, fixation, and determination to find the truly special. It could be the velvety slurp of the perfect Matjes herring, the fluffiness and decadence of a Japanese cream puff, or the soul quenching sip of glowing fresh squeezed orange juice. It could also be the movement of the blindfolded, roller skating Chaplin in Modern Times, the tenderness of Astaire courting Rodgers under the stormy pavilion in Top Hat, the fluidity of Baryshnikov dancing to Sinatra, or the shape of the weeping red maple tree in his office garden. These targeted pleasures were not given, but earned through their journeys — the speed walks across the city and the sunrise drives through the country. But what I loved most is Jerry shared his joys with me as a partner, equal and almost co-conspirator, imbuing a sense of excitement, appreciation, and a healthy dose of eccentricity that I hold dear and core to who I am.
Rachel Wapner-Mol (granddaughter): I would never call him “grandpa” or “grandfather” because he didn’t like it. Although he was my grandfather, first and foremost, he was Jerry Wapner, rebel lawyer. He was the seventh first-born male in the Wapner family, making my brother the ninth. I will always remember his amazing sense of humor.
It all started when I was six or seven. After giving me my precious chocolate milk that he would buy specially for me, he sat down. “So I was in Chinatown in New York City,” he said. This painted an immediate picture for me because I loved Chinatown and all of its wonders. “And I walked into the grocery store and saw a little girl who was about your age, staring at the box full of live frogs. She was looking in horror at the biggest frog who sat on top of all the other frogs, staring at her. ‘That one’s Mary,’ I said to her. She gasped and ran away to her mother with tears in her eyes.” How creative Jerry was with his pranks on people!
Jerry, I hope wherever you are, you will look at us all talking about you, sharing our stories and grief, and laughing at us for not knowing what happens after death like you do. I hope if reincarnation and ghosts are real, you come back as a frog and this time jump on that little girl. I love you forever.
Sebastian Degens (son-in-law): Jerry was particular about food, had an esthetic he pursued. I enjoyed tagging along on shopping, which was never really a one-stop affair — Jerry had specific ideas of what was to be gotten and where — vegetables here, frozen broth there, meat perhaps a special trip to Saugerties. There were trips to New York for spices and pasta, pickles or preserves — which I couldn’t participate in. It was not unusual to find five different mustards in the fridge, and a stock of plum jam on the shelf, three curries.
I came onto the scene after Jerry’s years of bad food decisions were in the past — now it was taste, novelty, quality, and sometimes the shop owners’ relationship that drove the shopping decisions. Thoughtful choices, like a CSA or the Farmers Market in Kingston. Shopping was almost a daily event.
Many things could enter the fridge during a visit — my ham and butter, Erika’s ricotta and seltzer, unusual fruits or vegetables. All without complaint. But at the end of every visit, there was a grand culling, and Jerry would rid the refrigerator of the offending leftovers or items that had snuck in during the stay. We’d have a bag to take on the road, and the fridge would again meet the standard of household propriety.
Corinne Mol (daughter-in-law): Jerry liked to take his grandchildren outside before sunrise, for a lesson or ritual. We were in Miami Beach for Grace’s art opening at the Bernice Steinbaum Gallery. He invited Roxanne, Jasper, and Elijah to go out to the beach before 6 a.m. I asked to come along. Jerry never had much use for beaches. He couldn’t stand the way sand got all over you and it got in your shoes and then you tracked it into the house where it made a mess. Messes displeased him and sand was on his “shitlist,” as he would have said. He brought along legal pads and pens and instructed us to write a letter to someone who had died. I wrote to my Dutch grandmother who had thirteen kids and was a midwife and member of the Dutch resistance. He called what we wrote “Sky Letters.” After we were done, he pulled out a lighter and we set fire to our words. The letters burned to ash as the sun rose over the ocean. I have no idea what the kids made of this. These ventures into odd rituals and the esoteric, which he relished subjecting his grandchildren to, always seemed at odds with his highly analytic mind. Jerry was a devout atheist, with a loathing for organized religion, although he did pro bono work for Buddhist monasteries and other religious groups. He asked me to teach him how to meditate at the end of his life. He listened with bemused, affectionate fascination when I would tell him stories about near death experiences and ghost encounters. He had a curiosity about magic and curses. Where did this come from? As he would have said, “go figure.”
Erika Degens (daughter): In my early adolescence I loved to sit on the piano bench with my father. He played by ear; he could hear something one time and recreate it. We especially liked old classics, from the 20’s. One of our favorites was “She’s Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage.” I was on vocals.
He ate cornflakes every morning, without fail. He’d douse them with a heaping tablespoon of white sugar. He hated caraway seeds and bananas with a vengeance, and my brother and I were ever-alert for any opportunity to plant some caraway seeds in with the sugar or bananas in the bottom of his bowl if he went to answer a phone call before finishing breakfast. He appreciated and was amused by these hijinks.
Such surprises worked both ways. On my 12th birthday I came home from school and my mom and dad had painted my room an intense pink. I mean INTENSE. My dad had put a full page magazine photo of a huge spider over my bed. Did he want to decondition me from a fear I had not yet developed? I left it up there. I am not afraid of spiders. Maybe it worked.
He loved living on mountains. He loved winter, all the snow, the cold, the potential adversity. Weekend blizzardy days when the rest of us were content to stay home and watch it come down, he would insist that he needed to get in the yellow Scout to go into town on an urgent errand. Weather fascinated him. He knew wind patterns, fronts, when thunder and lightning would hit, what the road conditions were on the Thruway to New York, and when I moved to Oregon he tracked the weather there too.
He welcomed facing the elements which he could not control just as he loved solving what was in his power to resolve.
Kenneth Wapner (son): My parents had a weekly poker game when I was a kid and my father used to let me sit behind him and watch him play. It was a local game with the guys who logged and built his roads when he was developing Riverby, along with other colorful Woodstock characters. The stakes weren’t huge but big enough so that you could get a bit banged up when you lost and feel flush when you won. My mother sometimes played and she was a deceptive, calculating presence that took the men by surprise and almost always came out ahead. She loved to check and raise. My father played tight and carefully picked his spots to bet on the come and bluff. We had some kind of arrangement, which is a little foggy to me at this point, where I would share in his winnings but was not exposed when he lost. What a dad! Anyway, one night he couldn’t win a hand. Usually, I would stay behind him until the game broke up. But that night I said something like: “I can tell you’re going to keep losing” and I vacated my seat and went off to my room. He just nodded but his shoulders tightened. The next day he let me have it: “You don’t leave when someone’s down. You stick by the them. You’re there for them in the good times and the bad. Always. Got it.” The “got it” wasn’t a question and the “always” was my father. So absolute. So uncompromising. So demanding. So beautiful and fearsome and impossible in his fury.
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