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By Ron Roman
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Makes me think of myself as old, not in a physically decrepit sense, but rather with the weight of decades-long memories of Queen Elizabeth, who was part and parcel of British tradition and a staple in the lives of millions, even to those living outside of England and who were not British subjects, and of Sheridan, a long-term teaching colleague who was not even a close friend. The queen was royalty; John Sheridan was a "commoner."
In a weird way, I felt connected to both, though no bosom buddies, we. So just what is the meaning of, and gives value to, every human life, be it that of royalty or of so-called commoners in our Era of Twerking Twerps? Let's explore ….
Queen Elizabeth was, well, the queen. One doesn't get hootchie-kootchie with a queen, perhaps not even members of her own royal family; John Sheridan, while not socially distant or standoffish, was not someone to cozy up to easily, either.
I feel guilty in describing him as only my "acquaintance" given the length of our relationship; to state otherwise, though, would mark me as a liar. That simple.
After all, in recent years we only met three, maybe four, times a year to reminisce for a couple of hours over coffee with our mutual friend Erik about our old days in Korea, and we always met conveniently for Sheridan in Seoul, his adopted hometown, never where I live.
But we nonetheless shared good times with plenty of nostalgic conversation until the Grim Reaper, master interloper that he is, had other plans in doling out a freakish, tragic death for John while he was vacationing in Thailand this past summer.
I had been the impetus for John to return to writing for The Korea Times about two years ago. I convinced Park Yoon-bae, a veteran journalist and the chief editorial writer at The Korea Times since before forever, to give him a shot at a journalistic comeback.
Always an accomplished writer in addition to being a devoted educator, regular readers will remember John's insightful columns on an eclectic array of topics. He could be stubborn and, like royalty, picky.
Though hailing from Philadelphia from distinctly workingman lineage, John oozed a certain royal manner and mien at times. Like the queen, in public he presented an impeccable appearance.
Indeed, by way of his expecting others to do the same, he could, and did, rub some folks the wrong way, particularly co-workers. He'd display little tolerance for those who dressed slovenly, having upbraided Erik more than once for appearing as such.
He'd sign off his articles with his trademark byline "Urban Flaneur."
As a retired American university English professor and novelist, I consider myself hardly deficit in vocabulary, but I must confess "flaneur" sent me scurrying like a grammar school kid to crack open my dictionary; I hadn't seen it in print, much less heard it in conversation, in decades.
Then, too, while I was proofreading his articles, we'd often quibble over my edits. Once, after I had pointed out a comma splice error, he became indignant, insisting that it wasn't a comma splice.
I soon realized the futility of pursing these matters and abruptly stopped. Our relationship could indeed be prickly at times. Perhaps only between college educators could such trivia be considered significant, eh? Try not to snicker.
Erik emailed me of the tragic death while I was vacationing in the U.S. When Sheridan had a public memorial service in Seoul, 10 mourners showed up; Queen Elizabeth II had closer to a million in London, followed by billions glued to their TV screens around the globe.
While Sheridan, by way of his dapper style, projected an image of quiet dignity within his inner circle, the Queen exuded that proverbial British stiff upper lip, at least in public, and, more importantly, held her head high with her inimitable grace and aplomb set against the backdrop of a world now awash in vulgarity.
In so doing, her image was that of a matronly steadfast anchor and beacon to her "subjects," who yearned for a return to an era of cultural security and stability. They found that in her, and on Sept. 8, when it was taken away from them for good, they grieved so, knowing it would never return. Sense and sensibility.
For better or worse, that's what the British masses, and much of the rest of our world, craved. They got just that and more in the quiet, dignified life of Queen Elizabeth II.
Ubiquitous paparazzi vultures hovering nearby relentlessly kept alive those royal family raunchy scandals. From Prince Charles' ill-fated marriage to Princess Diana to Prince Harry and Meghan Markle's allegations of royal racism at Buckingham Palace, there was never any shortage of paparazzi-inflated smut for the tabloids.
Throughout it all, the queen always managed to eke out a poker face, at least in public. Surely as mother and grandmother she must have been hurting behind closed doors, living life under the microscope of public scrutiny. As Shakespeare said, "Heavy is the head that wears the crown."
But wear the crown she did, and always with dignity and grace. Few other leaders, royal or not, could have done so with such style under scrutiny. This observation brings me back to the "Urban Flaneur," John Sheridan…
He was someone born plebeian, perhaps, but also someone whose life and passing, though hardly celebrated to the degree the queen's were, proved just as essential in the eyes of those who knew him and of the Almighty. For who else can be the ultimate judges? When the sun finally sets, every life is precious.
Ron Roman (ron_g_roman@hotmail.com) taught English and the humanities for the University of Maryland Global Campus (UMGC-Asia) all over the Pacific since 1996 until the COVID-19 crisis (2020). His apocalyptic doomsday thriller "Of Ashes and Dust" is scheduled for a Nov. 22, 2022, release by Histria Books. He is a long-term contributor to The Korea Times.
