John Pepper Memorial Service

Gail Doktor
I'm Reverend Gail Doktor of the Jackson Community Church. On behalf of john pepper's family we welcome you to this celebration of life but please note that we must require that you leave your masks on throughout the service. Thank you for helping us with that. The family also requests that only fully vaccinated guests attend the reception that will follow at the Thompson House Eatery. This is to ensure the safety of vulnerable family members.
At the conclusion of the service the family will exit first. They're going to go out the front doors and they're going to ring the bell, one ring for every decade of John's life. If there's more, that's a celebration; sometimes we get a double clap. We ask that everyone else remain seated. Ushers will dismiss you after the Peppers and family members have safely left the narthex.
The organ postlude will begin following the bell ringing so you'll have organ music while you wait. And then, of course, for those who are able to attend, we invite you to the Thompson House Eatery as long as you are fully vaccinated. And finally, it is my privilege and my pleasure to introduce Reverend James Edgerly, a longtime and beloved friend of the family, who will be our celebrant today. I will now turn this service over to him.
James Edgerly
Good morning. Let's celebrate the life of John Pepper together. Please stand. We're going to sing song number 535 in your hymnal. This is a song that John selected, one of two songs he selected for this service. The Navy Hymn, Eternal Father, Strong to Save. It's song number 535 in your hymnal.
Let us pray. Father, we are so grateful to know people like him, who embody your creativity, your talents, your goodness, your grace, that he walked with us. We're so grateful to have known him, Father. to gather here in the presence of our Reverend Doctor and this beautiful Jackson Community Church for this moment of celebration of John's long 96-year life. We thank you for this friend. We pray that you will join us, that you will be present here in the words and in the emotions, that you will sing to us through the music. We will hear you and understand better your son John and your will. We begin this time together. gratefully, in the name of your son, our Lord. Amen.
Opening hymn America the Beautiful?
Roger
Scottish Lament - Dominique Dodge on harp
Silas
Hello everyone. My name is Silas Gill and I'm one of six grandchildren who call John Pepper Grandpa. All six of us have gone very different directions in life. We have him to thank for the privilege of allowing us to follow our passions. Grandpa was one of the kindest, most generous, loving men I've ever known. He wasn't much for words in that department though. He would routinely respond with "Thank you" after I signed off from a phone call with "I love you".
I remember a very icy day at Wildcat when I was about 9 years old. He and grandma zipped down the top of the Wildcat like it was nothing then stopped at the bottom to look back up at me. I was still waiting at the top, quivering, scared for my life. It was very icy. I live in Colorado now and I've grown to appreciate just how easy skiing can be. Anyways, I was sitting at the top, and he gently coaxed me down. I'm sure he was slightly disappointed that I didn't carve a straight line like he did. He was patient, and he got me down there eventually.
Another example of his patience and selflessness, a prime one, is him teaching me how to drive a stick-shift in the family car at age 15. My first story was about him encouraging me to get down a hill. This one is about him encouraging me up a hill. We were stopped at the store and I parked in the lower lot. There's a steep little hill out of the lower lot. Grandpa pulled out, started up onto the hill, stopped, got out, pulled the parking brake on and said, "All right, your turn".
From the middle of that hill it probably took about 15, 20 tries for me to get up to the top but he was patient the whole time, even though he probably had a terrible whiplash the next day. Eventually I made it out of the parking lot thanks to his patience and encouragement, and we left. I drove back to Jackson and proceeded to stall right in front of the cover bridge. Grandpa didn't say a word. If that's not love and caring, then I don't know what is. Thank you.
Daniel
John was my grandfather. I grew up in Seattle. I've been a grandpa since before I can remember things. So much of my childhood is intertwined with spending time in Jackson with my grandparents. In Jackson, it mostly feels like home. I'm more responsible for that. He created a space and culture that unified our family. It directly introduced me to hiking, skiing, swimming, sailing, and traveling directly from the out west. These activities have become part of who I am now. I remember him saying, I hear the pitter-patter of little feet when my brother and I would come down the stairs in the morning. I remember him asking about my ski lesson while I was riding up the trail with the quadruped and taking a lunch break before everyone else came by later on. He resists on the importance of finishing skiing on your next to last run since it was always the last run whenever it went up first. I pitched a snowboard in middle school and found it difficult to keep up with him until about the time he turned 80. Oh, right, on the next to last run though. I've explained this to a friend about skiing and they're like, I always spend a couple weeks in August in Jackson, days of ball running, eating dinners on the porch, and crap telling the ski races they had there. to make pie with them later that evening. I always looked forward to dinner. My favorite was corn. My Christmas farm meant food to me as well. And morning meat was untangled from the butter. I never joined him on his morning guide about the boat, watching the distant islands and slowly coming to the boat. In the evenings, goodbye lobster and seafood for the lobster men. I loved the smell of lobster and clams cooking off the side of the boat, the gas and the grill mingling with salty breezes. Time spent on the boat gave me a deep love of being on the water. I now live in San Francisco. I look forward to, and thank God he's a ski guide. For the past 35 years, Grandpa created a strong sense of family that made growing up with my cousins feel like having a second set of siblings. He welcomed me with the porch lights on and waved goodbye to the lawn. I've spent whole summers working at the Red Fox, exploring the mountains and becoming a boy, and helping a grandparent who did an exceptional job. I've told my friends that I don't necessarily want to have kids or be a parent. I absolutely want to be a grandparent. It sounds a little absurd, but the same reflects the joy he took in his grandkids and the incredible impact that he had on my life. One day, I'll be a parent, his I'll be out of doors, his generosity, and his way of being with us will be passed on to my children and to my grandchildren. Our family life always revolved around dinners at the table at my grandparents' house. As children, I don't think any of us really liked to sit still there and converse. We were prepared to keep building down to the roof or playing croquet or really anything outside. But dinnertime conversation was important to our grandpa. He had fond memories of sitting at the table with his family when he was young, engaging in polite, informed debate. So we tried to instill the skills for polite, animated, and informed discourse by administering famous afternoon quizzes. As a child, I didn't recognize questions, things like, what are the three branches of the U.S. government? I'm sure there were more interesting questions than this, but this is the one for some reason that I remember, and one of the ones I couldn't answer because, for one thing, something like a state or a government seems so distant to me.
Kirsten
My world as a child extended approximately 100 acres, and encompassed only my parents, my two siblings, my grandparents, our two houses, and the constantly traveled quarter-mile distance to the forest for two minutes, and also when we visited my cousins. I was, in other words, not informed. The winner of this was always promised an impossible prize. arousing an intense irrational desire. The winner gets a fur-lined bathtub, or even better, a fur-lined toilet. These were the most coveted, strange combinations of material that sparked visceral imaginations. I don't remember many people asking me what I thought when I was young, and it was these questions from my grandfather that invited me to speak that made me realize there's an outside world to be thought and known. As an adult, Our conversation changed and I argued with him a lot about politics mostly and other things. Sometimes in the heat of the moment, the differences we expressed seemed fundamental to me. But for the most part, I think we experienced a true mutual enjoyment in these debates. His interest in engaging in conversation and our reliable opposition helped me to articulate my own perspectives and allowed me to find or discover or realize that I always have a voice. The results of all the education I've been able to pursue because of my grandfather is that I spend a lot of time thinking about media. I've never really been able to explain to him what it is that I do, despite the fact that the simple invitation that he presented to me in his third-time quizzes helped to spark this intellectual curiosity. But it is perhaps because of the work I do as a media theorist that I keep thinking about the grandfather that I experienced through the telephone, and I'm sure that everyone who knew him... Also knows how much time is spent for energy affairs, keeping up with friends and loved ones over the phone. I'll remember the joy with which, upon recognizing my voice, he would exclaim, Oh, hi, Kirsten! Already now I remember the voice of his that crackled with joy when I heard his voice in serious discussion. This was invariably followed by, Alice, want to pick up the other phone? It shook my head. conversations on the phone never took the form of the debate. We talked easily and long, more like good friends than relatives to generations on the political spectrum apart. The third term was a telephone-shaped curious course. I remember one time in particular that I called Esquall from Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn. I was in the midst of a quarantine of sickness. He and my grandmother's lives were more isolated than they'd probably ever been. We had a meandering conversation about the state of the world, and I don't know what else. It wasn't the content that mattered. We got on a long time. I crouched to pee in some trees, laid down on my back on someone's grave. We kept talking. I loved this so much. He mentioned that he and my grandmother wouldn't go out to eat until they were able to get vaccinated. Sadly, for the first time since we came into the world, we spent both Christmases and Thanksgiving without any children or grandchildren around. I'm so grateful we all have the time to come back and visit this summer and converse again without the mediation of the telephone and with the burden of contagion lessened before the conversation had ended.
David
I'm David Pendleton. I'm John's grandson through my dad, Brian. My dad always referred to my grandparents as Mom and John, basically Grandpa. But there's a reason I never called him Grandpa John. All my life, he filled that role so completely that he never needed to be identified. The ritual of coming back to Brookside Farm at Jackson almost every summer and winter was a huge part of my childhood.
I remember one summer when my brother and I were sailing with my grandparents. I wanted to take a nap on the deck. I might fall off. Grandma tied me down. I slept so well, basking in the sun and knowing I would be safe; it was one of the top naps of my life.
Grandpa always has stories. Without any arms, I could never figure out. So then we would go out to dinner. Granddad would promise all us grandchildren a dollar if this was frugality on his part or frugality he was trying to impart. It stuck to me as a screaming deal. Big slugs in half to make that much. Only 20. Okay, I'm sure. We were incentivized enough. When I came back this time after John's passing, I broke down in tears as soon as I walked into Brookside Farm. That house, my ally here, and Grandpa, were inexorably tied together. Without his hospitality and generosity, I would never have been as close to my cousins as I am to my second home here. The trips here, not to mention ski trips, and a trip to Florida, and trips abroad, were all made possible by him. These trips brought our family together. The best gift he ever gave was an extended family that felt like a family. And that's why it's me, complete family. Bridget
As his grandchildren, I always knew very well he would have my back. His support and encouragement felt no pressure. The pressure to push myself, to be better, to reach the things I didn't think I could have or achieve. I also knew he wanted one of his grandchildren to follow in his footsteps. And I eventually became interested. Not because of the pressure, but because of the encouragement and support. I had attended the summer program there after seventh grade and applied for my fresher year. I was weightless. Except at the other private schools, however, I declined and paid for a tenant per year because, why do you need your home slips? All or nothing. I applied again the next year, and this time, I made it. It was something we could share between the two of us. Appreciation for the hard work I've done, currently. for the expert traditions and the camaraderie on the best of faith. Of course, the students agreed plenty, but I think that's part of what kept our relationship interesting, as the person said. Also, sorry grandma, I'm really bad at math. While looking through his office this week, just now he brought down folders for each of us, with snippings and tidbits from when we were young children, newspaper clippings, letters, through the time we were in college. In mine, I found a letter from my grandfather as a class of 43 to the extra admissions office the first time I went. You know, the time I didn't get in. In it, he sings my preteen praises, my favorite of which is essentially saying, hey, she's really good at ski racing, but she'd rather go to extra. Now that I think about it, he never really told me if he expected more out of me. He could be better. Come home for Christmas. And of course, we've got money. I've gone on to get $3,000 for dance degrees. And to circle back, to put some context to that, I now manage a bar and restaurant in DC. So I'm using approximately none of those guys. Yeah, I love what I do. I'm proud. And I can honestly say that the one thing he wanted most from me experiencing the sort of education that he did is the fullness of life, money, and soul that comes with it. And to circle back to the restaurant thing. As teenagers and as adults, almost all of us, grandkids, worked in restaurants in some capacity or another, in a very John B. Pepper mood, who takes sure to bring family out for dinner and sit in our section. scaring the Jesus out of us, of course. And then, of course, at the end of the night movie, I took at least 25%. The night of that was one lesson. He engraved in 1983, never, ever took less than 20%. In his terms, with life to the fullest, do what you love, because we earn it. Be generous. Be loving. Be family. Rowan
I'm John's youngest grandchild. I've never been very good at speeches, either writing them or speaking them, so I have a song instead. James Edgerly
From 1960, my parents and my older brother Stuart, who came all the way here to be here now from Carbondale, Colorado, we spent an intensive time hiking and skiing with John pretty much, I think, at least every other weekend for quite a few years, and he became what I would say a pillar of a friend for the Edgar Lee family. My mother's nickname, Jean Edgerly, her nickname was Big Red. And John gave that nickname to my mother one very, very cold day skiing at Wildcat. And for some reason, that name stuck. My mother was buried in Kentucky, Rhode Island, and that nickname was great. Two big hearts, Big Red. It's amazing the way that name stuck for decades. And I think it stuck because it was given to her by John. We were so proud that our mother had a nickname that came into our family, our dear friend John Pepper. As we can see today, John has many, many friends. We're gathered here, John's family and John's friends, to honor him, to remember him, and to celebrate his life. And it's interesting to me why it is that John... accumulated so many friends. John became my lifelong friend when I was just seven years old. And he accumulated so many friends throughout his life. And I, as I was preparing these words, I asked myself, why did that happen? How did he do that? I'd like to refer to Genesis 127 and understanding that ability that he had. Genesis 127. So God created mankind in his own image. In the image of God, He created them. Male and female, He created them. The logos of God and the logos of we as children. We have the same temper as God. And so, it's because of that that we can find God in other people. We can see goodness, God's goodness, in other people. And because of that, we can become friends. So thinking about that question, I asked myself, what are the godly attributes with John Pepper that made him so easy to befriend? And I think I sort of came up with three godly attributes of our friend, John Pepper. The first thing about John that always struck me is he is so unchanging. His passions, his commitments, his devotions were unchanging. And that's a characteristic of God, God's unchanging love. John had this set of commitments that never changed throughout his entire life. And of course, the first of those commitments was Alice. Undoubtedly, John was such a devoted husband. And that unchanging heart of love, to me, seemed so Godly. There was never a conversation I had with John where he didn't bring up Alice. He was so proud of her. And my wife, you and I, we had dinner with John and Alice exactly a month before he passed away. And John was in such a deteriorating condition. He had even a hard time, it was hard to understand him. His speaking was so shrugged. And he spoke very honestly. He was always very honest. He spoke so honestly about what his life had become and really how miserable his situation was. So finally I said to him, John, you've had such a great life, John. Why don't you just let go? Why don't you let go now and you can go and be with Eric? And he quickly said, no, I'm not ready for that. So I said, John, come on. It's so awesome. Where are you going next? It's so awesome. And John said to me, I don't want to leave Alice. I'm not ready yet to leave her behind. That's it. At the end of his life, being with Alice was the single enduring purpose that kept him here. And of course, along with Alice was his big family, three children and six beautiful grandchildren we just heard from. As probably many of you know, at least for me, every encounter with John started out with a complete accounting of every child and every grandchild. I mean, it was so predictable. I mean, and he didn't get it in person. Of course, he got it in his annual Christmas letter, complete with all the action photos. But he was so proud of his children and his grandchildren. I have every one of those Christmas letters with all the details of the family still. I think that the reason that John was so crazy about his family and so focused on his family is because for a very important part of his adult life, he didn't have a family. He didn't have any children. He met Alice and married Alice when he was 42. So for a big part of his life, he was without a family. And I, even as a little boy, I knew very clearly that his heart was aching to have a family. Sometimes Stuart and I felt like we were his adopted family. So finally, after this long wait, John, at the tender age of 42, not only found a wife, but he found a complete, intact family with three children. And he began his life with a full-blown family. John climbed all the 4,000 footers with my family. And then I, as far as I understand, he went ahead and climbed the 4,000 footers a second time with his... at the family that he and Alice had together. So he went through the whole 48 piece two times. Of course, I have my biases, but after Alice and after his children and grandchildren, I would say next comes Wildcat. I might perceive his devotions different than others because I share that devotion. But he became married to Wildcat when he bought his lifetime pass, probably around 1958. And to me, John Pepper and Wildcat Mountain, to me that was Pepperland, Wildcat Mountain. They were so closely intertwined. And he seemed to have a deep devotion to Wildcat, and I just couldn't imagine him skiing anywhere else. I mean, he did, but we all know about his eight non-stop runs every morning. He got there early, took eight non-stop runs and went home. He did that for years. One day I was skiing in Rockette, and I had to stop right in the middle of the catapult trail. And this big old-timer came screaming down above me, saw me, tried to get under control, and just skidded right into me. Just blew me off my feet. And I got up, and I was just about to unload on this dude. And it was John! In one of his eight... non-stop runs. I knew exactly what was going on. And you see the rest of the video. So, in his obituary, it says that he did 12,000 tuck-and-bottom runs at Wildcat. And I looked at that, and I thought, I said, I don't know, John. That seems a little light to me. He skied there more than anyone, except for maybe the ski patrol. Of course, John has seen all over the West and all over Europe, and I know he was particularly fond of Aspen, so he knew what a world-class scary looked like. And one time, talking with John, I just mentioned in passing, you know, John, I really think that they need to cut more trails from the summit of Wildcat. The big issue for me, I mentioned it to John, and he thought about it, and a few minutes later he said, no. There's no need for any more runs from the top of Wildcat. I said, okay, John. I thought I was in Wildcat running on this. He was so passionate about his devotion to that mountain. Another devotion that John had was a lifetime devotion to the symphony. Boston. Specifically the Boston Symphony. He began doing it when his parents were 14 years old. And he and Alice had a subscription to something that lasted, I believe, for 50 years. And they maintained that subscription going to each series right up until the advent of the COVID era, which is when they ended their box seat subscriptions. He also had a deep and passionate devotion to sailing, as we heard. which I assume is why he would have been marveled at. He devoted his summers, many decades, to sailing, I think, primarily on the Maine coast, on his boat, the King Wake. These are all his, I'm sure there's many more of his lifelong commitments and passions. These are some of them. The second thing I would say, attribute I would say about John, similar to our creator, is that John was a very capable, competent, capable man. He really, did so well at the things he chose to do. And I have just a few quick examples of John's capability and competence. As I mentioned, he was an avid and proficient sailor for many decades. I have a big admiration for sailors. This really always really impressed me. And my mother used to love to go sailing on the Kuwaiti. He was also a remarkable investor. His ability to read people and to befriend people and to make close relationships, I think, was a big advantage to him in this area. It always seems to me that John sort of had the Midas touch. Of course, the best investment he ever made, by far, was when he purchased his lifetime master wildcat. In 1958 or whatever it was, he paid $500 and he figured out that he skied for less than $10 a year at Wildcat. That's a good investment. When we were kids, we used to go up and, my parents and myself in school, we used to go up and stay at his house on Old Jackson Road. And it's so impressive. He built that house. He came up on weekends for Marblehead Mass and set for the foundation. He did the carpentry, the electrical work, the plumbing. He built that cool little chalet that overlooks Stair Mountain. That's another, just an example of how gifted a man he was. And I recently learned from Alice of another capability that John developed, which is particularly interesting to me. I found that Alice and he became sort of art collectors. And in their home, they have actually a nice little collection of luminous paintings from the Hudson River School. A beautiful little collection that they've assembled over the years from some fairly important artists. And another interesting footnote in this issue about John's being so able is that John spent his entire career with one organization that evolved, that had several different names, but ended up being Frank B. Hall, which is a major insurance company. And he stayed with that company for his entire career, a single commitment once again, and he ended up being the chief operating officer for the Boston branch and the Boston office for John B. Hall until he retired. And the last attribute of John that I'll just... struck me is his balanced, whole, diverse life he had. He lived a very broad and complete life. He wasn't, much to my disappointment, he wasn't just this year. He was a devoted husband, of course. He was a devoted grandfather. He had a three-generation family. He had an extensive circle of lifelong friendships. He called them all constantly on their birthdays. He was really committed to fitness and outdoor activities. Alpine skiing, cross-country skiing, running, biking, and eventually golf. I think I got that right, Alice. And he and Alice had a long time commitment to his church, which I think is a very important part of a full life. It's a spiritual commitment as well. And his lifelong devotion to classical music and to art. So John had interests and strengths and devotions in each of these areas, and therefore he had a very full and diverse ecology of his life, which gave rise to a very complete character, a very broad character, which allowed us to become. As I wrote this message, I was trying so hard throughout not to turn it into a sermon, but I do want to end by just quoting a little scripture, Matthew 18, chapter 18, verse 18. Jesus said, Truly, truly, I say to you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. According to my understanding as a unificationist, John is now in a brand new environment. He spent his first part of his life, his first nine months in his mother's womb in a world of water, preparing to enter this physical, earthly world. And then on last November 10th, he completed his time in this earthly world of air and water. And at the time he passed away, I understand he was the second oldest citizen of the town of Jackson. And he, during his time with us, he's preparing for the next phase, the third and final phase of life, his eternal life. And during that time, John developed his godly character. of unchanging devotion, unchanging commitments, of diverse skills and creative capabilities, and of a balanced and whole life. So today, we share one heart in celebrating that life, and all be accomplished with us, with his family, in successful preparation for what comes next for John. I'd like to end by saying goodbye, John. You've finally graduated to eternal life. We, your friends, we wish you well. Thank you for being our friend. Thank you for being my friend. We will miss you.
farm, there was a wing-back chair by the dining room table. I've always loved sitting in it. It's a converse to John's form. I have pictures of him sitting there reading Wall Street Journal, going through the mail, planning dinner. It's so surreal that he's not here because he's so alive and he's brought himself so fully and unabashedly. He was who he was. Apologies. And so it still feels like he's in that chair. I appreciated the way he welcomed me. Without question, if I was good enough for Brian, okay. I always remember his bread and dream of plaid Christmas pants. His commitments to supporting eggs and grants instead of the baby food. Teaching me all various things. He was always so tender with Brian. and sitting in the rocking chair by the fire, shedding tears, crying softly as he watched Brian struggle. Kissing Eric and kissing Alice night after night. He's just such a faithful man. That chair holds all of that. Seven years that I've known this poem that I'm going to read. I guess there was, as I'm told, back in the 90s there was a time. When he tried his hand at poetry, this is one of the few remaining examples of his work. I hope I don't disappoint you in my reading. I'm going to do my best. He wrote it for the grandchildren, and I think the grandchildren will care. To me, it's a playful expression of what has just been so much part of his service so far, which is his deep devotion. to his family and to his future parents and how he planned ahead for their future. Darchelle
Brian
For my 13th birthday, John gave me a little Knick. It's a six ounce can of Knickerbocker beer, exactly one half the size of my grown-up beer. I remember sitting at the heavy oak table of the dining room, in the spot which John would subsequently occupy for more than 50 years, drinking my little can of beer. It was a lager, not my favorite brew style, though I didn't know that at the time. All I knew is that I was determined to enjoy it.
I also don't know whether I ever drank it again. The Kravaca Bureau went extinct in 1974, shortly after I reached legal drinking age. Two months after that birthday, John married my mother, and when he did, he instantly acquired a family of three teenage children and one large dog. His birthday gift of beer exemplified his style of parenting he adopted when we became his family. He figured out by trial and error how to connect with us kids. He treated us as little adults as much as he could. He shared with us the things and activities that he loved. Well, not how he liked to eat, he shared with us what he enjoyed every evening. He set a consistent example of generosity and responsibility that he loved and took care of our home.
We have all started some new traditions together, to continue some old ones. One of my favorite new traditions was beef fondue every Friday night in Jackson. We would sit around the jam with a sizzling pot of stainless steel pot of sizzling peanut oil in the center, and a plate of cubed chunks of raw beef on the side, or a couple bowls of different dips. We had little skewers in which we'd skewer a chunk of beef. Dip it in the oil and leave it in there long enough to at least turn a little gray. But it was a perfect meal for John. Very rare chunks of meat and no vegetables. But it was a perfect meal in another sense, too. And that is that it takes a long time to get through dinner when we're doing food talking. And that means lots of time for talking around the dinner table. And I've done. I've been doing that ever since.
One tradition, you know, mentioned before, which John brought to the Duke family, was skiing every winter weekend at Wildcat. He'd been doing that for a decade or so already when we met him. And we all knew how to ski as well. In fact, that was how John and Bob met, at Wildcat. And we already preferred to ski at Wildcat, so it was an easy tradition to adopt, skiing up there every weekend. But John took it to the next level. He taught us to get into the lift line alone, so that we could move ahead a few places by coming up. He taught us to ski nonstop top to bottom, and save the socializing for the lift line and the ramp at the mountain. He taught us to break for lunch, even before or after lunchtime, so as to avoid the lunchtime crowd in the lodge, but also to get us from the lift line from shore. After, it was too late to ask him. When trying to figure out how many total days John would ski at Wildcat, I came up with an estimate of 2,500 to 3,500 days. So he got his money out of that lifetime pass. John continued to ski at Wildcat well into his 80s, when in nature he forced him to stop down for his skis and take them in the morning. But he could no longer do that, he just walked. Right on the roads were there. I know from experience how difficult it is to give up activities which you've lost for years. But John managed to do it without a word of regret, continuing with each one as long as he could, and then switching to something else with the same commitment and enthusiasm. He didn't dwell with regrets on what he had lost, but instead took pleasure in what he could still do. May we all eat so graciously. May we all live so holy. John, if you can hear me, I just want to say thank you. I miss you. Whit Symnes
And John was my godfather. I was coming up this morning. I saw, as I'm sure you all did, Mount Washington, which is absolutely glorious today. And I was thinking how perfect it is that Mount Washington is really out today. because Mount Washington is really part of my connection with John. Not only from all the years skiing at Wildcat, where Mount Washington is such a presence, and not only from him mushing me up the fire trail when I was eight or nine, and, you've got this, you can get up, going up to ski at Peppermint, but also he sent me the Mount Washington Observatory bulletin. Until, for my entire childhood, even all the way to college, this little bulletin from the Mount Washington Observatory always showed up in my mailbox. And it said on the little mailer, a gift from John Pepper. And it was just one of the ways that John stayed in touch. And that was one of the amazing things about John, that we've heard from so many. He just, he was so talented in many ways, but he stayed in touch. He always made connections and he kept the connections. And as my godfather, I always knew he was there. And I think that's why when I looked at Mount Washington this morning, in fact, it's really, it's like John. It's like a lighthouse. He was always there for me my whole life. I always knew for a time. A little bit of history. When I say my whole life, I really mean it. John was a dear friend of my mother. He met my mother in the very early 50s. They both grew up in the same town in the middle of the Mass, and they had mutual friends. One of those families was the Macomber family, which were dear friends of my mother's family. They shared a yard. And my mother and George Macomber were high school classmates. George's sister... and my mom and others joined the White Wheels Ski Club. That became a huge point of connection for John because it was a very active ski club that was becoming reinvigorated and started in the 30s after the war. This group of young people were bringing it all back and John became a big part of re-establishing this ski club. And one of the things they did... is they would get together. My mother lived in a group house with John during the summers in Marblehead and some other young people. This summer house, in the summer of 1953, they cooked up the idea of chartering a plane to the Alps and going to the Alps. And no big deal, right? It actually was a huge deal. And I pulled this off. And it was the first charter ski trip of Americans going to the Alps ever. And it was something that actually involved quite a lot of logistics. Well, logistics were something John was good at. John was on the team. It was going to happen. And that included, they couldn't really chartered the plane as the White Mills, also known as the White Mountain Ski Runners, because as John knew, and no one else really was tracking, you know, the liability thing there. So he formed another little company to charter the plane, which was a 6DC prop-driven, no jets, no jet trucks, so it was kind of a... A big plane, but not like what we planned to take. But nonetheless, they chartered it, so they had to fill it with bodies and skiers. And so John and the other members of this group, but particularly John, organized this thing and got the logistics all arranged. And they recruited enough people to go. And 40 of these people were actually members or associated with the White Mules. And then the others were just enthusiastic skiers. One of those was my father, who heard about the trip at a party. And what he, the message he got was, call this guy John Pepper. And so my dad called John Pepper and got on the trip. And it's on that trip that my parents met. And I think there were a couple other couples that married from that trip as well. It was pretty much of a rager from what I've heard. It took forever to get there. So they basically made it from Boston to Newfoundland or something like that. And they had to stop in Dublin and then maybe Paris or whatever. They basically were puddle jumping dessert. They ended up in Austria. And there was a big party and many big parties. Anyways, the one story that my dad always tells is that Pan Am ran out of food. There's plenty of food. It's not that much food. After three weeks, they flew back. And there was plenty of food. The Pan Am sort of overstocked. So the party on the way home was even better. They all skied. There were lots of couples there. Jim's parents were on the trip. It was an infamous trip to San Anton and other stops, Davos and places in Europe and the Alps. And really, I mean, I know there were other people involved. It was hard to imagine that happening without Chung. because John just knew how to get things done. He knew how to make all the connections. He also was instrumental in buying the White Funnels Ski Lodge, which many of you, I'm sure, know about. The Red House, we call it, down in North Conaway, where my brother and sister and I grew up, basically. We were there year-round, all through the 60s. The house was purchased in 1958, same year as Wildcat. So we all skied at Wildcat, and we all skated the White Funnels. in this glorious, you know, traditional ski lodge that sleeps 50, 60, 55, 55. Big kitchen. We all, many of us grew up there as kids and have lifelong relationships from that lodge. John was involved with buying the lodge. The club had been renting. And they rented different places, including the building that's now known as the Wildcat Tavern. They had that one year. They rented in Franconia. They rented around the gates. They really used to buy their own lodge. Well, with John Pepper on the team, it got done. He called a realtor, and they went up in the fall of 1957. And they scratched on the windows and they made a deal to buy this place from the Eastman family, Edward Conway. There was just a ton of logistics that had to be worked out with these high-powered guys, like John coming in from Boston, and dealing with the local yokel realtors. It just completely overwhelmed the family and the real estate establishment. And Bob, that house, they used it that winter. It was a summer house. It had no heat. They got in, they put in a furnace, they put clear plastic over the windows, and they all used it that first winter. And they've been improving it ever since. And if you've never been to the White Mill Ski Life, it should be on the historic landmark. You should go and check it out. So just in closing, I would say that when I think of John, not only do I think of this incredible life, and such an example to us all, staying active, just being out and being really alive all the time, but also that... That quality of keeping track of the people in his life and staying connected, very meaningfully, and letting people know that he did this for me forever, all the way until when I sat on him at Brookside Farm just a couple, three months ago, on the floor sitting with John Malice, looking at Mount Washington, and thinking, you did that for me. Sarah
always been proud of. Justify me or not, I don't know, but I've always been proud of my accomplishment as a matchmaker when I was 12 years old. In 1967, as people have mentioned, we were skiing at Wildcat. We started skiing, well, I started skiing when I was five at Black Mountain, but we soon moved up to Wildcat. In winter of 66, 67, through family friends, I first met John. I don't think either of us knew he was going to become my father. But we quickly became friends. No idea where he got it from. The nickname, upper chair. Well, in those days, the gondola line was on, so he rose the upper chair, unless it was really bad weather. And I'd be sitting there about to get on the chair, and all of a sudden I'd hear this, Sarah J. Swell! Are you single? We skied together on the way to Houston. In the spring of that, misjudged the edge of the trail, and ended up soft at the edge of the trail. Didn't quite make it. over the edge of the trail, and it was a pretty steep bank, and dislocated his shoulder. I guess it's something he had done before, but this wasn't good. At that point, he was also skiing in that group of friends, and it all came down to somebody needing to drive him to the hospital in Laconia. It was a Sunday, and that was the only place we could find a doctor to help him put his shoulder back in. He was in a lot of pain. And I had a really bad cold, so I decided to go with him. And we drove in his convertible, but not at the top down there, down to Laconia and got our foot back together and came home. And I think, I don't know if that was the catalyst, but after that suddenly we were spending a lot of time with him. And we did a lot of hiking that summer. Before you knew it, October 27th, I married my mom. So in addition to all of the things that John's done for us as a family that you've already heard about, I am proud because of the love and devotion that John showed mom for over 54 years. And like I said, I always claimed credit for this. I thought I'd chosen him. But in reality, maybe it was reversed. Maybe he was the one that chose us. ...finished by playing a piece of Swedish music with somebody's kind of harp. ...to eternal life. James Edgerly
Heavenly Father, what wonderful stories we heard today in your presence. What a wonderful life it's been. The beauty of this place, and the beauty of the family that he created, and the beauty of these people, and the beauty of his heart, which cares so much for others. We wish him well, because there's so much tenderness in these stories. There's so much tenderness in what he's leaving behind. There's so much devotion that has affected all of us.
Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for that. We thank you for John. We thank you for our comfort in knowing he will now be with his beloved son, Eric, in a wonderful place. And we stay behind to continue the work of giving love to all those as he did, caring for those, serving those, as you would, working through us. Thank you for the gathering we had today here in John's honor to celebrate his life and his beautiful church. We close this gathering now by offering this prayer all together. In the name of your Son, O Lord, we pray. Amen.
We will stay seated until the family has exited the church. Then we'll see you at the Thompson House, all those who are vaccinated because, as we mentioned earlier, the family has health issues.