George Stephen
Simpson
April 29, 1951 – June
25, 2012
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George in 1974 with Galaxy and Sparky
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Just
yesterday morning they let me know you were gone
Susanne the plans they made put an end to you
I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song
I just can't remember who to send it to
I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again
These lyrics have been
swimming around in my head since last Wednesday at 4:55 pm when George’s
brother Phil called me from Tennessee
to tell me that George had passed-- On Lopez Island, one island over from me, all
alone. They found his body two days
later. I worried about his dogs. When I looked for an obituary I found his
name, birth and death dates. Nothing
about him. So even though we’ve been divorced for over
thirty years I am feeling that I should acknowledge him by writing the story of
his life as far as I know of it.
George was the first child
born to Joe and Ann Simpson on April 29 (The date the Golden Spike was laid)
1951. He was born into a railroad family
and they moved all over the Northwest as his father moved up the corporate
ladder. He lived in Seattle,
Spokane, Missoula,
Livingston, and eventually Billings.
His brother Phil was born
six years after George. George had been
an only child so long he had a hard time adjusting to his younger brother, telling the story of throwing rocks at the
nursery window. George worked summers for
what is now Burlington Northern—in Auburn and later in Billings when his parents
settled there.
During his High School years
they lived near Lincoln Park in Seattle
and he went to West
Seattle High
School, graduating in 1969. He earned his undergraduate degree graduating Magna Cum Laude in the Honors Program and continued on in
Graduate School
at Washington State
University in Pullman.
He loved Edwardian poets like Robert Browning. As a graduate student, he taught a course in
parapsychology and was immersed one semester in the occult, witchcraft, and
Emanuel Swedenborg.
We eloped in June 1975,
moved to Seattle,
and started working as paralegals in the law offices of my father and Doug
Moreland. As paralegals, we interviewed
clients, ran errands, did some bookkeeping.
George and I separated in 1978, but he continued to work for my father
for eleven years. Once he left there, he
worked a variety of office jobs and eventually came to work for National
Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) in Fish Inspections.
It was through his work at
NOAA that he met his second wife, Barbara Estenson. Barbara owned land on Lopez and for many
years they lived in Seattle
during the week and came to the island on weekends with their dogs. Barbara preceded George in death in October
of 2009. George continued to spend
weekends in her home and planned to stay there permanently upon retirement at age
62. His diabetes and poor general health
prevented him from achieving that goal.
I remember George as being
smart, witty, funny as hell and always telling a good story. Most of his stories were about himself and
were embellished with each retelling.
Even if I had been there I would not recognize the event after the third
or fourth retelling. George had a
tendency to “compartmentalize” his life.
He had his work friends, his relatives, his bar buddies. He did not share information between these
separate groups. No one got the complete
picture of what was happening in his life.
He could make friends with anyone from a bum on the street to a
corporate executive. George admired
Charles Bukowski—he identified with down and outers. One critic has described
Bukowski's fiction as a "detailed depiction of a certain taboo male
fantasy: the uninhibited bachelor, slobby, anti-social, and utterly
free". George was too genteel,
generous and generally nice to fit that depiction. But he had a certain fascination with that
world.
He liked Elvis Presley, basketball, pinball, and dogs, dogs, dogs. Not sure what else he gravitated to over the
thirty years we’ve been separated. But
these tastes probably remained the same.
My father and I went to visit George at his wife’s place on Lopez in July
of 2010. Although we communicated at
Christmas and birthdays and on e-mail, I had no idea that his health had taken
a turn for the worse. I know when we
were in college together he doubted he would live until 40, but it almost seems
as if he had to prove himself right about dying young. He will be missed.
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George with Joe Barreca Sr in July 2010
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