Sitting in front of the stage, curtains down and lights low, I waited for the show to begin. People were filing-in, the hall was buzzing with the sounds of voices and laughter and the cheerfulness that attends the anticipation of a performance. My grandchildren were buzzing with delight as they sat in the very front row, stage rising above them, popcorn and candy and coke, in hand. I smiled, taking it all in, grateful for the moment, the place, the time.

In the brief minutes before the show began, time froze for me and I was taken back 37 years to a classroom across Butler’s campus from Clowes Memorial Hall where we now sat. In my memory, I was sitting in a room of about 30 students listening to our professor introduce himself in a curious class called Problem Solving, part of the business school’s SPINE curriculum and one of the more interesting aspects of my undergraduate academic experience. The instructor was a man named Jonathan Jerden and little did I know that he would be a part of my life for more than the next three and half decades.

Jonathan Jerden passed out of this world on November 20, 2024. Earlier that week, he celebrated his 72nd birthday, undoubtedly with a cigar overlooking a sunset off the coast of northern California. His passing still doesn’t seem real. Did I really get that message or was it some weird dream? We were just sending texts. I realized the reality on the following Sunday when there was no comment from him on my weekly blog post – in over ten years of posts, he never failed to show up.

That was Jonathan. In the many years that I knew him, he always showed up for me. Good or bad. Tough time or celebration. He was always there. Even when he was living in California or driving to Alaska or consulting in Florida, he was always there for me. How many people do you know who’ve been showing up for you for 37 years?

My friend was always up for an adventure and was fairly relentless at inviting me into various projects. Whether it was taking our kids canoeing on the Blue River, a fishing excursion on Lake Michigan, golfing, a podcast, or our years of meeting as the Ice Men, Jonathan always had another interesting idea for mixing it up in a world that was pretty content in its status quo. There was alway such an innocent quality to his adventures…simple, old school, sometimes quirky…but always interesting and unexpected.

Encouraging. My, how he was encouraging. Whether it was job searches, difficult decisions, losses, tough days at the office, or setting new courses into the unknown, Jonathan always had just the right thing to say to prompt, bolster, inspire, or console. He always seemed a little otherworldly to me in this way – like he was flying above the fray that I felt I was mired in. I do not remember him ever showing me anything other than encouragement, even on the days when I know he struggled. His was always a calming and steady presence for me, particularly when the bullets were flying.

Over a few years relatively early in the building of Northwind, Jonathan coached and counseled me in weekly meetings. We would talk for about an hour, going over whatever the issue of the moment was, discussing strategy, and exploring options and opportunities. A few days later, I would receive an email summary with insights, ideas, and encouragement. I printed them all out and have them in a binder. I haven’t pulled that binder out yet, but when the time is right, I look forward to hearing his voice in those notes he left me.

Jonathan was a prolific reader and always shared new or old books. I have a shelf of them he gifted to me over the years. He always encouraged me to pass them on but I kept them, many with notes from him. He introduced me to a love for biographies. From Washington to Rockefeller to Hamilton to Jobs and on and on. Jonathan always found great wisdom in history and we spoke often of the various characters we read about. Years after reading Rockefeller, he would still reference anecdotes about “our man JD” or send me a newspaper clipping telling some story about one of our shared bio’s. One of the first books he gave me was I Dare You! by William Danforth – a classic.

Over the years I knew him, Jonathan coached and counseled hundreds and hundreds of people. Every friend of his that I knew was a student, mentee, coaching client, or in some way impacted by his generous willingness to help. I’ve had many people reach out, saddened and full of stories of their own. Some of them I knew, many I did not. I always wondered how he found the time but came to realize that it wasn’t so much something he did as it was his way of life. He lived to help others on their journeys, primarily career, but great coaches rarely stop coaching when we leave the field.

One of my favorite “eras” with Jonathan were the days of the Icemen, a group of guys who gathered to discuss a wide range of topics, share stories and just, well, be men. Jonathan had seen an article on the discovery of the “Ice Man,” named Otzi, discovered in 1991 in the Austrian Alps. Otzi was found at over 10,000 feet, and was very well preserved in the ice, likely having died as part of some ritual sacrifice. Jonathan adopted the story of Otzi and the patron of the Icemen was born. For the next nearly 20 years, we would meet to discuss everything from string theory to the Chautauqua Movement to railroads, computers, art, etc. Jonathan was always a connector and teacher.

“Jonathan was your co-conspirator.” Sally’s words rang true. Discussing Jonathan and the long time I knew him, I realized that in his passing, part of my story passes with him. There are likely things that only he knew and probably things I’ve forgotten that were part of his trove of memories. There were the things said and unsaid as well as particular moments that will pass into the realm of the forgotten. The tears of loss mourn many things.

How does one sum up a life? There are not enough words and the ones that come, fall far short. For as long as I knew him, I still only knew part of all that he was. The hopes and dreams and fears and doubts that comprise our earthly existence are all just part of our stories. There are the things we do, the things we don’t do, the ways we are known, and the mysteries we all keep. For those of us who are left behind, we keep the gifts we are given in our shared stories and the fingerprints of impact left upon our lives.

Time has frozen again, but now it is the memory of my friend Jonathan that will remain in the ice. Secure and unchanging while I can hold them. I will miss him greatly and cherish the gift of having known him. Farewell my friend. Godspeed.

P.S. The photo on this post shows from left to right: Ken Gurney (RIP), Jonathan, Toby Pearcy, and me. Circa 1999.