An old friend of mine died today.
Barry Norcross, aged 80, was a faithful parishioner at St. Thomas the Apostle, Hollywood; a leader at the Breakfast Club, the homeless feeding program at St. Thomas; and also a seasoned sea-captain. He was over 6 feet tall, slim, with bright blue eyes, handsome features and a regal stance. He still had a trace of his patrician Boston accent and an abundance of wit, which peppered his every conversation.
Barry lived on his sailboat in Marina del Rey until a little over a year ago. He had captained many a trip around the world on his own boat as well as on private yachts. He had also been a long-distance runner for many years, running with many local running clubs. By his own admission, he was a recovering alcoholic with over 25 years sobriety “through the grace of God and AA.”
Barry was a faithful volunteer at the Breakfast Club, and often was the first person there every other Saturday morning, making coffee and getting everything ready for the onslaught of volunteers and diners. He ran a tight kitchen, making sure that everyone had a job and that everyone had all that was needed to do his/her job well. He was fond of saying that a kitchen, like a ship, needed only one captain and he was happy to accommodate for as long as he was able.
A couple of years ago, Barry quietly told Ray and me that he was having a few health problems. Skin cancer was named as one culprit and a problem with circulation in his legs was named as the other. He had a series of treatments and hospitalizations and bounced back fairly well for a while, except for a “bum” leg that wouldn’t heal. First that leg, then the other began giving him trouble and after that he moved permanently into bed. He told me himself that he would prefer to die quickly rather than be stuck all day on his back, and today he did just that. God bless his sweet soul. I am happy he is free from the body that had become burdensome to him.
Barry often said that he only volunteered at the Breakfast Club because my husband Ray, a flagrant rule-bender, was in charge. ‘That’s the reason I love it,” Barry would say. “I like organized chaos.” And he made good on his commitment to serve. Before he become ill, Barry never missed a single Breakfast Club feeding in the many years he was involved.
I will miss my friend Barry. Nobody could make me smile as fast or make me feel as “seen.” But today I can imagine him climbing back on his beloved sailboat, pulling up the anchor, and heading out to sea. I can just see him turn and wave, then hear his voice booming across the water. “See you around, kid.”
Happy sailing, my beloved friend! And don’t forget to dance a jig in celebration.
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