Today (June 23, 2017) marks 6 years since we lost one of our favorite sons, Dean Ullock. Please continue to keep Dean in our hearts and memories and remember what he said:
“We should honor who we are and from where we have come, that we should encourage what is best in us and redirect ourselves when we are going astray”
Love you Dean!! Stage right!
A memorial site created for our friend and collegue, Dean Ullock.
On July 2nd, 2011, we all said goodbye to Dean. Many of you attended Dean's service and many, many more, were unable to but sent your prayers, thoughts and love nonetheless. Many of you have expressed a desire to read Dean's eulogy, to help reflect on what Dean's life meant to all of us. So, we have decided to include it below.
Very special thanks as well to Ms. Beverly Rankin and Captain Steve Poulin, USCG for their inspirational and courageous words on that day.
Eulogy for Dean
July 2, 2011
My name is Carter and I was a friend of Dean’s.
It is truly an honor to stand before you today as it was an honor to stand with Dean when he was with us. And, I would like to apologize in advance if I halt or falter, for this is entirely one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do. It is a profound challenge to try and encapsulate a man’s life, who meant so much, to so many people, but I will try.
Barely a day and a half before Dean passed, Laura (my wife) and I decided that we should say our goodbyes to Dean and give Jamie, Marley, and their family, time with Dean alone. It was a very difficult decision to make, for we knew that we may never see him again.
Upon waking Dean to say goodbye, he rose out of bed, wrapped his frail arms around us, we embraced, held as long as we could, and then fatigued and winded, Dean sat down on the edge of his bed to rest. As I stood before Dean and leaned in close, he reached out his hand……….….just like he had reached out his hand a million times before…….
………These were the hands that had reached out in love, friendship, and in times of trouble and sadness……...comfort.
…….these hands would reach deep into who you were and make you a better person for it…...
….and these hands held you firm because he wanted you to know that what you had was real and would last……….a lifetime.
These hands had a history all their own…….
With these hands, fellow Army divers were pulled from an ice-laden Potomac and rivers and oceans all across our country and beyond……..
…….they climbed mountains, rappelled down sheer cliffs, and grappled with oil-soaked bayous……..
and signaled to a fellow Mobilian and great friend, to ride shotgun as they raced into the night unaware of what lie ahead………
……these were the hands that wrapped lovingly around a beautiful wife on a windswept beach on Cinnamon Bay, and jostled a newborn baby girl as she was welcomed into the world……... and, as she grew, raised her atop broad shoulders to watch the sun sink low over Mobile Bay……...
……..and these same, now frail hands, clapped joyously as a childhood friend and lifelong buddy wedded his wife under a blue, music- filled April day………
….and soon thereafter, these hands reached out to hug a long lost brother for a reunion long overdue…...
…….and in the end, these hands prayed for a cure that would not come and for peace for those loved ones left behind.
As Dean began to fade from us, I found myself wondering what I would tell his daughter, Marley, when one day she asked……..
I will say………
“Marley, your father was a true Renaissance Man, one who savored all that life had to offer and almost childlike in nature, took us all along on his journey through culture, the arts and music, and to places we never imagined we’d go……..He knew the great enthusiasms………...
To Dean, everything was an expedition, a new horizon, an obstacle to overcome….…he was a melting pot of a man, whose life rose out of the northeast, sailed westward across the continent, and came to rest in the heart of the south. We were all better for it, for Dean shared his life, his aspirations and at times, exploits, freely with all of us. We were all his family…….. It has been said, many a time that Dean lived 10 men’s lives.
With humbling charm, intelligence, wit and a dogged loved for his family and friends, Dean epitomized what it took to be a man. Grown men idolized him…..a natural-borne leader; a hero’s hero; he was always the first one into the arena and the last one out when the stands stood empty; he held us upright when we grew weary and helped us realign ourselves when we had lost our way……….He had a gift.
Now, those are my words, cultivated from a deep and loving bond with Marley’s father. But, we would fail greatly if that is where the tributes end, for we all too share a commitment to tell Marley who her father was.
As news of Dean’s passing spread throughout the country, tributes began pouring in…….
From the east coast they said…
“he gave it his best, that was the essence of Dean”
“a true hero, a real inspiration and a rare blessing”
“a man of character, honor, passion and integrity”
All along the west coast came…
“a finer man, I have never met”
“a true role model, he left us all feeling empowered and positive..…he knew what mattered most”; and,
“his profound humanity lightened our spirits, brought us together in brotherhood and taught us, the bond of friendship has no limits”
Deep in the heartland, they cried out…
“he was the ultimate professional, the total package, a true leader”
And, from another one of his dearest friends, Tilman McAdams, who not so eloquently but just as powerfully wrote:
“Dean was always a positive dude, pushing for ya to get back in the fight when things were in the crapper”
And finally, from the South, out of our own backyard…….
“he had a quick smile and an easy laugh”
“he knew what was right, he had morale courage”
and, finally.........
“he had the unique ability to epitomize the resilience of the human spirit……..he is a lasting legacy”
If I may, I would like to try and lighten the mood. Dean would want us to celebrate his life today and with that, I would like to tell a few stories about Dean. He has come to expect that of me, from all of us, for we have all earned that right.
The Scuba Diving Story
Many years ago when Dean and I began to really get to know each other, he invited Laura and I to our first New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. The year was 2001. At that time, Dean and some of his other friends rented an old rickety shanty we lovingly called the “Fish Camp” on Lake Pontchartrain. This place was a Bohemian paradise. The Fish Camp house sat at the end of a dock that protruded five-hundred (500) feet out over the lake extending from the levee to the house itself. And the house was nothing short of amazing to behold. It was reconstructed year after year from parts and pieces of other structures still dotting the lake that were damaged from annual storms. The Fish Camp was a ratty blend of plywood, 2 by 4’s, and anything else we could find to patch it up year after year.
This was the place that folks would come from all over, for the annual pilgrimage to the Jazz Fest. This is where Dean would see his childhood friend and buddy Billy Hooper and his Atlanta, now New Orleans pal Gary Grannata among other friends. On this occasion, Laura and I arrived a day early along with Dean.
The next morning, we were to get ready as the Jazz Fest fairground doors opened at 11:00 am. We had to have all of our gear at the ready. Early on that morning, as all of us sat with our cups of coffee in the kitchen, we heard the clatter of metal, air tanks and equipment on the rear deck. As we all migrated to that location, we found Dean bouncing around with his scuba diving equipment (some dry-rotted) strewn all over the deck. We asked Dean his intentions. He exclaimed “I’m going in!!!”. The place was abuzz. Dean, our own Army Diver, the stuff of legend, was going into Lake Pontchartrain on a diving expedition.
We all refilled our coffee cups and began to mill about the deck waiting for Dean to take the plunge. Dean slid into the murky waters and off he went. It wasn’t long before we noticed something strange. Dean’s tank and most of his back were protruding from the water as he swam along. And as he plied through the water, huge swirls of silt and mud kept welling up from behind him as his flippers paddled along. I turned to his friend Billy Hooper and said, “Billy, I really don’t know anything about Lake Pontchartrain but seeing that we are 500 feet over the water from the levee, how deep is it where Dean is diving”. Billy responded with a Cheshire grin, “about 4 feet”. I said, “You gotta be kidding me!!! We’re watching him dive in 4 feet of water??? No wonder he is sticking out!! This is really goofy!!!” About that time, Dean popped up out of the water about 60 yards from us and with enough time for me to yell out to him, “Dean, are you kidding me!!!?? 4 feet of water!!!!?? Really!!!?? Really??!! Why don’t you come back and we’ll find a snorkel for you!!??!!! Thinking Dean would be humiliated and return, I awaited his reply. He said “I love this!!!! This is great!!!!” And away he went again. When he finally returned to the landing as his air was beginning to run low, he brought with him two pens and a spoon, recovered from the depths. These were his trophies and were quickly displayed for all to see.
I tell this story because it illustrates how Dean would make the absolute most out of any situation, even one as pathetic as this one. Most men would have realized how fruitless the endeavor was, resurfaced and thrown their gear back onto the deck as soon as they hit the water. Not Dean. He had a capitally good time; he made the most out of all that came his way. He enjoyed life’s little treasures that way. Pure Dean.
Jazz Fest!!
Now, we were all there at that Fish Camp for a reason, and that was to go to the Jazz Fest!! So, we all piled into our cars the next morning and off we raced to the fairgrounds. Never having attended, Laura and I were neophytes to what lie ahead and totally reliant on those around us for guidance, especially Dean. He seemed in charge. As we entered the gates of the fairgrounds, Dean, like Spartacus, in full battle gear (backpack, wide brim hat, flag pole, lounge chair) immediately set out in quick fashion towards the other end of the fairgrounds. Not much was said.
Dean was apparently on a mission, he was focused on something; he was headed somewhere and somewhere fast. We all tried to keep pace with him, following as he tramped across the festival grounds. Laura and I began to question him as best we could as to why the rush, where were we going, why was he moving so fast etc… No response came. Dean just kept moving, quicker and quicker. The other members of our party just told us to follow Dean, that it was best not to argue or question him. This was Jazz Fest. This is where Dean got his way.
Finally, we arrived at one of the largest musical stages on the fairgrounds, the Acura Stage. It was epic; huge. At that point, Dean began to pace back and forth, frantic, concentrating on the ground, then looking up towards the stage and then left at an enclosure that held the sound stage/board and the people that operated the mixers and such. He glanced left, then at the stage again; then with a downward thrust, he rammed the end of the flag pole into the grass and said “this is it!!!!!"
"STAGE RIGHT!!!!……………..STAGE RIGHT!!!!!!".
This is where Dean believed was the very essence of Jazz Fest; this is where the music would sound the best; this is where karma came to rest. And Dean so desperately wanted to share this spot with all that joined him there. He wanted us to have the best time while we were there and this is where he believed everything came together ….here……. If Jazz Fest had a cherry spot, Dean had found it.
STAGE RIGHT………....STAGE RIGHT…….…..
The Visit - Ochlocknee Bay
It was Labor Day weekend 2005 and Laura and I had made plans to meet Dean and his new girlfriend, Jamie the “love of his life” at our family retreat on Ochlocknee Bay, Florida, a hop and a skip South from Tallahassee. The plans had already been made long before Hurricane Katrina made landfall on August 29th. But our deployment notices for September 6th were fast approaching. We knew, that once we left for Katrina, our lives would change forever. We were right.
Laura and I arrived at our family’s house on the bay the day before Dean and Jamie, to get the house ready and to help rebuild the dock and boat lift before their arrival. The next morning they arrived. As we stood in the back yard, Dean’s truck pulling a small 16 foot ganue appeared. As they drove towards us, we signaled for them to turn and park along the back side of the house. As the truck rounded past us, we got a glimpse of the passenger. In that seat, we saw a beautiful, vivacious young lady smiling back. It was Jamie. Turning away; and obviously smitten by what I had seen, Laura quickly extended her hand and popped me on the back of the head as if to keep me in check. I quickly diverted my attention.
Laura and I awoke the next morning very early to get a head-start on the dock renovations before the heat of the day would become onerous and unbearable. We were going to help my stepfather finish what we had begun the day before. Looking down from the deck facing out over the bay and the saw-grass banks, we spotted Dean readying his ganue for an early morning jaunt. We walked down to Dean to ask his intentions and where he planned to take his very small boat and even smaller brand new outboard motor. Dean exclaimed “I want to take Jamie to the beach!!!” , “In that thing??” we exclaimed. We told Dean that the closest beach was two, maybe three miles away and that he would have to travel across a half mile bay, under the Ochlocknee Bay Bridge, around and through some oyster beds and sandbars and against the tide as he rounded Bald Point, the closest beach area. We told him he was welcome to take the family boat. It would only take 5 minutes if he took our boat. Dean resisted. He wanted to take Jamie in his boat. Undaunted, he gathered his cooler, backpack and Jamie and off they went.
Back at the dock, after ten minutes or so, we could still hear the whine of that little outboard engine of Dean’s as it plowed through the rising tide of the bay towards Bald Point. We joked that we would surely have to take our boat sooner or later and recover their capsized boat and what remained of Dean and Jamie. Or we would just place a call to fellow OSC Chris Russell, whose family also had a house on the bay, to bring his boat to join in the recovery operation. By 2:00 pm that afternoon, we began to worry as we wrapped up our dock renovations. They hadn’t called and they weren’t anywhere to be seen. Then, 3:30 rolled around and off in the distance came a barely audible buzz of an engine, straining but moving slowly closer to us. In another 30 minutes, the skiff was upon us. They had made it back, all intact, smiling ear to ear. Dean was proud.
Where most of us would have taken the easy way across that bay or possibly not gone at all, Dean saw it as a challenge, a road less traveled, an obstacle, “a situation” to overcome. It was the thrill of it all. He took the shot, he made it. He always did. He had the Midas touch.
I made a point of saying we had met a beautiful young lady when Laura and I first met Jamie so very long ago, but what she has become is something much, much more. She is a woman who fought valiantly alongside her husband until he passed before her own eyes. She fought, even as she carried her unborn child, and then grew into a loving, beautiful and awe-inspiring woman, wife, and mother. She is truly the strongest woman I have ever known.
She kept Dean as strong as she could so that he could continue to serve our country, and live his life as her husband and loving father. She held Dean up through the most dire of times and was his guiding light when all else faded from view. Jamie’s strength and resilience knew no bounds. She was and continues to be our rock.
When we returned to Atlanta after saying goodbye to Dean, I began to furiously dig through old emails and messages from him, trying to connect to the brother I could not find. I came across many, many messages of love, support and inspiration, but then I came across one that stuck with me. I’ll share it with you.
It is dated June 22, 2010, almost a year to the day Dean passed and it was written to Shane Hitchcock, Dean’s beloved boss and longtime friend. It reads:
“I was thinking the other night of where I am in my life and I quickly realize a few things. How fortunate, proud and honored I am………. My entire life has been a series of self-imposed goals and accomplishments. I have set goals and have always, always attained them through earnest hard work, solid friends, and a little luck……
…………. I will leave this life knowing that.”
In Dean’s last few days as family and friends gathered around him, he reached out to Jamie’s brother Cody Johns. He told Cody:
“Don’t sweat the small stuff, you are going to be successful in anything you do, and if it doesn’t come the first year, it will come the next or even the next……. Just never give up on what you love.”
The last night Dean and I shared together along with Jamie and Laura, it was but a day and a half before Dean passed. I found myself holed up in Dean’s bedroom, and as I lay on his bed beside him, I began peppering him with questions knowing full well that I may not get any answers. Dean faded in and out, fast asleep at times, then waking slightly to try and placate me. With his eyes wide open, his attention finally mine, I asked him this: “Dean, what would you say to all of us, to this country, if this were your last day here. What message would you leave with us?" Resonating deep inside him, his words came slow; I scribbled them furiously on the paper until he abruptly stopped. I looked over at Dean; he had fallen back asleep, and so I looked down and began to read what I had written:
“We should honor who we are and from where we have come, that we should encourage what is best in us and redirect ourselves when we are going astray”
It was Dean, the very essence of who he was and believed us all to be……
…………A message that will echo a lifetime.
In closing, if Dean were here, standing with us today, he would say:
“If you’re at the bottom of a place too steep to climb… climb it, …….he would…………
If there is a race to help save a child stricken with cancer….run it…. he would…………
And, if there is a challenge or obstacle too big for yourself………. overcome it…………
………….. and where there is LIFE…………….. LOVE IT”……….. Dean did!
(Holding up an old, lit Zippo lighter, I said :)
"Dean…your flame is no longer with us, but the light from your life will guide the rest of ours”
“Stage Right Dean”
“Stage Right”.
(Closing the lighter, Dean’s eulogy ended)
