A Tribute To My Father

Jesse J. Jacoby
Aug 9, 2017 · 8 min read

Many of you know Eddie Jacoby as the talented musician and artist. I was blessed with the opportunity to know him as my Dad. With the same big heart, love, and passion he put into his music, he also found ways to turn fatherhood into a work of art.

My Dad was raised in a family of Artisan’s. Men and women who made a living from their craft by expressing their creativity, passion, and talents, and using their hands. His mother, father, aunts, uncles, and grandparents were all artistic, skilled, and talented. He carried on their legacy. Not only was he an artist, great father, hard worker, and musician, but he was a story teller.

He told stories of flies with human faces that would fly around and look at him, but that he could never catch. A half man, half monkey that lived in the walls at Grandma Slade’s house. Brick ants that you could step on and they would flatten but then get back up. The potato gun that Mark made and how they shot a potato so far it went all the way from Melrose to New Smyrna beach through someone’s open window and landed in a guy’s pot of soup. He experienced a lot in his life, and had many stories to tell us growing up.

The most beautiful stories my Dad ever told, however, were with his fingers, his hands, and his soul, as he channeled everything through his guitar and his artwork. Using notes, chords, strings, and art utensils, he told stories of his upbringing, his highs and lows, his struggles, the good and bad, his love for music, and his dreams. These stories could have won him a Pulitzer prize. He found a way to channel soul into his guitar in a way that only a few others ever have. Even the Vice President of the North Central Florida Blues Society said of my Dad, “He has more soul in a single note than most fellas do all evening.”

Thich Nhat Hanh says, “Grass does not try to grow, it grows. Flowers do not try to bloom, they bloom. Fish do not try to swim, they swim. Bird don’t try to fly, they simply fly. This is their true nature.” In this same pattern, my Dad did not try to play his music, he just played. This was his intrinsic nature.

As Ray Charles once declared, “I was born with music inside me. Music was one of my parts. Like my ribs, my kidneys, my liver, my heart. Like my blood. It was a force already within me when I arrived on the scene. It was a necessity for me — like food or water.” Music was also one of my Dad’s parts. This force was already within him when he arrived on the scene. Music was just as important to him as food and water.

My Dad did not have an easy life, and music was his escape from all the worries in life. He could capture every emotion, and every experience through the guitar. When he played, all his pain, hardships, and worries went away, and in those moments he became larger than life. His gift was greater than him, and he knew this, and accepted this humbly and with dignity and pride.

For anyone here with children, we know that nothing says more about love than the way our kids look at us. When my son Arlo looks at me, he looks at me as if I am the greatest person in the world. When my daughter Nevaeh looks at me, she looks at me as if I am the most beautiful man. I always looked at my Dad the same way. I thought he was the greatest and most beautiful person. I was so proud that he was my Dad. He always made me feel special, as if I could accomplish anything. Nothing was unattainable.

My Dad spent twenty-five years doing concrete work so he could earn money to raise us kids and be sure we had a home to live in, food to eat, and clothes on our back. For those who are unfamiliar with being on the wall crew doing concrete, this profession requires a lot of intensive, back-breaking labor in all weather conditions. My Dad set his dreams aside to work endlessly and support us. Through high school and college I worked with him in the summers. I recall one morning an argument between my Dad and the home owner next door to the job we were working on. The man was complaining about the tree roots from a tree in his yard being damaged by the excavator. As my Dad tried to assure him his tree would be okay, the man said, “What do you know, you are only a concrete guy.” This angered my Dad profusely. In that moment I could see that his soul was dying from this work. He knew he was slowly becoming just that — a concrete guy. Work was consuming him. He knew he could not do this for much longer, but in a way he felt stuck.

As we all know, my Dad was way more than a concrete guy. He was an Artisan, a blues legend, a great friend, a family man, and a devoted and loving father. That day, I finally realized what my Dad jeopardized to raise our family, and I wanted so badly for him to quit that job. I knew why my greatest memories with him were our summer vacations to Florida. This is because I was able to see him in his element. He was his happiest back home with his family and friends, where he could stand on his roots and be his authentic self.

I was reading about what Shaman’s believe are the three causes of disease. They suggest disharmony (when men lose a relationship important for them in life), fear, and losing the soul. This soul loss implies a serious wound to the inner heart of a person — his inner essence to what he is and who he is. This, they claim is the most serious diagnosis and is often a result of trauma. The many traumatic events my Dad went through in life, combined with him not having his musical outlet, and being away from his element contributed to his soul loss.

When my Dad was battling cancer, I had all sorts of mixed emotions. My own health even began to falter through the process. I could not accept that he may not live much longer. One thing I did was I started to work concrete again, on the wall crew. This helped me bring back memories of working with him many years before, but I never remembered the work being so difficult. Every day was a struggle and each hour I contemplated quitting. This was the dirtiest, most challenging work. I lasted twenty-five days and quit. My Dad labored through twenty-five years and somehow managed to keep going. I realized for anyone to last this long in that profession, they either have to be crazy, they have to be making a lot of money, or they really must love their family. Well, my Dad was not that crazy, and he never got paid what he was worth. He simply loved his family. He would have done anything to keep us happy.

Not only did my Dad love us, but he extended this love to all of his family. He paid homage to all of his relatives. When we visited Florida in the summers he made sure we took the time to visit with each of his many relatives. This taught me about the importance of family. When my uncle Mark moved back to Florida from Illinois, the Mulberry Stump Band broke up, and though my Dad still jammed and found gigs, he did not play music as much. He told me the music was not the same without him and there was nobody in the world who could play the harmonica like Mark. When I was living up in the redwoods many years later, I saw a sign for Charlie Musselwhite at the Navarro store. I called my Dad and asked if I should go see him. He told me I should definitely go, and that he is one of the best there is at playing the blues harmonica. I asked if he was as good as Mark, and he said no way, he is good, but not on Mark’s level, although he thought Mark may have been influenced by him at one point. For as good as my Dad was with the guitar, and Mark was with the harmonica, when they played together this is when they were at their best and the magic happened.

As Dad’s, our influence plays a major role in what type of person our children grow up to be. He taught me, through example, to be honest and respectful, not to steal, not to cheat others, and not to lie. He showed me how to express myself from the heart. To be generous, caring, and compassionate. To be my own person, to love unconditionally, and to be a good person.

My Dad was by no means conventional. He never want to new stores shopping for worthless merchandise, but he loved thrift shops and hand-me-downs. He did not chase after fame or fortune. He never wanted to outshine anyone. He admired all talented musicians and encouraged young, aspiring musicians to find the music within them. When he played guitar he used his thumb to play barre chords so he could free up an extra finger. He could mimic anyone on the guitar. While he was influenced by George Jones, Merle Haggard, Hank Williams Sr., Muddy Waters, Little Richard, John Lee Hooker, Willie Dixon, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, and so many others, he learned from every musician who he idolized, and infused a little bit of their styles into his own unique style.

So today, as we celebrate my Dad’s life, we decided to also continue the unconventional path. This is how we believe he would have wanted to celebrate and be remembered. My Dad was a light for so many people, including myself, and as Lao Tzu once said, “The light that shines the brightest burns only half as long.” My Dad validated these wise words as he lived a short, yet full and complete life, and had such a profound impact on so many people around him.

To honor my Dad, I encourage all of you to make at least one positive change in your life. If you have a bad habit that you know may be depleting your health, give it up. If you want to eat healthier, or start exercising, do it. If you want to spend more time doing what you love, please do it. If you want to pick up an instrument and learn to play, today is your day. Practice self-love, and take care of yourself. This, I know, would have made him happy.

I love you Dad. Noka munani. You mean so much more than you will ever know to me.

Jesse J. Jacoby

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