We found out tonight that many of us lost an old friend with the passing of John the flower guy.John was one of those people who was in our lives so often that it’s hard to remember not knowing him, and with him gone, you’re surprised by how much you didn’t know as much as what you did know. For example, what was his last name? Where did he live? I don’t know.
But I do know that he spoke four languages. I know he helped put at least one nephew through med school. I know he drank one beer and one bourbon a day, if that, and that was it. And I know nearly every day of the week, John circled the sidewalks among Anchorage’s best-known bars with a bucketful of $5 roses. He sold flowers to blushing new couples and eager young singles and lonely older folks who would buy a rose for every woman in the room.
John had nicknames for everyone. Everyone. He dubbed me “The Professor” years ago when I would sit at the Blues Central bar reading books and drinking rum and diet cokes. It stuck so convincingly that others called me that, and others yet asked where I taught college. Joe was “Sexy Josef,” or sometimes he’d call us “Josef and Mary” and joke about us adopting him and calling him “Jesus.” He’d walk up behind Joe and flick his ear and deadpan, “Nice legs.” If I was alone at the bar with a book, he would watch my things while I used the restroom. Other times, he’d just sit down for a while and talk. He always remembered my NBA team was the Blazers and if they were mid-game, his first words to me would be something like, “Your team is losing!” Or, “You’re winning!” John paid attention to details; he remembered things about individual people.
John was conversational in an observant and easy way, one of those who was truly the amongst the fabric of the small, tightly knit nightlife community of bartenders and waiters and waitresses and musicians. He was unafraid to say his piece and carried himself with a kind of bemused dignity. He was excited about our wedding (this picture is from us celebrating at Club Paris) and offered to help us get flowers for it.
In sharing news of his death earlier, one family member said, “I hope wherever he is now, there are flowers.” Cheers to that.
And as the whole town seems to mourn you and share memories, we also learned your name: Jean Jilwan. Rest in peace, Jean. You will be missed!