Dr. Roger W. McIntire Columbia Maryland - A Life Well Lived

Dr. Roger W. McIntire, my uncle passed on Saturday night he was 89. There of course will be a long and thoughtful obituary. It will likely even appear in the Washington Post for he was a part of Washington DC fabric for more than half a century.

Born in Auburn New York of Southern parents. Uncle Roger occupied the opposite side of the political spectrum as my father but was deeply loved by all.

Besides being my father's brother he was a graduate of LSU where he obtained a PhD in Psychology, was a professor and dean at the University of Maryland for more than 30 years. 

He was a published author, frequent talk show guest and public speaker, hosted a podcast, was widely considered an expert on parenting, the father of 3 girls which should earn any man sainthood. He was also a sailor, and an experienced pilot as well as a world traveler.

Known within our family for an invention that changed our lives for the better, the television remote control mute button. Sadly he failed to pursue a US patent and made nothing from this stunningly useful invention a device that he perfected in the early 1970s years before it became standard on all televisions.

I'm blessed to have known my three uncles so very well, Dick, Charlie and now Roger are gone, but they were all inspiring and thoughtful, never lacked for a good story and each offered a tremendous example of a life well lived.

And so it is that the final lines of Norman Maclean's A River Runs Through It is a fitting statement as to how I see things this morning especially the last two paragraphs that echo the Bible and the true American idiom:

“Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.

Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn’t. Like many fly fisherman in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. 

    I am haunted by waters.”