Traveling around the South, subscribers kept mentioning Sy Safransky and the unique magazine he founded fifty years ago, The Sun. “Have you heard of it?” they’d ask. “If not, you need to check it out.” Or I’d see a recent issue sitting in a living room. 

I’d more than heard of The Sun. Back when Heron Dance was a fledging little publication with little to indicate that it would survive, Sy made time for me and made it clear that he believed in its potential. He would make donations from time to time. He offered important advice when I asked. He put me in touch with his printer, a printer who was forgiving about late payment. That meant a lot during those years where Heron Dance struggled not only with finances but with the doubts that accompany any enterprise where bills payable way exceed cash on hand. During those times, dubious enterprises survive on internal momentum, on faith. Sy helped me believe.

Over the last few years we’d fallen out of touch. Heron Dance evolved, became successful, became too complex for me to manage and also do the art and writing. I gave up in frustration. Sy, a much better manager than me, kept The Sun on a steady course. When his name kept coming up on this trip, I sent him an email. When a name or suggestion from unconnected people keeps presenting itself, I’ve learned to pay attention.

Sitting in a Starbucks in North Carolina, putting together a Pause for Beauty, on my way to Davidson NC, the former home of another old friend, Sy came to mind. I emailed him.

Hi Sy 

I'm traveling around the South, headed to Florida for a few months eventually, and spending a little time with Heron Dance subscribers as I travel around.

I am thinking of heading to Chapel Hill today or tomorrow, and then back again next week. 

Would you be interested in lunch? It might be interesting to reconnect after all these years.

Rod

Three hours later, Sy called. He’d love to get together he said. We made arrangements for a lunch. In the meantime, an email arrived from the new publisher of The Sun, Rob Bowers, with an essay by Sy that was to be published in the upcoming December issue. He had left his active role in The Sun. He had Alzheimer’s. It was a powerful essay of sadness, courage and celebration. Celebration by a man who had lived a good life, created something unique, something of significance, something that had added a lot to a lot of people’s lives.  And sadness, of course. And confidence in Rob Bowers, the man he’d worked with for eight years and to whom he was passing the torch, passing on the care of his baby.

It is a beautifully written piece. You can read it here.

My plans had changed, and I ended up in the Atlanta area, and had to drive about six hours each way to get together with Sy, but after reading his essay I had to make the trip. It was a magical afternoon of joy and sadness. We talked about the early years of The Sun and of Heron Dance. The years of no money, of how survival was made easier by kindhearted friends, mostly girlfriends, of wives past and, in Sy’s case, of wife present. We talked about his wife of forty years, and her companionship on this final journey. We talked about death. We talked about sadness and crying. Mostly though we celebrated Sy’s creation and his persistence with it through thick and thin.

Major challenges such as approaching dementia and death bring out the best in some of us – appreciation, generosity, gratitude, sincerity, courage — a kaleidoscope of shades of internal beauty. The afternoon spent with Sy is a memory I’ll treasure until my time comes. I hope I embark on that final journey with the dignity and grace Sy has. Until then, knowing him a little better will help me live more, live as a bigger person.

I’ve posted some excerpts of my interview of Sy from twenty years ago here.