Glen Priest was a cherished friend

To the editor:

Jack Ronald’s Dec. 30 tribute to friends lost in 2020 stirred strong emotions. His writings about Peter Coates had made him seem like someone I’d known. The column was a reminder to accept the death of friends as a price of reaching senior citizen status. Yet, one such loss in 2020 struck hard.

Glen Priest died last summer after a period of decline. His absence has precipitated a flood of memories about my first years in Jay County. That was an exciting time in my life, and I owe much to a handful of people who became good friends. One of them was Glen.

I knew no one in Jay County when the prospect of a new job brought me here in 1976 for a meeting with Jay County Arts Council officers John Jaqua, Jr. and Sidney Austin. That first visit led to a June interview in the high school choral room with members of the organization that eventually became Arts Place. I was hired that night (an Indiana Arts Commission grant made it easy to take a risk on a young, long-haired musician). It was an evening meeting and the session ran late. Walking out afterward, I asked where to fill up my tank for the three-hour trip home. Glen offered to lead me to the Clark station in Portland.

While I pumped gas, Glen talked about a fabulous Swedish choir he had just heard on tape. By the time I’d paid, Glen had convinced me to drive the few miles to his home to listen to the recording.

When I arrived, Glen’s wife, Bev, and daughter, Linda, were already in their nightgowns. I thought it best to leave. None of them would hear of it. For the next hour we listened to what was indeed a great choir and continued to talk about music until close to midnight.

It was very late when I finally reached my apartment in Bloomington. I was sold on Jay County. I couldn’t fail at a job few expected to succeed. I was the organization’s first staffer. There was neither much money in the Arts Council’s bank account nor an office. I would, however, be backed up by a small group of arts enthusiasts.

Best of all, I already had a friend. Glen was a big part of that initial feeling that has never gone away. Within weeks I had plenty of friends — Sid and Fran Austin, Jack and Connie Ronald, Doc and Jane Gillum, John and Margo Jaqua — and the list grew exponentially over the months. I never felt like an outsider. They wouldn’t permit it. I know that has not been every newcomer’s experience here. But, it certainly was mine. Almost everyone has treated me like a native. So, I guess I must be.

Glen made sure I connected with other musicians. He cheered me up when the going looked insurmountable (as it often did). He worked tirelessly for the cause of the Arts Council while on the board and for a time as president, as well as for years afterwards. He sang in choirs we organized. Later he sang in the Christmas Eve choir I’ve directed for a couple decades, though I knew Glen would have preferred to be home on those nights.

Glen’s support and friendship never faltered. He and Sid Austin practically dragged me to the Presbyterian Church. While I was a convinced agnostic, their medicine eventually took hold after a few years. I became a member in 1990, shortly after marrying my lovely wife, Pam, who had joined the church earlier (providing another attraction to joining). Glen, Sid and the rest of our church family wrapped their arms around us, letting us know that First Presbyterian was truly home.

You could always count on Glen whenever you needed his help. Even in that difficult closing chapter it wasn’t the spirit that was unwilling, just the body.

I cherish the memory of that sonorous bass voice, his overflowing optimism, his humility and, most of all, that crazy and endearing sense of humor. I was extremely fortunate to be able to call Glen Priest my friend.

Eric R. Rogers

Portland