Celebration of Life

Welcome 

Thank you for joining us today to remember Jeffrey Harris. 

You might think that’s a bit unusual, but Jeff definitely considered himself a bit of a funeral expert, and many of the elements planned for today were the types of things he was quite clear were important elements. The program, for example, reads a little bit like a “who’s who” in Jeff’s life, and he always felt this was important.

I think you’ll find that while Ken and I have some brief remarks, Jeff’s self-eulogy is quite long. I haven’t actually read it yet, so we’ll all be hearing his last words for the first time.  If anyone needs an intermission or a break, we can go eat and then come back for more of his last words.

Finally, assuming the sun is still in the sky, we’ll ask if anyone else wants to share a memory or two. 

Jeff’s grandson Devin will be recording this for those who couldn’t attend today. You’ll also notice that there is a QR Code on the back of the program that will ultimately have a link to Devin’s video, additional photos, and we expect to add to this page in the days ahead.

Ok, let’s get started with my brother, Ken Harris.

Greg's Eulogy

Jeff was born on June 11, 1937. He was born at home as Victoria and Alfred’s third son. Because he was born at home, it was Alf’s responsibility to file the necessary paperwork that would become his birth certificate. They agreed on the name Jeffrey, but he took it upon himself to rename the child, and when he came home with the birth certificate in hand, he had officially been named Godfrey.

In Vicky’s mind, the name Godfrey was a butler’s name, and clearly, this British gentleman was destined for far better things.

Vicky had her way at least until Jeff was a teenager. At some point, he caught a first glimpse of his birth certificate and immediately embraced the name. While his family continued to use Jeffrey, to the rest of the world, he was Godfrey.

It says a lot about Jeff’s brand. I don’t think anyone here today would argue with the conclusion that, like his name, Jeff was UNIQUE. He would go on to purposely misspell Gregrey and Kennith to give each of us a unique name.

I’ve learned a lot from my father

My father was loud. My father’s inside voice was at a decibel level that rivals some public address systems. I remember a family dinner at a large restaurant where a family on the other side of the room paid their check and then casually walked across the restaurant and, in a quiet voice, bent over and said to Jeff, I really enjoyed listening to your conversation. I was horrified. I think Jeff thought it was a compliment.
 

My father was brave. I remember after a long drive to the ski slopes, we hit the restrooms. We stood at the wall of urinals and left one vacant. Just before another person came to fill the vacancy, my father spotted a dime in the urinal and decided to quickly retrieve it. The approaching stranger said, “you must have been a marine.” Again, I think Jeff took pleasure that someone noticed his inherent bravery.

My father loved Funerals. As I mentioned, my father loved a good funeral. Perhaps it started when as a young foreign service officer working the US Embassy in London, he was assigned responsibility for removing an excess chair from the seats allotted for the US delegation. God forbid that the camera might pan to an empty chair. He jumped into an embassy limousine and, with flags flapping, he rushed to St. Paul’s Cathedral. As he leapt out of the car and jumped into action, a few dozen press photographers anxiously snapped his picture, only a little bit confused by who he was.

When Jeff went to a funeral, he wanted to know who everyone was. Yes, it should be listed in the program, but that never seemed good enough. 

In Jeff’s honor today, I would like everyone to introduce themselves. While most of us know each other, I’m confident that there is at least someone in the room who doesn’t know everyone, and Jeff would have wanted that rectified. Briefly tell us your name and your connection to Jeff.

I would like to share a few more lessons that I learned over my lifetime, and I’m especially keen to share these lessons with the next generation. 

• Public Speaking. We were raised in a family that gathered on my grandparents’ patio every Sunday for tea. I learned how difficult it was to get a word in edgewise in this family, and I think this developed important skills. Jeff was a great public speaker, and I learned a lot about speaking up and being heard.

• Honesty.  My first job out of college was working for my father. He took me aside at one point to explain that Harrises don’t cheat. We follow the rules even if others don’t. I know this was important because he lowered his voice when he told me this. Harrises are always honest, but he quickly clarified that, as a clan, we also believe in pushing our honesty to the absolute limit.

• Commitment. My father was a hard worker. He worked long hours. He worked most Saturdays. He started most days by 4 am. He said it was to avoid traffic, but we knew it was because work was what he loved. He spent lots of time writing, but even more time editing to make things a little better. He taught me the importance of quality and pride in my work product and that hard work can make up for most deficits.

• No Experience Required. I remember being consistently fascinated by my father’s willingness to dive into a new project for which he seemingly had absolutely no experience, no qualifications, and frankly no business pursuing. At different points in his life, he was involved in business projects spanning from windmills to lotteries, to air quality to advertising on parking meters, and recently, utensils for tasting. When Barbara’s first great-grandchild arrived, he declared that he had a lot to tell the world about the importance of being a great-grandfather. Some people write about what they know; Jeff figured it out along the way. My father taught me not to be afraid to try and to be confident in my ability to learn what I don’t know. 

Finally, I’m confident that nothing was more important to Jeff than that future generations know how to make a proper cup of tea. No one is allowed to leave here today without learning how to make a proper cup of tea.

• Start by heating the water to a _____________ [rapid boil]. For one pot of tea, you will need how many tea bags? 3. Next, you need to pour the boiling water directly over the bags and let it brew for how long? At least 4 minutes. If you are at a restaurant, and the waiter brings you a tin of hot water and the tea bags on the side, what do you do? Send it back! What’s the proper type of milk? 2% but after you turn 80, it’s ok to go 1% but never fat-free! If you’ve done a good job, you’ll get that perfect khaki color. If you’ve done a bad job and the tea isn’t dark enough, what do we call it? Piss water.  Use your sweetener of choice–ideally something banned in the US because it causes cancer. Then repeat at least 10 times a day.

Think of him the next time you have a cup of tea.

SELF-EULOGY

Given this lifelong fascination with funerals, I suggested a few years ago that Jeff plan his own funeral. He declined, but he would regularly send me notes, programs, and videos that he liked from other people’s funerals, presumably with the hope that we would do him justice here today.

I’m confident that I have failed him. For example, I’m sure he would have liked it if I provided you with a bibliography of the 75 books Jeff has authored. While he declined to plan his own funeral, after years of encouragement, he finally agreed to write his own eulogy. He sent me an envelope that remained sealed that said “to be read at my funeral.” As a tribute to the importance of editing, it shouldn’t surprise you that I received two additional revisions in the months that followed.

When I first received the envelope, I didn’t open it, but I was struck by its thickness. I asked him, “Is this a eulogy or an obituary?” and he answered both. I think, however, it’s closer to an autobiography.  As I said, I am reading this for the first time. I know it’s 3600 words long. Please be prepared to be lectured one final time.