Sukosh Fearon was the man to do that. He was a true inspiration to me ... Blind since he was just a prematurely-born baby, Sukosh (a name the staff of the Japanese hospital gave him after he was born, a shortened version of their word for “little one”) would go on to become one of the finest musicians and vocalists ever to grace a stage in Central New York. We lost Sukosh on Dec. 23, but not until he had one last gig the Sunday before that, during the heart-warming “A Day of Music with Sukosh Fearon” event in Canastota. There, I saw (for the last time, sadly) Sukosh in his true environment. Performing music live on stage, and loving every minute of it.
Sukosh performs at "A Day of Music With Sukosh Fearon" at the Rusty Rail Party House in Canastota, NY on Dec. 17, 2017. Dozens of his musical friends came out for a musical afternoon less than a week before his passing, to celebrate his love of music and all of the great times singing songs.
So, yeah, he did once tell me to shut up. And I’ve never, ever heard that f-bomb from his mouth before or since, so I know he was mad at me. Truth to tell, it was really my own fault. Let me set the scene -- there is an annual Relay for Life in Oneida for the American Cancer Society, and it is always an emotional time with many cancer survivors coming out to share the love and support of caregivers and friends. One of the highlights is a silent lap for those who have been lost to cancer, with Relay attendees walking around the Oneida High School track behind a bagpiper playing “Amazing Grace.”
That silent lap was well underway as I ran into Sukosh while walking around the area. Not thinking, I burst out with a “Hey Sukosh. How are you doing?” not noticing he was standing there entranced by the solemnity of the moment. That I just ruined for him. So he cussed at me. When it was over, he apologized, but I told him it was definitely okay … I earned that reaction, and apologized myself.
Sukosh was fond of greeting you with a hearty “Nice to see you!” or “You look great today!“ even though he had never “seen” you in his life. When my girls were working a Lions Club event, and complained they were working too hard, I asked Sukosh right in front of them if he had seen them do anything at all that day, and he said no. The girls were mortified that I would say that to a blind man, but this wasn’t poking fun at his blindness, it was embracing the way he himself always focused past it. His “Nice to see you!” showed something about Sukosh. His blindness was not holding him back. He was just like everybody else. And maybe he could see us all in a way beyond what we could ourselves.
And once he got to know you, he rarely needed you to tell him who was speaking. Sukosh had a great memory for voices -- way better than my own memory for putting names to faces.
Of course, my time with Sukosh is not without regrets. Like the time I was helping him navigate a narrow hallway, leading him by the arm with directions like “turn left” and “watch the step here.” Well, at one point I told him to turn left, when he really needed to take a right, and promptly walked him into the wall. Sorry, buddy.
A few years ago, I had my own bout with vision loss. It was a time of uncertainty and fear, but there was always an inspiration throughout my own visits to several doctors. I thought of Sukosh and how he would walk the streets of his Oneida hometown, and even hitchhike across the state, travels that perhaps by fate led him to meeting his wife Pat on one of his trips. Sukosh was a bright guiding light throughout all of my own appointments. He was the model I tried to emulate.
Now, that light has not diminished at all with the loss of Sukosh. In fact, it is brighter now than ever, because I was with him right near the end to see how bravely he faced that diagnosis. That smiling face on stage less than a week before his death, followed just days later by his warm greetings to visitors in his room at the Extended Care Facility, will be the way I always remember him. RIP my friend and inspiration, Sukosh Fearon. You have left behind great memories of music and inspiration to so many people who have had the pleasure of knowing you here.
We could all only hope to leave that kind of legacy.
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