Patrick J. Lynch was well beyond pretty much totally awesome. RIP sweet prince.
Patrick J. Lynch born May 8, 1931 ("8th of May" a multi-generation singsong non-hallmark holiday even cooler than groundhog's day) to J. Harris and Grazel Lynch of Seattle.
Pat was cute as a button in his catholic schoolboy uniforms in the 1930's growing up in the now un-approachable Queen Anne neighborhood. He was an athletic star at Seattle Prep in the 1940's and he was also a star at being hard-working but otherwise mediocre in the classroom -- a value he reminded all of us was a valid alternative: "be the best damn whatever."
Pat learned hard work and tenacity from his family and he was the prototypical pre-OSHA katzenjammer kid, stacking fish and making ink and working in every surviving pre-war building in downtown Seattle. We still dont eat at Ivar's based on his knowledge of the quality of produce delivered there in the 40's.
Pat worked the old Milwaukee Road Ski Bowl train in the 30's and 40's in exchange for his lift tickets at that long-re-grown-in ski hill in the cascades -- starting an impressive career on the slopes. Short hair, long skis.
Pat's dad, J. Harris the nature loving severe intellectual attorney, was appointed to the immediate post-war investigations and trials in Europe. In 1947 the family moved to Germany, where Pat completed high school, learned German and to barter. Can you imagine what that life must have been like?
Pat was a standout athlete at Frankfurt High School and he brought his hard-working mediocre-grades philosophy/strategy to the continent. Pat was the prom king arriving in a carriage to the prom in a German castle.
Pat and all of his boyhood friends (except Henry, for some reason) were all pioneers of skiing in the pacific northwest -- building skis, testing new-fangled edges, bindings, straps, and other frozen leather stuff. All of this group, with early Seattle ski-builder Mr. Holt as its Fagan, went on to skiing fame with perfect form.
Pat went through Marine Corps Boot Camp at Quantico VA because he was a stud. The Korean Conflict mashed-on, but Pat's noted skills in German and on the slopes drew his assignment at the US Army-still-occupied German ski circus Garmisch-Partenkirchen, where he was one of the lead ski-instructors to "general's wives." We dont have enough server space to highlight the tour in Germany, but needless to say, Pat perfected his savvy and skied at every classic European resort.
Pat earned a full-ride 3 and 3/4 year ski scholarship to Seattle University, just when his earlier Jesuit hide-scars were healing. (Ski scholarship? Yes, pre-title 9.) He and the crew dominated the northwest, shredding the UW and others, placing second in the NCAA in 1953 and visiting every classic American resort. Pat was a "combi" -- he did it all -- downhill, GS, slalom, nordic, gelande jumping. When you get to heaven, ask him about pissing his pants during his first ski-jumping experience.
Pat always had perfect form, a little thing we call the "counter-rotation modified arlberg technique," still seen practiced on the slopes by his many proteges, reading this now. Some people call it the comma, and the french do it a little snarlier calling it vedelen, but Pat's style was pure euro-classic, noticeable from a 3000 foot drop -- people all over the bottom of the hill pointing their poles up at him. "Look out for people who know what they're doing..."
Pat graduated Seattle U despite his scholarship melting with his senior year spring, giving the chief priest an irreverent Irish wink confirming the hard-working mediocre grade strategy. Pat used his scholarship experience to teach us about the notion of contract breach and how to avoid donating to schools otherwise funded by people and institutions way richer than you.
Pat met Margee, at a Seattle U ski team party in the 1950's. She was clearly out of his league -- beautiful, refined, North Capitol Hill doctor's only-child daughter, with no reason to drive or rise to refill her water glass. Plus, of course she was in a sorority at the UW and he was a commuter student at Seattle U with a job and a Model A.
Pat perfected his tenacity over seven years of gentlemanly courtship convincing Margee that he was the real deal, somehow more so than her life cavorting with downtown executives and getting to pre-statehood Hawaii by ship.
Pat did the traditional lawyer-generation skipping thing and took up insurance instead, leveraging his expertise in risk. He was a stud in a tie and a sports car (MGTF, Alfa Romeo, MBZ 190SL) during the 1950's sinatra years and finally Margee realized he might be the guy to teach her to drive and eventually put gas in her Mercedes.
Pat married Margee in the Catholic Church and he honored his deal with that organization to the letter, raising two children in the Church and Jesuit schools and then letting them and everyone in the family make their own decisions.
Pat was way ahead of the curve on child-raising, demanding nothing but honesty, hard work and latin or greek if the school offered it. He knew the adolescent score and how to survive it with aplomb: "Your generation hasnt invented anything..." Without asking, he would give you a dime and promise to pick you up and tell you to have fun. Triple reverse psychology -- a nice handdown.
Pat could swing a hammer and looked terrific in a sweater. Pat would beat you at golf and was a corporeal combination of Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player. No motorized carts necessary -- Pat pocketed cash from Salishan to Columbia Edgewater.
Pat commissioned a superb architect-designed modern Oregon home in the hills of southwest Portland and parlayed that into other terrific abodes like the spanish classic in Spokane, the forested classic at Priest Lake, or the perfect Hood Canal Puget Sound waterfront classic with the ideal view.
Pat loved Margee to death. They travelled the world and saw Ella and went to the Carlyle for cocktails and slept at the Waldorf. Pat caught the biggest fish ever at New Zealand's famed Huka Lodge. Stop by and see the photos of Pat and Margee across the world and the decades -- you can watch his hair slowly gray and hers not change at all.
Pat finally had to settle for dominating the New York Times crossword puzzle every morning over grapefruit juice when his body rejected the hammer-golf-and-ski swinging. He used pencils, which we always laugh about -- but now you know: that was all part of his educational wink-wink.
Patrick J Lynch lives on -- all over the globe -- with his proteges on the slopes, his insurance apprentices, and in places where gentlemanly savvy and the modified arlberg technique are still in fashion.
Chris, so sorry to hear about your Dad. He was a great guy-loved by all-and he will be missed. Your tributes were great.
Posted by: Linda Fale Hall | 09/19/2010 at 12:41
My condolensces to you and your family.
Posted by: Ryan Stewart | 07/05/2010 at 15:14