A Rare Bird

We’ve had a finch feeder — the kind with slits for tiny niger seed — in the yard for years, and, until Saturday, the thistle (what niger had been called) was so rarely sampled that it grew mold. To prevent another violation of the Washington County Health Department restaurant regs (Section 8H, fly-by, not Section 8G, drive-thru), I scoured the feeder and after a month of disuse dumped the still-fresh seed on a nearby tree stump. Rain was not predicted for a full 48 hours for a change, and the scent caught the attention of a minstrel flock of 20 to 30 goldfinches. Every day since, the ladies walked through the oak buffet while the blindingly bright yellow-and-black gents perched on the vertical tower. After dinner, they take their brandy and cigars in the nearby maple, no doubt chattering about the Orioles, Eagles and Cardinals.

I’d like to thank Joe Rosenberg for this. Come Thursday morning’s funeral, I’ll do so silently, but the mourners likely would understand.

In early 1999 Joe as a Realtor arranged the sale to us of what we’ve come to call the Shady Hill manse. We met months before he agreed to be our representative — I don’t recall how — and afterward My Beloved and I became social friends with Joe and his wife, Louise. They’re around 40 years our senior, and that didn’t matter.

The couple seemed to have that effect on essentially everyone whom they met. When you say a person or a couple have improved the lives of doubtless hundreds of people, you should be able to point to giant feats of heroism or self-sacrifice. But the Rosenbergs simply lived their lives doing the right thing week in and week out. They offered friendship. And hospitality. Compassion. Later, one or both would check back on you.

This is referring to the last half of their many years. Joe moved to Fayetteville in 1967 to teach marketing at the UA College of Business. He helped found Temple Shalom in the early 1980s, when enough Jews tired of driving to Fort Smith or Tulsa for the high holidays to start their own shul. (Joe and Louise are remembered fondly in Fort Smith.)

At the end of that decade, 1989, he retired but moved into real estate. He still had active listings until a very few months ago, where a younger associate would drive him and clients to show houses. Real estate agent sounds mundane compared to department store chain executive and Ph.D. professor — perhaps that’s why it’s not in the obituary — but given that’s been his life for two decades, a number of people now know him from that.

Perhaps good real estate agents always become friends, or maybe MB and I have been lucky. Chuck in Little Rock is a great guy. Yet the tiny Joe Rosenberg stood tall in this city. He exemplified the best of idiosyncratic, cultured Fayetteville. The couple when in good health attended most events that the Walton Arts Center offered, in recent years bused by Butterfield Trail Village. For all of his reserve, Joe took a vital interest in the Ozarks.

Joe exemplified the best of an educated man. He audited UA classes — usually involving computers — until very recently. He did not show off his knowledge. The last time MB and I saw him — we took them to Red Lobster for dinner in March — Bear Stearns had just collapsed. Joe obviously was very familiar with the issues but did not care to comment. You couldn’t pin him down on political opinions or whether there’s too much or not enough construction in Northwest Arkansas. Louise always is eager to elaborate on who’s wrong or right for the both of them. And Joe smiled. We never could tell if he was grinning in agreement or tolerance.

Joe exemplified the best of mensch-dom. Mensch is often misused, but it best refers to consistent, common decency of the modest sort that’s rare in any age. Actually, it’s not at all common. He made sure people got what they needed. He kept out of people’s way. If you asked for an opinion he felt comfortable about giving, you’d get a reasoned analysis instead. I had my brother call him from California in 2002 for his thoughts on moving our mom to Butterfield for what would be the last two years of her life. Ed was impressed.

Joe was 89 when he passed Sunday. I don’t know if he was much of a bird watcher, but I wish I could’ve told him about the latest news from Shady Hill. No, I wish he could’ve come over again and seen for himself. It’s just a small everyday miracle, but those are what count.