June 28, 2025
Cal's Celebration of Life
The Burren Backroom, Somerville
I once wrote a referral for Cal when he was applying for housing. He got the place of course, and not because of that recommendation but because the virtues I described in it were self-evident. This is what I wrote:
“I’ve known my friend and brother-in-law Cal Innerarity for around 40 years. I have never met a more loyal, reliable, kind, and self-sacrificing person. I have had the pleasure of working with him in various capacities and know him to be incredibly conscientious, thorough, skilled, and meticulous.
He has been by my side in times of sorrow and struggle and has always made things easier and more hopeful. I can’t think of another person whom I would recommend more highly as a tenant or in any other position of responsibility.”
I didn’t have space in that letter to go into much detail, but here are a couple of anecdotes that say more about what an impact Cal had on my life.
Like everyone who knows Cal, I have many stories about his generosity and his unfailing desire to help others. Many years ago I depended on an old but willing VW bug for transportation. It was absolutely necessary for my work at the time, and when it broke down I despaired because I couldn’t afford to repair it. Cal took a look, determined it needed a new transmission, got a hold of a used one from the auto garage where he worked, and spent a day replacing it.
I helped of course, handing him the wrong tools now and then as he patiently corrected me. I watched in awe as he manipulated the seemingly inaccessible innards of the engine with his giant nimble hands. They were powerful hands, with a surgeon’s dexterity. When he was done, the car ran as good as new, though it was about 20 years old. Of course he didn’t charge me anything.
Maybe one of the less appreciated of Cal’s many superlatives was this skill as a mechanic. Here’s another car story with not so rosy a conclusion. Before I had the VW, I had bought a 1964 Ford Custom, an “almost antique,” or so the sharpies who sold it to me said. Cal offered to look it over before I paid what I thought was a great price, but out of hubris (or maybe because I didn’t want to take advantage of his good nature), I declined. Big mistake.
One night I was driving home from work and hit a deep pothole. There was a loud crack. The car stopped short, and a moment of silence passed when I thought, Well, maybe no harm done. But then sparks and smoke started filling the car and it slowly began to move -- in reverse. It picked up speed. The brakes didn’t work. I couldn’t turn it off. It seemed to have been possessed by demons.
So I jumped out. I have a clear memory of the door passing inches from my face as I lay on the curb thinking, I should have listened to Cal… Still accelerating, the car collided with a hydrant and stopped dead. I was disappointed that, unlike in the movies, it didn’t take out the hydrant and let loose a geyser of water.
Again free of charge, Cal had his garage tow the car away. He took a look at the wreckage and determined that the frame holding up the engine was defective. When I hit the pothole, the frame broke and the engine dropped down (and here I lost track of the exact details), but somehow that caused the car to speed off in reverse. In other words, demons.
Another distinct memory I have of Cal is of his love of animals. (Lucky for Alicia and me.) Some years ago we were fortunate to go to a film festival in Thessaloniki. Teri was there with us too. We asked a friend to babysit for our new kitten Yodel while we were gone. Unfortunately, Yodel was at the time an energetic, curious little guy with a yen for prowling shelves and a fascination for fragile items, of which our friend had a large collection.
Our first day at the festival, she called us in desperation telling us she couldn’t keep Yodel. It looked like we would have to go back home, but we called up Cal, who dropped everything to rescue the delinquent kitten and took care of him for the next week or so until we returned. Cal and Yodel parted the best of friends, and in fact I suspect he was sorry to leave and wondered, Why couldn’t I stay with this cool guy? Be that as it may, we to this day are grateful.
One of the ironies about having a memorial for Cal is that the best person for this kind of occasion was Cal himself. I remember him at his brother Hoyt’s service, greeting and chatting with all the guests and making them comfortable, when they were there to comfort him. That, even though he was already then being treated for the cancer that would prove terminal.
I remember when my father and my mother and my sister Mary died, he was there. He was always the one who remembered the basic things that people experiencing loss needed: some good food, an empathetic listener. We miss you, Cal. I’m a better person for knowing you.