Obit: Forrest Rose

Subject: Obit: Forrest Rose
From: GUEST,Chip2447
Date: 24 Mar 05 - 03:41 PM

Bass player and journalist Forret Rose passed away on the 19th of March 2005. His wit, humor and bass will be sorely missed.

http://www.showmenews.com/2005/Mar/20050321News001.asp

Chip2447

Subject: RE: Obit: Forrest Rose
From: GUEST,Mary Katherine
Date: 24 Mar 05 - 05:12 PM

Jody Stecher says:

From: "jody stecher"
Sent: Wednesday, March 23, 2005 12:36 AM
Subject: Forrest Rose

I have sad news. Forrest Rose died early Sunday morning. Here¹s my version of what happened.

On Saturday night Perfect Strangers played a concert in Avondale, Arizona, a suburb of Phoenix. We had played one of our best concerts ever the night before in Tucson and on this evening Forrest played some of the best slap bass solos he¹d ever done and was his usual gracious and humorous self in his MC work. Roger Wilcox, a good friend of the band had invited the whole band to stay with him at his home, a bit north of the concert hall. Roger is a physician specializing in ER medicine and is an amateur musician. He¹s from Columbia, Missouri, Forrest's home town for many years, and his musical history is entwined with Forrest¹s and that of Chris and his wife Betsy. They go way back.

We had a very pleasant music session, playing songs and tunes that are not part of our stage repertoire, enjoying each other¹s company and appreciating each others¹ playing. It was absolutely lovely. We played Indian Springs and Georgiana Moon, Wagoner, and Chris¹ new song Today I Saw The Longest Train. Sometime past one AM Forrest put down the bass and sat on the couch and began requesting oldtime country duets from me and Chris, and he helped us with the words when we forgot. At about half past one in the morning on March 20th, Palm Sunday, I was half way through a song about getting ready for death, when I stopped singing and asked Forrest if he was alright. His
eyeballs had become elongated like lozenges and were swinging back in his head and rotating. His body was rigid and his head thrown back. A short time before, Bob had put away his banjo, Peter had gone to bed, and the other two folks in the room were Roger and a guitar picking friend of his who is a PHD pharmacist and well acquainted with emergency medicine.

They were on the case instantly. We all knew Forrest had experienced a brain aneurysm in 1987 (and later we learned there was at least one subsequent seizure) and I suggested this might be another aneurysm. It looked at first like a *safe* seizure to the two doctors and they waited perhaps 60 seconds to let it run its course. Forrest¹s color was good and it was clear that he was breathing. But then his color changed, and they observed other signs and they pulled him to the floor and began pounding his chest and Roger told us to phone 911 which Chris did. Forrest was spewing foam, a bit of vomit, and some blood (probably from a bit tongue). In spite of this, as well as other dangers, Roger, the perfect doc and the perfect friend, administered mouth to mouth resuscitation. Forrest gave out some strange moans and vocalisms which I believe are typical sounds of someone undergoing certain types of seizure. And then he was still. It all happened fast and by the time the EMT guys came on their fire truck I think Forrest was a goner.

They found little or no heartbeat. Atropine and electricity did not revive him. It took them seven or eight minutes to get there. Considering they came from around the corner I thought it was too long, and we actually phoned twice. But Forrest¹s death was probably not their fault. I think he departed after about four minutes from the onset of the seizure, about two minutes after we phoned 911. All the same they rushed him to the hospital where he was pronounced dead.

At the time of writing (Tuesday, March 22) I still don¹t know the cause of death. Stroke? Aneurysm? Heart Attack? I found it upsetting that he began his seizure during my rendition of a rather weird and otherworldly melody with the refrain *Dying time¹s coming when the sinner must die*. I eventually worked out that Forrest didn¹t fall in love during the love songs I sang that night, etc, so I can probably rule out the power of suggestion or his being scared to death. He wasn¹t the type anyway. His girlfriend Bernadette seems to think he¹d have loved the irony. Whatever the case may be, it *was* strange.

Then again, it had been a strange week. I had left home for Arizona in an inexplicably apprehensive mood. During the course of my visit, I caused damage to a violin in a Tucson music shop in an inexplicable and bizarre turn of events. At the same time this was happening, Phil Hollenbeck, the great pakhawaj (Indian barrel drum) player was driving on a 2 lane rural mountain road in New Mexico when a 30 lb chunk of ice flew off a semi truck and slammed through his windshield at 80 mph. He blacked out and came to a stop 50 yards to the side of the road in a snowy field. He had broken ribs and some face laceration but he¹s fine. I talked to him on the phone yesterday. He said his last memory was a large white object shaped like the state of Oklahoma flying at him. Earlier, the mother of the wife of a band
member fell off the toilet and broke open her head. All of this is true and rather bizarre. Forrest¹s seizure however seemed not bizarre but inevitable. I was not surprised, since I knew he¹d have another aneurysm or final seizure some day so I was prepared for this. I don¹t know how or why, but I had fully expected that it would happen on the road with Perfect Strangers and that I would be present when it did. Eventually we found out that his parents and girl friend were also expecting this and were also prepared.

We all got *some* sleep and much of the morning was spent in an informal Memorial for Forrest. The same was done in the evening back in Tucson. His parents flew to Phoenix to take care of details. His dad is a forensic doctor, in fact he was the physician who pronounced JFK dead in Dallas. His mom on the phone with Chris said: *well we had 18 very good years*. Considering he¹d been living on borrowed time since his 1987 aneurysm, I guess 18 years was a pretty long run.

Forrest was a lover of truth and was a philosopher concerned with ethics, morality and social justice. This was reflected in his clearly written and provocative newspaper columns which were very much in service of truth and justice. Sounds a bit like Superman, huh? As a bass player he kinda *was* a superman in a gorilla sort of way. Very powerful and growly with great forward propulsion in his rhythm. As a father he was exemplary and inspiring. Music was not the most important thing in his life. Forrest was devoted to his son Brennan and I think their relationship was what he treasured the most.

Perfect Strangers had been practicing and performing quite a bit of new repertoire which we were planning to record with Forrest. Forrest had been wanting to retire from the band sometime soon as he disliked flying and felt the need to be at home as well. Forrest¹s sudden death sheds new light on things he wrote and said to the band in the last few weeks. We now think that he had not been feeling well and/or had a premonition that his days were numbered and he wanted to retire from the road so as to spend as much time with Brennan as possible. But he was going to play any gigs that were already booked for which we could not find a substitute.

Finding another bass player will not be impossible. Finding a substitute or replacement for Forrest Rose is utterly impossible. But he¹ll always be a member of Perfect Strangers. His touch is evident in our arrangements and pacing and his spirit is entwined with that of the band.

-Jody Stecher

Subject: RE: Obit: Forrest Rose
From: Big Jim from Jackson
Date: 24 Mar 05 - 05:37 PM

I had the privilege to see and meet Forrest as a member of the Rank Sinatras at the Big Muddy Folk Festival in Boonville, Mo. last April. He was one fantastic bass player and a very nice man. My condolences to his family and friends.    Jim Hickam

Subject: RE: Obit: Forrest Rose
From: GUEST,Steve Andsager
Date: 26 Mar 05 - 02:28 PM

I am among the fortunate who can say they were in a band with Forrest (mudbugs). I made the mistake of pissing him off once. He cut me down to size. He said "if you were half as good as you think you are, you would be making twice as much money". ouch.
last time I saw Forrest was 6 weeks ago. He came to see the Baitshop Boys. He told me he sent a gig my way and complemented me. He said" you really spoiled me Steve...your rythm is right in the pocket", then he tipped the band. A very sweet last memory for me...perfect.
Forrest was the hub of a wheel and those that revolved around him are blessed.
Steve Andsager

Subject: RE: Obit: Forrest Rose
From: open mike
Date: 31 Mar 05 - 09:38 PM

I did not realize who Forrest was until i read a recent e-mail from
Laurie Lewis. I do know he wqs in good company if he played withAJody Stecher, and the stories Jody tells about all the bizarre occurrances
in the last few weeks are incredible. I hope the Forrest is at peace
and that his freinds and family find comfort.

Laurie's message:
Sad news...
On March 20, Forrest Rose, bassist and front-man for Perfect Strangers, died of a stroke while on tour with the band in Arizona. It's hard to believe that he is gone so quickly, at age 48. A few years ago, Tom and I played a week's worth of concerts with Forrest in the Missouri and Wisconsin, and loved it. We were always planning on doing it again sometime. Forrest had a great muscular feel on the bass and an amazing mind with a quick, incisive wit. I feel lucky to have known him.

(I am not sure that the diagnosis of stroke has been confirmed)
Laurie is playing bass with a bluegrass band these days..
among other projects she has.

Subject: RE: Obit: Forrest Rose
From: open mike
Date: 31 Mar 05 - 09:59 PM

did anyone attend either the memorial or celebration in Columbia, MO?

and can you report back to us here?

A memorial service is scheduled for 4 p.m. Friday at Unitarian Universalist Church, 2615 Shepard Blvd., with a celebration of Rose's life scheduled for 6 p.m. at The Blue Note, 17 N. Ninth St.

here fellow columnist remembers:

SMILE AWHILE
Forrest: an everlasting Rose among the thorns

By IRENE HASKINS
Published Thursday, March 31, 2005

How do you find the words to say goodbye to a wordsmith, a guy for whom reading the dictionary was a hobby?

Forrest Rose was that kind of guy and so much more - accomplished musician, thought-provoking columnist, a special son, only brother to five sisters, doting dad and for so many, including me, best friend.

I can't believe I'm writing about Forrest in the past tense, but because he collapsed and died suddenly on March 20, sadly, I am. He was in Arizona with his band doing what he loved to do - playing music and slapping his big stand-up bass fiddle. In the memorable words of Yogi Berra, it seems like déjà vu all over again.

In May 1987, at age 30, while visiting Nashville to audition for a bluegrass act, Forrest had an aneurysm that left him in a coma for 16 days. He awoke remembering nothing. When his condition permitted, he went to stay with his parents in Iowa City, where he had to learn how to do even the simplest tasks all over again.

Making a miraculous and seemingly complete recovery, he returned to Columbia and picked up where he left off, a little more insightful perhaps, but still enjoying life to the fullest.

Forrest and I go way back to when we were both greenhorns in the Tribune's newsroom, only I was much older and greener than he was. Nevertheless we clicked and evolved from being co-workers to being best friends. Generation gap notwithstanding, we understood each other and shared many interests. We both loved music, especially the big-band era. He was the only person under 30 who knew who Orrin Tucker was.

We could talk to each other and exchange confidences knowing our secrets were safe with each other. I could even share intimate "girl stuff" with him. "Listen," he'd say, "I grew up with five sisters, so you're not gonna tell or show me anything I haven't heard or seen before."

Our relationship took on a new aspect when Forrest became my editor. An editor is the natural enemy of the journalist, the fly in every writer's ointment, the rotten in every reporter's Denmark. A necessary evil, editors exist solely to question, rewrite and correct copy. Could our friendship survive a weekly confrontation? Could we butt heads and egos and still remain on speaking terms? We could, and we did.

One incident I'll never forget started one afternoon after deadline. We were sitting around mulling over some adverbs and picking at a stale pizza I'd found in a file drawer when Forrest said he needed a haircut for a hot date that night and his regular barber was unavailable.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"He's in Kansas City grooming Simmental cattle for a livestock show." Knowing Forrest, that sounded logical to me. Then, as if he'd just come up with a cure for his dandruff, he shouted, "Hey, Irene, why don't you come over to my place after work and cut my hair?"

The closest I've ever come to shearing locks is shaving my legs, and I wasn't about to ruin a perfectly good head of hair and our friendship to boot. But he kept at me and kept at me until I agreed.

When I got there, he handed me a pair of scissors that must have doubled as hedge clippers. Either that or one of his roommates had green hair. It was too late to back out, so I started clipping and snipping - an inch over one ear, 2 inches over the other, zapping his cowlick, then tapering to a D.A. in the back. The bangs were next. I gave them sort of a wavy look. I didn't intend to give them a wavy look - that's just the way they turned out.

When I got through, I stepped back to admire my handiwork. I didn't have the heart to tell him he would have looked better if he'd just stuck his head in a Weed Eater. "Your hair is still wet," I told him while I edged slowly out the door. "It'll look better when it dries."

I dreaded seeing him the next day, but to my surprised relief he said, "Best haircut I ever had. My date couldn't keep her hands out of it." Word of my tonsorial talent spread, and Forrest started joking that he was taking up a collection to buy me a barber pole for my desk.

On a blue note, while Forrest was my editor, my longtime marriage came to an abrupt end. Forrest was a rock - always there for me, always trying to find ways to cheer me up, always calling to see "How ya' doin'," always supportive. During that dreadful time, I wanted to take a break from writing this column. I didn't feel like smiling anymore.

Forrest would have none of it. "S'good for you. Keeps the juices flowing." He refused to let me wallow in my misery, to retreat to my own personal purgatory. Instead, he helped me cope.

When he married in 1988, the ceremony was in the big courtroom at the courthouse with an old wind-up Victrola playing "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." The reception followed at Booche's, where wedding guests mingled with the regular patrons shooting pool. Vintage Forrest.

Whether writing, working, playing music, teaching or being with his beloved son, Brennan, Forrest filled every minute of his 48 years to the fullest. I've always thought he had a streak of Peter Pan in him. He was like a little boy who didn't know what he wanted to do when he grew up, so he did it all.

There's an old tune I'm reminded of, one I'm sure Forrest would remember, too - "The Song Has Ended But the Melody Lingers On." Too soon Forrest's song has ended, no more encores, but if those who loved him listen real carefully, they'll hear the strains of his life's melody lingering on.

I know if he were still my editor he would have cut that last paragraph - "too mushy-gushy." Sorry, old friend, this time I win.

Irene Haskins is a Tribune columnist. Her e-mail address is [e-mail].

i do not see an obit for him in the paper he wrote for.

Subject: RE: Obit: Forrest Rose
From: GUEST,Trish Hinkebein
Date: 04 Apr 05 - 04:54 PM

Monday, April 4, 2005
Here is the article Printed in the Columbia Missourian, the Mizzou Newspaper. TH


Rose left legacy of music, insight
By KATHLYN CLORE

March 23, 2005


Forrest rose was a columnist for the Columbia Daily Tribune and a popular musician.
Columbia Renaissance man Forrest Rose was by all accounts a prolific musician, writer and thinker. Often characterized as humorous, witty and intelligent, Mr. Rose wrote and performed with passion.

"He was someone who loved to skinny-dip in the fountain of life," said longtime colleague Irene Haskins.

Mr. Rose fluidly penned his insights on Columbia's social and political scene in a weekly column in the Columbia Daily Tribune. He was also a dynamic bassist and emcee in a host of bluegrass bands, most recently Perfect Strangers and the Rank Sinatras.

"Playing with Forrest was always exciting," said Chris Brashear, who plays fiddle and guitar for Perfect Strangers. "He always played with a lot of energy and spirit. He had a lot of musical knowledge. He was always a wellspring for ideas."

Mr. Rose died in Arizona early Sunday morning, March 20, 2005. He was 48. An autopsy is scheduled for Thursday.

He was born July 6, 1956, in Dallas to Earl and Marilyn Rose. He grew up in Iowa City, Iowa, the only boy in a house with five sisters.

Mr. Rose came to Columbia in 1974 to study at the MU School of Journalism. Most of his vast realm of knowledge, though, seems to have come by his own initiative.

"He always had his head in a book, even when he wasn't supposed to," said his sister Carol Rose, executive director of the ACLU in Massachusetts. "He read everything. He knew the Bible, he knew history, he knew literature. He had an ability to remember phrases, whether lyrics to a song or anything else."

Mr. Rose died unexpectedly on an Arizona road trip with Perfect Strangers. The group played a Saturday show in Avondale. After the show, the five-member band went to the home of a longtime friend and former Columbia resident, Dr. Roger Wilcox, where an informal jam session broke out.

"We were just playing some music," said Jody Stecher, the band's mandolin player. "Just having a good time and enjoying each other's company."

After about an hour and a half, Mr. Rose sat down on the couch next to Brashear. He called out some suggestions for the band to play and sing.

"We played a couple other songs. Then I looked over and he looked like he was starting to go into some kind of seizure," Brashear said. "It rapidly became clear he was going into some sort of crisis."

Although Wilcox is an emergency room physician, neither he nor the paramedics were able to resuscitate Mr. Rose.

Throughout his life, Mr. Rose was able to inspire and reach out to a great many of his friends.

"He loomed larger than life," Brashear said.

When fellow Tribune columnist Haskins wanted to learn to play ukulele, Mr. Rose spent hours trying to teach her.

"If you were his friend, he made you think he was always thinking of you," said Jim Robertson, managing editor at the Tribune. "It's the reason people became devoted to him; he made them feel he was interested in them and cared to see them."

In 1987, Mr. Rose suffered a brain aneurysm while playing in Nashville that put him in a coma for 16 days. The aneurysm never held Mr. Rose back. Rather, it prompted him to try and live an already full life to the absolute fullest, said Carol Rose.

"He used to say, 'I don't remember it — I didn't have a brush with my mortality, you did,' " she said.

In 1988, Mr. Rose married Boone County Clerk Wendy Noren. The two divorced and have a son, 15-year-old Brennan.

"The relationship between the two of them was very inspiring," Stecher said. "He was very devoted to his son. It really was number one in his life."

His sweetheart of five years, Bernadette Dryden, said Mr. Rose brought so much music into her life.

"We would put on all kinds of music and dance to it," she said.

Their signature song was "Honey," a sweet, lighthearted tune by pianists Jay Mcshann and Ralph Sutton.

"The doctor who was there when he died, I was just talking to him," Dryden said. "I said, 'I hope there's a great beyond out there where we can all get together.' He said 'Well I'm not sure there is, but boy, would I love to have an eternity to talk to Forrest, to sit around and shoot the breeze with Forrest.' "

Mr. Rose is survived by his parents; sisters Elise, Cecile, Karen, Miriam and Carol; son Brennan of Columbia; sweetheart Bernadette Dryden of Columbia; and former wife Wendy Noren.

A memorial service will be at 4 p.m. Friday at the Unitarian Universalist Church, 2615 Shepherd Blvd. The service will be followed by a musical celebration at the Blue Note.

At the memorial, speeches and anecdotes from Mr. Rose's life will be delivered by various speakers. At the Blue Note, musicians will reminisce and play tribute to Mr. Rose and the various styles of music he enjoyed.

"Musicians are coming in from all over," said Richard King, owner of the Blue Note.

Donations may be made to the "Scholarship Fund for Brennan Rose" at First National Bank, P.O Box 1867, Columbia, MO 65205.

Comments? Contact us or sound off on our message boards

.
Copyright © 2005 Columbia Missourian

Subject: RE: Obit: Forrest Rose
From:
Date: 04 Apr 05 - 05:12 PM

Here is the Obituary the Columbia Tribune published. th

Forrest Rose, 1956-2005

Published Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Musician and newspaper columnist Forrest Rose, a multi-talented mainstay of Columbia's cultural landscape for three decades, died suddenly early Sunday, March 20, 2005, during a band trip in Arizona. He was 48 years old.

A memorial service will be held at 4 p.m. Friday at the Unitarian Universalist Church, 2615 Shepherd Blvd. The remembrance will be followed by a music celebration at 6 p.m. at The Blue Note.

Rose collapsed early Sunday morning at the home of a fellow musician. He had performed earlier in the evening in Avondale, Ariz., a community just west of Phoenix, with the nationally known bluegrass ensemble Perfect Strangers and was listening to duets with members of the group at the private residence when he was stricken. No cause of death was immediately available.

A longtime Columbia resident, Rose was born on July 6, 1956, in Dallas, the son of Earl and Marilyn Rose. He was raised in Iowa City, Iowa, the only boy in a household of five sisters: Elise, Cecile, Karen, Miriam and Carol. Survivors also include his son, Brennan Rose of Columbia; his sweetheart, Bernadette Dryden of Columbia; his former wife, Wendy Noren of Columbia; and his parents, of Iowa City.

Rose came to Columbia in 1974 to study journalism at the University of Missouri, and he stayed in town to play music and work as a reporter, assistant city editor and later a columnist for the city's afternoon daily, the Columbia Daily Tribune. He also had worked as an editor at the Columbia Missourian and most recently was an information specialist for University of Missouri extension. He graduated from the Missouri School of Journalism in 1988.

Rose wrote a weekly column for Tuesday editions of the Tribune, commenting on the community's most controversial issues with a fluid, witty style that powerfully drove home his points.

Carol Rose, executive director of the ACLU of Massachusetts, called her brother "a true Renaissance man in the sense that he was a brilliant writer, humorist, accomplished musician, terrific father and friend."

"It's rare in this day and age to find someone who combines so much intelligence, political passion and courage," she says. "And yet who in so many ways was humble and, by any measure, lived an incredibly full and successful life to which most of us can only aspire."

Wendy Noren said Forrest's columns resonated in their own special way.

"He had the courage and ability to say things people need to hear - whether they want to or not," she says.

"And he did it in a way to make us laugh and cry and think."

Columbia Missourian editor John Schneller, who served as best man for Rose's wedding to Wendy Noren, said his columns were crafted to perfection. "To call Forrest Rose a wordsmith doesn't do justice to his writing skills. We'll miss his voice."

Steve Bennish, a journalist for the Dayton Daily News, said Forrest was "restless, impatient, always ready for the next big challenge, having read everything worth reading."

"He could quote Bierce and Mencken like preachers quote the Bible," he says. "No one I've ever met had quite the same peculiar passion for journalism."

Rose was just as well known for his musical prowess on the bass fiddle; his instrument was topped by a custom-carved snake's head. Rose toured with Bill Monroe and the Bluegrass Boys and with David Olney and played with Kenny Baker as well as many acclaimed old-time fiddle players.

Rose played in a legion of bands over the years, including the Mid-Missouri Hell Band, Boxbeaters, Mudbugs, Monkey Grip and, most recently, the Rank Sinatras and the blues quartet New Madrid Earthquake.

Carol Rose remembers, as a child, falling asleep at her parents' home in Iowa City to the strains of bluegrass music being played by Forrest and his friends.

"When he wrote a column or played a song, he always hit the right tone," Carol says. "He had a wide range of skills and talents. What brought them all together was that ability to hit the right tone. He had perfect pitch."

In May 1987, while visiting Nashville to audition for a rising bluegrass act, the O'Kanes, Rose had an aneurysm that left him in a coma for 16 days.

"The main effect was to draw me closer to my family. And it really clued me in to the fact that there are a lot of people who truly care,'" Rose told the Columbia Missourian's Brian Wallstin in 1991.

Wallstin wrote that Rose "exudes a sort of hillbilly hipness that straddles the line between small town and big city." A voracious reader, Rose was as comfortable quoting at length from Winston Churchill as bantering with bar patrons about their favorite bluegrass tunes.

"Aside from his incredible talent as a musician and writer, one of the things I admired most about him was his tireless ability to mentor an infinite number of friends," Dryden says. "He brought out the best in people and encouraged hidden talents. His house was a favorite stopover for friends in need of advice or consoling or a good laugh. He was the most generous person I've ever known."

Rose's proudest role was father to Brennan Noren Rose, his son with Wendy Noren. The Scholarship Fund for Brennan Rose has been set up at First National Bank, P.O. Box 1867, Columbia, Mo., 65205.




Copyright © 2005 The Columbia Daily Tribune. All Rights Reserved.