My brother’s funeral

Iwent to my brother’s funeral over the weekend. We weren’t brothers by birth, which was obvious. Gary Stevens was African-American and I’m not. But we had a true connection, a genuine warmth and understanding between us that I’ve rarely felt in my life.

Gary died suddenly recently and on Saturday a beautiful celebration of his life was conducted. Hundreds of people who loved Gary attended. It was moving to see how many people Gary had touched with his genuine and warm heart.

I knew Gary for a long time. He would come into this newspaper to talk about local issues, including civil rights matters. Then, about a decade ago, I started officiating high school sports, something Gary had been doing for years. Our friendship blossomed.

In my early years of officiating, Gary was dealing with severe personal issues. Even as plagued as he was by his demons during that time, though, there was something calm and insightful about Gary.

Gary and I officiated some football games together, but we called countless basketball games together. I asked the basketball officiating group’s assigner, my buddy Fred Ramsey, a few times why Gary and I were paired so often. Fred, being Fred, would never get me a definitive answer.

I think I knew why Fred did what he did, though. Gary was cool and patient and I was neither of those things. Gary would walk away from misbehaving coaches. I would engage such coaches, and Gary would sometimes act as a mediating force in such exchanges.

Back then we had two-man crews, which usually meant the only person on your side in the gym was your officiating partner. Referees would bond with their partners if they called more than a couple high-intensity games together. Gary and I bonded, though, forever.

We often rode together to games that involved longer drives, including Calipatria and Blythe. We talked and talked, about politics, sports and the human condition in general. Gary was a smart, well-educated, caring man who knew a lot about a lot and was a great listener.

Once we were partnered for a game that involved a volatile head coach from a school outside the Valley. The coach was unhappy with our calls, particularly my calls, from the opening whistle. Later I heard someone yell from his bench – I thought it was the head coach but I wasn’t certain — “It’s obvious this man does not like people of color.”

When I told Gary what I’d heard and that I was going to find out who said it and kick the offender out of the game, Gary said, “That guy obviously doesn’t know the man you are, Bret. Don’t even acknowledge that kind of ignorance.”

I took Gary’s sage advice.

I had to leave officiating a couple years ago because I lacked time as my screenwriting career started to take hold. I knew I would miss interacting with the kids and would miss most (let me stress “most”) of the coaches. I knew I would miss all of my fellow officials, including Gary Stevens, my brother.

I last saw Gary at San Diego State University-Imperial Valley about a month ago. Having just finished a second bachelor’s degree, Gary was applying for the teacher credential program at SDSU-IV and came by to see me. Gary was dressed in a coat and tie and looked, and was, incredibly sharp. His demons long exorcised, Gary was the sweet soul those of us who loved him knew he really was.

We talked for about 30 minutes and Gary, being Gary, left because he said he didn’t want to take any more of my time.

When people would ask Gary how he was doing in recent years, he would say, “I’m blessed.”

But those of who really knew Gary Stevens were the ones who were truly blessed.