Rich Krumme died the other day. Most of you don’t know him. He farmed outside of
Des Moines, Iowa, near the small town of St. Marys, far from stoplights and Starbucks. His farm was just off a curving gravel road, on the other side of a pond, up on a small rise. Livestock and hay were all I ever saw him work. Whenever I showed up he could be found standing near his barn, silver hair trimmed and combed, collared shirt tucked into jeans, and his eyes bright behind the frames of his glasses. A handsome man for sure, but any such observation would merit no consideration from him and perhaps a mild distrust. A good man? Now that is something to talk about.

Oh yeah, he was also the long-time, Editor-in-Chief of Successful Farming magazine . . . and there was that Sixth Degree blackbelt in Tae Kwon Do too. 

“Kihap,” Rich yelled as he smashed his bloodied knuckles down toward the three stacked bricks. This was not his first attempt at breaking through the blocks, and there are few things worse than bringing all your power and energy up through your feet, then whipsawing that power from your hips and waist, and finally spiraling that tornado down your arm and out your first two knuckles with a resounding ….. thud???! And the failed attempt sends all that power back up your arm and straight to your brain that starts gonging like a church bell on Sunday morning. Ouch! Your first recognizable thought is that you won’t be doing that again. Ever.

But Rich does it again. Of course. His bloody knuckles smash through the three blocks. Then, with no dance of joy and barely a smile, he looks at me and says: “I think I’m ready.”

One of the tenets of Tae Kwon Do is that a person should strive for an indomitable spirit. Indomitable spirit sounds like something a comic character possesses along with X-ray vision or the ability to leap high buildings. General Choi Hong Hi, in his book Taikwon-do, describes indomitable spirit as “shown when a courageous person and his principles are pitted against overwhelming odds.” Mmmm. I don’t know if that is helpful. How about a more Brené Brown type of approach? Like, a person has indomitable spirit when he or she is willing to accept a difficult challenge, persevere when it is darn hard, risk people’s negative opinion, gamble on love. Rich Krumme had that kind of indomitable spirit tattooed on his soul. 

I didn’t know this about Rich until I did.

Rich and I were practicing Tae Kwon Do back in the late 1980’s. We were sparring — fighting without hurting each other, not counting the bruises. Suddenly Rich said that he didn’t feel so hot. 

“Really?” I said.

“I think I might be having a heart attack.”

I didn’t quite believe it. 

We headed out to my car. Rich was in more pain. I drove him to the hospital. Rich’s only words to me: “Could you drive a little faster?”

Yup, a massive heart attack.

The next day I was with Rich at the hospital.

“The doctors say I have at most 10 years to live,” Rich told me as if explaining that he had to pick up some milk at Hy Vee. Rich’s own father had died very young of a heart attack. What does a hospital visitor say to the news of mortality? “Bummer”?

Hah. The doctor’s didn’t know Rich. Rich immediately signed up for the Dean Ornish program, followed the diet, the exercises, the meditation, the spiritual component . . . and voila, this man showed that his indomitable spirit was still intact. He was ferocious in the face of death.

But that was nothing.

A son needed help. So he and his wife, Marge, helped. They signed on to raise a grandchild — with all that entails. Parents again. And not so young. But I never heard Rich mention anything but love. Listen, Rich loved all his grandchildren (and great-grandchildren). And he and Marge devoted the rest of their lives to them. And when Marge died in 2015, Rich continued to carry the water through good times and bad. 

Rich told me this summer that he was having difficulty with his breathing. But what he wanted to talk about was his kids. Of course he did. What did I think? What about this?  What was best? In other words, he worried about those he loved and wanted to make their lives better. And then Rich said, “How are you, Joe?”

And now Rich has died. Over 30 years after our drive to the hospital, and 20 years after the doc’s prediction. There is no longer a handsome, silver-haired man waiting at the end of the curving gravel road, on the other side of the pond, up on a small rise. But I like to think that his indomitable spirit is still here, in the air, free to anyone who wants to reach out and grab a handful. 

May Rich rest in peace.

Joe