the circle grows tighter

Jane Lokan
10 September 1921 - 11 February 2020

This morning I was reading the newspaper over a warmed-up chimicanga and a pot of Zen tea.

All of the usual suspects were there. Taxes. Failing levees (and levies). A peace deal with the Taliban. And, of course, more news about the coronavirus and a group of entitle-minded Americans complaining that they were being treated just like any other group of people potentially exposed to the disease.

I always look forward to reading the obituaries. I have lost track of most of the people who I have encountered in life. The obituary page is an opportunity to meet for one last time.

The Sunday Oregonian has the largest number of obituaries. Probably brecause the Sunday edition of the newspaper has the greatest number of readers. At least, that was the case when I had a paper route during the Taft presidency.

My habit is to read down the list until until I see a name I might recognize. That happens once or twice a month. I then read the full obituary. Otherwise, I just skim the names.

This morning I got to the last name on an unusually long list -- and stopped. Jane Elinor Lokan. It was a name I had not seen in a long time -- and I had not seen Jane for an even longer period.

And that is a shame. For almost a full year in 1988 Jane and I were tied together closer than man and wife.

I met Jane for the first time when I returned to Oregon after leaving the Air Force. She was heavily involved in the 1976 Reagan presidential campaign. We would then regularly run into one another at various political functions over the years.

When I decided to run for the state legislature in 1988, Jane and her friend Marjorie Hughes volunteered to take over the nuts and bolts of my campaign. Jane would manage and Marge would find a treasurer and help me with fund-raising.

They also brought along voluteers from the local Republican women's groups -- most of whom I had worked with for over a decade. Within a week, we had a full army of women volunteers who adored Margaret Thatcher, Elizabeth Dole, Jean Kirkpatrick. I had my work cut out for me to live up to those role models.

Jane ran a marvelous campaign -- doing her best to keep me on message. My mother was already very active in the campaign, but Jane realized what an asset she was. She said Mom was like "a movie star," and we needed to keep her up front at all events. We did. Jane was correct.

Without Jane's skills, our campaign would have been strapped for cash. But she was able to cut deals with providers that I thought were imopossible. A friend of hers told me I had never seen a Finn in negotiating mode. "They make Scots look like spendthrifts."

We squeaked by in a very hard-fought primary and then spent over a week waiting for the results against the two-term incumbent. Eventually, we lost -- with a handful of votes separating the candidates.

Jane was ready to mount a second camopaign. I wasn't. I had once dreamed of being a United States Senator. But the campaign had tauight me I would spend a frustrated life if I had taken that course.

Eventually, Jane won the seat for herself and served in the Oregon legislature for three two-year terms where she became an advocate for some of the same issues of our campaign together: controlling government growth and taxes, improving public education, reforming mental health and domestic violence programs, and creating a healthy climate for small businesses and job growth.

Jane had no delusions that it was possible to take Oregon back to the days of her youth in the Finnish community of Astoria. But she knew that some virtues are not diminished by the passage of time. Family. Discipline. Caring for others more than for yourself. Virtues she learned in a life-time in the Lutheran Church.

During her terms in the legislature she would use the dining table in my house to meet with some of her colleagues to develop tactics and strategy. On the surface, Jane could often seem distracted. I quickly learned that was a Columbo disguise. I know at least two lobbyists who underestimated her wiles, and paid a price for their gullibility.

There is a tendency when we speak of dead friends to turn them into something they were not. That is a shame. By idolizing them, we strip their humanity from them. And I fear that is what I am about to do.

The photograph at the top of this essay is from Jane's obituary in the newspaper. That is not how I remember her. After I left Oregon for my permanent home in Mexico, I did not have any further in-person contact with her. So, the dignified lady who almost reached her century mark is not one of my memories.

But this is the way I like to remember her.

Jane in campaign mode. Trying to make a difference. Interested in an Oregon where things could be better for everyone.

Of course, she played other important roles. Mother of six children. Bread winner. Political consultant. Public servant. Proving to others that it was possible to have both an active public and private life -- just like her role models.

And now, To the refuge of the earth, we entrust our friend's body. To the protection of our God in Heaven, we entrust her soul. To ourselves, we entrust her spirit and the principles she lived by. 

We are going to miss you, Jane.