I knew Jon Huntsman. I was a friend of Jon’s.
Of course, everyone who met Jon Huntsman was convinced she or he was a friend of Jon’s. He smiled at you with that incredible Huntsman smile. He looked at you with those friendly eyes. And he reached out to shake your hand as if he had been waiting for you. (Recently, when his right arm became swollen, discolored and painful, he extended his left hand.) It seemed as if he needed to connect verbally, visually and physically to make sure you knew he was your friend.
My wife and I occasionally crossed paths with Jon and Karen at a small restaurant in Foothill Village. Sometimes the Huntsmans were with other members of the family. Sometimes they were with one or two friends. Always they were with dear Markie, their youngest son. When I went over to say hello, I never got the feeling that I was interrupting. Instead, Jon and Karen made me feel that they would have been disappointed had I not reached out to them.
For a few years, I served on a committee to help select winners of the annual Huntsman teaching awards. Karen Huntsman capably guided the committee, and one of the Huntsman daughters played a key role. Almost every year at our final selection meeting, Jon came in to thank us for our effort.
First, he expressed his love and appreciation for his wife and his daughter. Then came the smile, the individual look, the handshake and the mention of each name. The same was true at the annual banquet given for Huntsman Award winners, past and present. I’m sure every one of the award winners left the banquet feeling that they were friends of Jon and Karen Huntsman.
Last year at the dedication of the new Huntsman Primary Children's and Families' Cancer Research Center, Jon was struggling a bit, physically, but you wouldn’t notice it. After the ceremony, he stood in the hot sun talking, smiling, shaking hands with everyone who came by. Karen and his aides urged him to go inside where it was cool and he could sit down. He ignored their pleas.
Finally, I went over to him, took his somewhat healthy left arm, and said: “C’mon, Jon, we need to go inside and sit down.” He agreed, reluctantly, probably because he thought he was helping an aged friend.
I didn’t know Jon Huntsman especially well. We rarely had contact. But, as indicated above, our paths crossed now and then.
When my wife died, Jon and Karen were first in line at her viewing. It was not easy for him. He had a difficult time getting around. And I certainly did not expect to see him there. But Jon and Karen offered their condolences and paid their respects.
As they were leaving, Jon asked, “Is there anything you need?”
Of course, I said, “No.”
Because Jon Huntsman had already given me the most important thing any human being can give another — friendship.
Don Gale.
Don Gale has been writing about local events for 50 years.