In Memory of the Woz

Well, I survived. It was a really beautiful, simple ceremony. I talked and Art's family talked and there were full military honors - Taps and everything.  He would have been very proud and touched - even though he didn't want a funeral service.  I didn't cry, but my voice did begin to break up a few times. Art was a special guy. Here are the words that I shared:

"On my first day of work at DHEC 9 years ago, I found out that I would be sharing a small, 9x12, windowless office with my new boss, Art Wozniak.  I learned quickly that Art was not a man of too many words. That he actually preferred instant coffee, he always sat at the back of every meeting room, and he knew of every greasy spoon restaurant in the state of South Carolina. And over the years, I would see all of the traits that people used to describe him over the past week: he was honest and direct. Very smart, authentic and just a really good guy. 

Art was a leader - this probably stems from his military background.  Strong leaders begin to earn respect by being knowledgeable. During graduate school at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Art worked in a Biosafety Level 4 lab at the CDC.  If you don’t know what that means, think really bad stuff like smallpox or Ebola. He was a competent microbiologist, virologist, and parasitologist, and enjoyed studying vector-borne diseases. He even just recently told me that he wanted to get back in the field and trap mosquitoes again. You can always tell a true scientist in that they often view lab or field work as therapy.

He devoured books - history, management, science - and would often bring them to me to read.  I hate to admit that I rarely made it through the first few chapters, which may be why he eventually began marking the important parts for me. He was proud of his work in public health and took it very seriously, and like all of the people who stand out to me as experts, public health was not only his work, but one of his many hobbies as well. Just a few weeks ago he wrote to me in an email that he had found the grave of our lab building namesake, Dr. James A. Hayne in an old cemetary at St. John's Episcopal Church in Congaree. He sure did know a lot about Southern History for a guy from Wisconsin.

He was knowledgeable about so many things but, as one of his co-workers said so well in a letter to me this week: “He had a unique combination of common sense and expertise, and he didn’t let being really smart get in the way of his talking straight.”  And talk straight he did.  Often saying things that others were thinking, but were afraid to say. It was shocking for me at first, but after a while I came to expect it.

You always knew exactly where Art stood. And one of many things I respected him for? You knew exactly where we were going.  Art was a decision maker and a “lets get it done” type of guy.  I would rather someone make a wrong decision, than make no decision at all.  And I appreciated that I could tell him when I thought he was crazy, and he didn’t hold it against me. Once in a while, he might even listen.  And he was certainly never too proud to admit that he was wrong. But more times than not, his decisions were sound. 

And Art wasn’t all business all the time. He was a funny guy. He had this dry, and often irreverent sense of humor.  He once told a young Epidemiologist that if she misused her access to patient information that he would find her car and burn it. And would you believe that he won a DHEC Health Services talent show? He wasn’t at all crazy about participating, but he was a good sport and came up with an act that I must admit I was a little skeptical of when he described it, but it was a riot.  It involved the song “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” and a sock puppet that his talented wife Laurie made, that I believe had a behind.

Perhaps what impressed me more than his ability to make decisions and his sense of humor was how he cared for and related to others - particularly the people who worked for him. He was fair, he gave credit where it was due and was an advocate for his staff.  Whenever I covered for him when he was out of town, he would always write me an email or send a facebook message that said I was doing a nice job. He took the time to learn about me and my family and was genuinely interested. He celebrated with us some of the biggest milestones of our lives: our marriage, buying our first house, having kids. I always enjoyed his unique perspective on all of these things.

And, he went the extra mile.  This week a former employee wrote me upon hearing of his death:

“I will always remember the personal investment he made in my family, by showing up at the hospital every day while I was in ICU after giving birth to my son, when we were given no chance of survival. What a huge impact that made on me and the rest of my family.”

And that’s it. He made an impact.  Sometimes he did it just by doing the right thing and practicing the Golden Rule.  Sometimes he made an impact purposefully as a technical expert and public servant. Having watched him work for the last 9 years, I can say that in just about everything he did, Art sought to make an impact.  Not to build himself up, because that wasn’t him, but rather in an attempt to do the right thing. And he did attempt to do what he thought was right: when it was uncomfortable, when it was unpopular, and even when it got him in trouble. 

And isn’t that what we all really want when we reach the end of our lives? To have lived with integrity? To have consistently acted upon our beliefs and our values at all times?

After we shared an office for 2 years, Art became the Bureau Chief and he moved out of  “our” office. And I didn’t expect that I would be lonely, but I was.  And now, I find that I am lonely once again. Except this time I can’t call and ask for advice or tell him what outrageous thing my kids did last night or ask what he has growing in his garden this year. But as my mentor, Art left a permanent fingerprint on my professional life. As my friend, he left a permanent fingerprint on my personal life. And I can carry those with me forever."