John Frederick Rivers

John Frederick Rivers of Orleans, MA, could build a house using nothing more than a box of vintage tools he bought at a garage sale. He would have preferred it to be furnished with Tiffany table lamps, oil paintings of ships, and a baby grand piano with a duet bench long enough for him to play alongside his cherished only grandchild, Harlowe Isabella. A lifelong dog lover, the scene would only be complete with a rescued pup snoozing nearby. John's eternal hunt for obscure treasures extended well beyond the estate sales where he favored watching the sun rise on Saturday mornings. He acquired lifetimes of wisdom through a tolerance of ambiguity and an open-hearted embrace of all philosophies contributing to the sentient human experience. He was a true Renaissance man whose passions were infinite and eclectic. He reveled in his role as a teacher and a mentor who earned the respect and adoration of his colleagues and hundreds of students whom he encouraged by challenging the ethos of conventional public school opportunities in his beloved small town by the sea, and to whom he was simply "John". He was also Dad, Papa, Umo, Uncle, Johnny, Fiddle, and on more than one occasion, Santa. Husband of fifty-four years to Jamila, father to Tahani and Matthew, brother to Richard and Michael, John is survived by his entire immediate family except his late parents Ann and Frederick, graciously testing the waters to make sure they’re warm enough before the rest of us get there.

As a teacher, John understood that a great education doesn't necessarily end with a graduation ceremony. We were blessed to learn many valuable lessons from John over his 81 years, among them: that every shirt is an opportunity for self-expression, to never sleep under a skylight during a thunderstorm, and that family matters most. Being a present, sturdy and loving husband and father were the cornerstones of his identity, and the way he navigated his journey through early fatherhood made a profound impact on the futures of his children. John may have been a Gemini, but water was his element. As a former lifeguard and a surfer, the ocean made its way into his DNA, a legacy he passed along to his son. A born and bred waterman, Matthew is owner of the Pump House Surf Shop. If he and his dad weren’t surfing the Cape together, they could be found chasing waves and adventures elsewhere in the world. John’s connection to wild spaces and the necessity of preserving them provided the inspiration for his daughter’s livelihood and lifestyle. Tahani is an environmental protection lawyer, a nature enthusiast, and a mountaineer. John never denied his children access or exposure to the world around them, a gift that has kept on giving and to which both kids have devoted their chosen pursuits.

He was a fan of Zen Buddhism, mischief, quality over quantity, and any quest that led him down a path of discovery, whether ordinary or sublime. He pioneered the Italian exchange program and met his European missions with the same exuberance he brought to summer jaunts up the Maine coast with his family, and there was never a man more democratic in his appreciation that camper vans and catamarans are perfectly acceptable modes of transport. A lover and not a fighter, the only combat in which he ever engaged was the battle to stick around longer.

We can imagine John now at peace with his best friends and bonus brothers, Vic and Minty, tucking into a Lebanese feast at a joyous reunion, never missing a dawn patrol where sand meets surf in a timeless ebb and flow, fortified with a new lightness that has freed his foot and given him flight. On the shore, Charlie, Mertle and Lulu await his return, and where the horizon parts, Gram and Gramp Taylor usher him into utopian meadows reminiscent of Taylor Farm, where he and Jamila first fell in love with the Cape.

In lieu of flowers, donations to the Springfield Boys & Girls Club - https://sbgc.org/ways-to-give/, a deep source of esteem to the young pool diver in John and his brothers during their boyhoods, are appreciated. Above all, John would ask that you do something neighborly and unsolicited for a stranger today, that you reach for one another, that you resume your true studies, and that you go out on a limb without a compass. He leaves behind countless broken hearts humbled by the quiet enormity of a life so authentically lived. The space he occupies in our hearts is full.

'Life is the childhood of our immortality." -Goethe