Hank Combellick

My uncle Henry Combellick passed away on June 28. Many of his loved ones gathered to celebrate his life and attend mass to honor and pray for him in Tucson, Arizona. A beloved father, son, brother, uncle, nephew, cousin, and friend, Hank will now be remembered as a teacher, poet, and storyteller—and for his loyalty, humor, and authenticity; his uncompromising nature; his solidarity with outcasts and the downtrodden of society; and his love of animals. Hank was an extremely curious and intelligent man, and he possessed great knowledge of many subjects. We will always remember his love of sports and music, as well as his hatred of conformity, convention, and pretense. Hank could not be broken or bought—this is the spirit and passion that drove his life.

As his family and friends, we will remember him for all of this and so much more. We will be forever grateful for his unconditional love.

Andrew Christian's Reflection:

Hank will be remembered as my crazy uncle. He’s the first person I think of when people mention their eccentric family members because Hank was the prime example of one, and he was mine. There’s a lifetime of memories that solidify this in my mind.

Like the time he took a pre-teenage Luke and myself fishing to the reservoir in 90 degree heat and only brought beer. Or the time I visited him and Joe and in the morning he made his own cereal by adding raisins and granola because he insisted this way you could get as many raisins as you wanted. Or the times he would visit my dad and they’d smoke cigars and drink beers in the backyard telling stories for hours. Or when grandma, Marielle, Bobby, and I visited him in Maine where bought a house with no working bathroom. When he had to go, he’d walk next door to his neighbor’s. Or the times when he would explain to me how he was an expert in both midget bowling and midget tossing. He insisted that everyone involved was a willing participant and that helmets and pads were required. I think I believed it for so long because I thought, it was the 70s…that seems possible. Or the time I went up to my mom’s house when I was 18 and Hank was unexpectedly in my kitchen and when he asked me if I had any “grass” and I said no, he called me a fuckin’ square. Or the time he took Joe and me to the beach house early one morning and we each had to guess what time the sun was going to rise up over the mountains. Or time I sent him some of my poems and writing and he read every page with notes on each one and included a letter that I still keep.

Even as a grown man, I still think of him as a larger than life figure. For some men, I think this is a measure of success. Hank is remembered, in my mind, more for the stories, the theatrics, the attitude, the persona he created for himself than anything he did specifically. This is the long shadow that he still casts.

I honestly don’t know if even half of the stuff he told me was true, I just knew it was funny or important, and most of the time, both.

Hank will be remembered as a living embodiment of counter culture. He did not walk, talk, or think like he was supposed to. He didn’t do much of anything like he was supposed to. Hank will be remembered as Hank. There was no one like him, and I think he knew that. I also think that was on purpose. He didn’t want to be like anybody else. He accomplished this easily. It’s fair to say that he was a slave to no one, a hip philosopher, a sultan of swagger, a professor of menthols, a manic music lover, an old wild poet, and most important, my crazy uncle.