A Brother to Ride the River with

My heart is heavy. I’ve lost my twin, my beloved brother. For nearly 70 years, he was always there for me.

Only 19 months apart, Rhys and I were on the same wavelength from the first—playing trucks and cars in the dirt under a tree, exploring the woods, spending hours taming wild cats, coming home late for dinner. Though we weren’t actual twins, we looked like we were. Born with a hole in his heart (successfully fixed at age 7), Rhys may not have grown as much as he might have, so as children we were the same size for a long time. And same color hair, same eyes, same gentle spirit.

As teenagers, we became hippies together, embracing the counterculture in all its glory. In 1969, at the huge anti-war March on Washington, we carried candles for dead soldiers. Both of us remember the demonstration as a life-changing experience. At our high school in St. Croix in the US Virgin Islands, where my parents moved us in 1970, we started a chapter of the Committee of Responsibility, raising money for war-wounded Vietnamese children. We also spent a lot of time snorkeling, body surfing, climbing the drive-in screen, partying on Grassy Point, and playing with our dog, Shalom. We graduated from high school together (I managed to skip two grades in my school career; subconsciously, I’m sure I did it so I could graduate with Rhys!).

Throughout the rest of our lives, we most often lived near each other, beginning after high school when Rhys went to the University of Maine and I went to Franconia College in New Hampshire. After he graduated with a two-year degree in forestry and I decided to take a break from school, we moved to Portland, Oregon, hitching a ride across country with a driver we got through an underground radio ride board. In Portland, Rhys worked construction and I waitressed. We hung out at Quality Pie (a 24-hour dive), celebrated holidays and birthdays, and bought a portable radio for music, which we later passed back and forth when we lived in separate places, hiding it for the other to find.

We lived together in San Francisco too, on Russian Hill—Rhys, Mary, and I. I was very sad when they moved to St. Croix and then Wisconsin. In those years, we flew to visit each other when we could. I was thrilled when they moved back to California. We have shared our lives ever since.

I’m remembering conversations I had with Rhys, from life issues to the state of the world to jokes. Everyone who knew him knows he had a great sense of humor. His favorite protest sign at the anti-Trump demonstrations was “I’ve seen smarter cabinets at Ikea.” Injustice and nonethical behavior incensed him. His thoughtful approach to the world was reflected in his goal for interactions with people: “that they walk away feeling good.”

I talked to him almost every day and now I’m facing life without him. The pain of the loss is difficult to bear, but I feel incredibly blessed to have had the kind of brother-sister relationship Rhys and I had. It was truly remarkable.

Rhys, thank you for riding the river with me. I’ll love you always.

Through all the decades I’ve always considered Rhys and Mary family. Too many great memories of Rhys doing so much together over the years; the golfing, the parties, shooting hoops, playing cards, working together, vacationing together, and always having fun! 

Love you Rhysers!!!

Rhys was warm, kind and generous. We remember lots of joy and laughter and delicious meals with him and Mary at their homes in Esparto and Palm Desert. Once, when we stopped overnight in Palm Desert, Rhys and Mary set up camp beds for us, assuring us that the beds were way more comfortable than they looked. We laughed, and they were.

Our hearts hurt. Sending love to Mary, Alex, Stephanie and the rest of the Marohn family.

💗 Scott and Mella

How does one choose which story to tell when trying to commemorate and celebrate the spirit of Rhys Marohn?? After much reflection, one memory keeps rising to the forefront, perhaps because it so perfectly captures his generosity of spirit, and a time of year when hosting others in a time of darkness and drawing them in to the warmth and light of one’s physical and spiritual hearth forges memories which transcend time and distance.

On a cold Wisconsin winter evening many years ago, during an annual holiday party hosted at the Marohn’s lovely antique farm house, Rhys came to personify Charles Dickens’ “Spirit of Christmas Present.” A feast of delicacies and a myriad of beverages filled tables to the point just shy of (if not exceeding) ridiculousness. Rhys was in his element, passing from guest to guest, filling the night with his laughter, warmth and joy. I have never seen a happier man than he was that evening.

Sometime after midnight when all guests were beyond satiated and satisfied, Rhys stepped aside from our conversation and proceeded to pull the largest and most beautifully glazed ham I have ever seen out of the oven. I’m not certain whether it was Dave Michel or I who then asked “what the f*#! is that?” This set off one of the classic Rhys (and or) Mary laughing jags- which all of us know are: unrelentingly contagious, a bit scary while you are begging them to stop in hope of catching your own breath, and as the tears are wiped from one’s eyes- bring you to the point of yearning for a post-coital cigarette- even if you have never smoked a day in your life. For many years to follow, merely bringing up the memories of that evening, and particularly the revealing of the “1 AM twenty pound ham,“ brought about much laughter-often to the point of once again wiping tears from our eyes.

Later that evening after having caught his breath, Rhys quoted a dear friend of ours- “Simo” who was fond of saying “too much is just enough.” In that moment, the spirit of The Rhys Marohn as I have always known him and will forever remember him is manifest. Rhys was his happiest - he sometimes referred to this state as his “bad (but nevertheless happy) monkey-” whilst he was being excessively generous and enthusiastic in celebrating the joys and the blessings of his life with others.

Sadly, at this time I am forced to accept that both he and Simo were wrong. There was no such thing as having “too much” of his generosity as a host and friend, nor of his capacity to celebrate life, and most devastatingly; of my ability to just once more experience the light, warmth and joy he embodied that particular night in person.

(But man… what a night!!)

Godspeed on the next part of the journey Rhys Marohn. 

Rhys instantly welcomed me with open arms into his beloved family. I am eternally grateful to have shared the past 19 years of my life with him. Rhys and Mary graciously hosted our wedding at their recently acquired property in rural Esparto. They had bought a fixer-upper of course, and the amount of work necessary to prepare for such a large event would have seemed insurmountable and broken most ordinary couples. But Rhys and Mary are no ordinary couple. They worked tirelessly to ensure that everyone had a magical experience, and it was a fantastic celebration.

Rhys approached life with an enthusiasm that was admirable and endearing. Whether it was drinking wine or coffee, playing guitar, golf, or cards Rhys was a joy to be around. Throughout the twists and turns of this century from 2008 to 2016 and 2020, Rhys kept the puns coming and always put those around him at ease. I’m forever thankful for his love and kindness.