Gregory York Klingenberg

Eulogy for Greg
January 23, 1959 - October 20, 2018

Gregory York Klingenberg of St. Louis, Missouri, died on Saturday, October 20, 2018 of metastatic pancreatic cancer at St. Luke's hospital, three months short of his 60th birthday. It was a beautiful midwestern day filled with sunshine, the music of Vivaldi, and family by his side. Greg would say he went to Valhalla to join his father, Hans Christoph, who was lost to him in 1977. Greg never got over that.

If you knew Greg, you had to be ready for a surprise every day. Not the kind that comes wrapped in a box, but the kind that lights an epiphany in you and makes you a better person. Conversation with him could do that. His retorts were sometimes humorous, sometimes cutting, and would often escalate into an overwhelming debate punctuated by his uproarious laugh or a surprisingly intense burst of anger. In both states of emotion, something welled up inside him and the sound he emitted in either case was unexpectedly deep and booming, like a waterfall or a thunderclap. And he was funny. He had a wry humor. Sometimes he would read a news story to you, reeling you in by inserting his own additions that were so convincing you weren't sure which were the actual words of the story and which were his own.

His vast knowledge of and interest in everything from the worldly, to the mundane, to the absurd meant life with him was never boring. He liked to talk about history, politics, science, philosophy, music. And everyday things, like a great cup of coffee and a well-seasoned meal, his rules for how to pick a good movie (usually a sci-fi), his favorite car engines and motorcycles, or investing in a company that would make the next drug to cure cancer -- everything about how the world worked. He was sharp. He was truly a Renaissance man. Gourmet meals at 3:00 a.m. just because you were there and he could make a great sauce. He was so proud of his fettuccine alfredo and his eggs benedict with hollandaise and capers.

He had no patience for certain things, especially tediously bureaucratic tasks or anything superficial, but he could spend hours taking apart a machine to see how it worked. Sometimes he lost interest in putting it back together, and there made a lovely mess. His projects were all over the house. Starting his metal fabrication business gave him the perfect lab to satisfy his mechanical curiosity, and the space to hold all types of equipment. That shop satisfied an itch. In his younger days, he liked to stop at roadside flea markets in search of some well-used tools and, if the opportunity presented itself, a military history relic from WWII.

Greg's impulsivity, let's-go attitude, great wit, and crushing love of life were infectious. He wanted so much for everyone. He had a big heart. Especially for his "J-baby." After 29 years of marriage, he still brought her coffee in the mornings. In the last month from his hospital bed he sent this text to express his forever devotion:
I think of you and I know I'm still alive. You are the person my heart beats for. I want to stay on this earth with you as long as I can. Just to be amazed at how much I care for you. Every new day, that really does it for me. If things don't go completely well, I already had more than a lifetime worth of joy with you. Only a truly greedy person could think they were cheated. No matter what, I may have been the luckiest man to ever live.
He seemed invincible, but his diagnosis came late, September 23rd, and the cancer was aggressive. Already jaundiced, he knew what he was facing but continued to choose the "happy path." He fought with valor. Even in the pain of his last days, he was caring more about his family than himself. He was a romantic. He was a father, like the father he had known and loved. He was an unrelentingly generous friend. And he defended everyone against their biggest fears in themselves -- because as his father would say, "fear is ignorance," and Greg could never bear to see anyone's fear hinder their greatness.


Obituary

Greg's parents immigrated from Germany to Detroit, where he was born. He grew up on Mars Lane in Maryland Heights, Missouri with two younger sisters, an adopted half brother ten years his senior, a house full of animals, and a neighborhood brimming with boys his age, a backyard creek, and mischief. During his childhood, he had memories of watching the TV news to see a man land on the moon and body bags coming home of the soldiers who died in Vietnam. Worldly at a young age, he visited relatives in Germany, England, and Africa. His passion for cars, dirt bikes, fireworks, and 70's rock music emerged in his teen years. In 1977 he graduated from Pattonville High School after his father died, and then spent a hot summer digging ditches for a mud-jacking company before enlisting in the Marines for four years where he got to live at sea and fix Harrier jets. Afterwards, he spent time working in the auto industry. In 1989 he married his soulmate, a girl from Iowa, "where they listen to the corn grow," and shortly after earned his bachelor's degree in Management Information Systems from the University of Missouri St. Louis. For ten years he and his young family and their cat and dog spent many happy days living next door to his mom. When they could take time away, they went West or to the water in Michigan or Florida. In the course of his career, he worked as a programmer analyst for a variety of companies in the financial services and healthcare industries before starting his own metal fabrication business to ease into retirement. He enjoyed shooting the breeze with the guys in Hillsdale and old machinists who shared his passion for making something neat out of wood or metal. His goal was to cut custom metal parts to support DIY furniture builders, and to eventually build an online portal that would connect the makers' market with small machinists' shops located around the country.

Because his dad died young, Greg thought about death often. He used to say, "When I go, I want a Viking funeral. Scatter my ashes in the ocean." So we will. As told in Viking lore, the wind coming off the waves shall send his spirit to the heavens. His earthly presence will be missed.

Greg's memory will live on in those who knew him: wife Jolene Rae (Thorburn) Klingenberg and their children Nathan Michael Klingeberg and Eva Rae Klingenberg; mother Helen (Lerche) Klingenberg; sister Eva Benita (Klingenberg) Matthews, her husband Tom and three sons Cameron, Tom, and Michael; sister Iris Margaret Louise (Klingenberg) Risler and her children Nicholas and Sasha; brother Michael Meinhold; aunt Juliana (Klingenberg) Dichter, her daughter Lily, son Hans Juergen, and grandson Chase; aunt Sharon Klingenberg, her children Ron, Brian, and Shevon, and grandsons Brian and Eric; aunt Nata and uncle Roger Dyke and their children Helen, Christopher, and Erika; aunt Luba and Reiner Koch and their children Zieka and Anika; parents-in-law Bruce Richard Thorburn, Carolyn Sue Thorburn and their children Craig Eric Thorburn, Christine Marie Thorburn and her husband Ted Huang; and all Greg's friends who loved him.

Join us in celebrating Greg's life, sharing memories, feasting and toasting in his honor. A memorial gathering will be held Thursday, November 8, 2018, 4:00-7:30. Ethical Society of St. Louis 9001 Clayton Road St. Louis, MO 63117 Parking in the rear of the building. Memorial visitation in the upper level foyer. Refreshments served in the Hanke Room on the lower level. Eulogy and toast at 6:30.

Donations in Greg's memory may be made to Siteman Cancer Center. Direct gifts "to support pancreatic cancer research in memory of Gregory Klingenberg."
Mail to: Siteman Cancer Center at Washington University 7425 Forsyth Boulevard, Suite 2300 Campus Box 1204 St. Louis, MO 63105
Or to donate online, visit https://siteman.wustl.edu/contribute/giving/siteman-development-office/