Extra: Uncle Mark

With Uncle Mark on his 92nd birthday,
January, 2024

My mother’s brother, Mark Schumann, just passed away. He was a Renaissance man who collected both rare guns and precious Wedgwood china. While he sold the guns, the Wedgwood remained — a testament to his exquisite taste, which he inherited from his mother, Eleanor.

At 93, Uncle Mark was a cherished link to the past. We recently shared a dinner with him, and besides being reminded of his storytelling talent, I felt as if I was looking into a mirror of the future. My mother always said I had the looks of a Schumann. I also resemble their father, Buddy.

Mark was close to my father, the brother that neither of them ever actually had. Last year at lunch at our house, Mark told a story about how he, who worked in the metal industry here in Cleveland, once went on medical rounds with Dad, who introduced his brother-in-law as “Dr. Schumann.” That might have flown at Mt. Sinai Hospital decades ago, but they would never get away with it today.

Uncle Mark was a champion of all good things. When I jokingly told him I wasn’t worthy of a blue-chip painting Joe had given me for my birthday, Mark said that was ridiculous and looked at me as if I were crazy. We deserved all the good things that came our way.

Mark also corrected my late mother’s exaggerations. He once diplomatically acknowledged that she had a complicated relationship with the truth.

For example, Mom told me that during study hall at University School, he and his friends brought the teacher’s car into the hall while the teacher snoozed.

She also told me that one night, her brother climbed to the top of a giant water tower in Beachwood to paint his name on it.

Neither of these stories was true. However, I don't think anyone would argue that he got into his fair share of mischief as a boy.

Lunch with family at Joe's and my house,
spring, 2024

In his later years, my Uncle Mark spent his time exercising, reading The Wall Street Journal, dining in and out, and, as always, entertaining friends and family with stories from a well-lived life. He disliked our cold winters and often escaped to Florida.

Uncle Mark faithfully read my blog every Thursday on his phone. I tried to talk him into getting a computer, but he could not “find a place” in his capacious home for one.

We had a meal together with him, my sister, and our spouses every six months. We spoke on the phone often. I was so grateful to have him in my life for as long as I did.

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