Gregory Greenside

But if you were born and raised in Evanston, or spent much time here, you were completely familiar with the person universally recognized as ”That Guy”.

To refresh your memory, “That Guy” is the fellow with the pronounced limp and the over-sized personality, who would flag you down on a busy Evanston street corner, and bend your ear about bicycle safety. “Wear a helmet!” he would bellow.

Or on tobacco – another of “that guy’s” hot topics. The would-be evangelist could easily get into your space, wag a finger at you, and utter these choice words of advice: “Don’t smoke, don’t smoke, don’t smoke.”

Then he would tell you his life story.

The salient facts of his history are chilling: suffered a traumatic brain injury at the age of thirty while biking without a helmet; spent five weeks in an induced coma; lost many of his mental faculties and much of his physicality; lost a promising career, a wife and two dogs; was saddled with severe short term memory loss and Aphasia.

And that about sums up “That Guy”, except to tell you his real name was Gregory David Greenside, and on Friday, July 8th, at age 81, he quietly passed away.

Sure, you’re thinking, a sad, sad story. But for the fact that Greg possessed the one overriding quality that defined him as a human being: his uncanny ability to remain happy and to spread joy to everyone he knew.

“The guy eats Prozac for breakfast,” observed one of his doctors. “Nobody laughs harder or endures the challenges of a difficult life better than Greg Greenside.”

Greg’s situation was complex. His unique brain injury left him partially whole, yet severely damaged. He could function in the real world doing simple tasks, but mostly he lived in his own private space.

Oddly, he developed a passion for Civil War history, often pouring over books he could never comprehend. He collected Civil War figurines by the dozens, and spent hours in his apartment, organizing his treasures and displaying them with precision care.

Greg invented another talent. He was an expert at bypassing his own infirmities. Because of his severe memory loss, for example, he was totally unable to remember your name. So, he awarded you a new one.

If you wore blue and white stripes, he called you, “Sally the sailor”.

If you showed up wearing red, you were a Confederate.

And the ultimate compliment, if he wanted to express his deep and abiding love for you, your name was changed forever to (wait for it) “Capone”.

Now it’s the aftermath, and with death comes the work of filling out forms and other documents. As his brother-in-law and loyal sentinel for nearly 50 years, I’m responsible for those papers.

They’re fairly routine, easy to complete, except for the lone question that deals with next of kin. That one gave me pause. Until the answer literally smacked me in the head.

It’s you, the people of this amazing community. You are Greg’s next of kin.

On his behalf, then, let me offer a blanket thank you to the good citizens of Evanston.

Thank you to the kind and compassionate landlords who watched over Greg at the various places he called home: the Library Plaza Hotel, The King Home, Westminster Place.

Thank you to the police and firemen who pulled Greg from harm’s way on more than several occasions.

Thank you to the doctors, nurses and caregivers who showered Greg with devotion.

Thanks to the funny and cool staffers at the Evanston YMCA, including Tina Fey, who wrote about Greg in her book, Bossy Pants.

And most of all, thanks to the everyday Evanston citizens, the folks who listened patiently to Greg’s oft-repeated stories without ever rolling their eyes, who gave him love, and respect, and helped him preserve dignity, throughout his life.

Greg thanks each of you from the bottom of his heart and offers up these final words to help you remember him by:

“Wear a helmet, and don’t smoke, don’t smoke, don’t smoke.”

Jan Zechman

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