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<em>John Frederick Shelby </em>was a Renaissance man. He was a soldier who achieved success in many other endeavors for four decades. After John left the Army in 1963, he went to the University of Michigan Business School and obtained his MBA. He worked for the <em>Chicago Tribune</em> for a few years and then decided to move to France, just for the adventure of it. He found a position at the <em>International Herald Tribune</em> (<em>IHT</em>) in Paris and eventually rose to become one of its business managers.</p>
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Most of John’s adult life was spent in France, a country he came to love almost as much as his native land. He lived on houseboats on the Seine near the Pont Neuf, and visits to his houseboats, the last named <em>Papillon</em>, always involved exposure to the diverse group of intellectuals who congregated around John.</p>
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In the ’80s, John took a leave of absence from the <em>IHT </em>and started a barge charter business that toured the canals of France. He loved playing the role of an innkeeper as he charmed his guests with stories, good food, and beautiful scenery at a very leisurely pace interrupted only by vintage, manually operated locks. In 1990, John left the <em>IHT </em>and moved to Trouville, a small village on the Normandy coast, where he became a successful entrepreneur and an accomplished artist and sculptor.</p>
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John’s love of people led him to open a restaurant, called “The American Place,” featuring great American comfort food. In doing so, John again attracted an interesting, vibrant group of friends. He also opened a sculpture studio, where he created stone works of art for local projects and made wooden plaques for local businesses to advertise their products. John was fully integrated into the local population, and the fishermen, fish vendors, shopkeepers, businessmen, and restaurant owners knew him as the gregarious American who loved to sit down and have an informal, personal chat. The strength of these relationships was evidenced by the support these friends gave to John in his last, difficult months.</p>
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One of the John’s favorite memories was of the 50th anniversary of D-Day, when one of his roommates led a group of D-Day veterans on a two-week remembrance tour. After the veterans revisited their embarkation points in England, his roommate took the group to Normandy. As this was John’s home at the time, he volunteered to be the tour guide for the three days of festivities and remembrances at St. Mere Eglise and on the invasion beaches. John was a wonderful guide. He gathered sand from the various invasion beaches, placed it into small jars sealed with bright red sealing wax, labeled each one, and gave the jars of sand to the returning veterans as souvenirs of the beaches. Everyone was impressed with his knowledge of the area and touched by his love of people and his enthusiasm for being with the group. Little did we know that, upon our return home, a letter from John would be waiting for us, telling us that he was dying of cancer. John had not wanted to burden his classmates and new friends with this knowledge as they remembered the D-Day anniversary.</p>
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John had often said, “The Irish, I am told, have a party when there is death, but unlike the Irish, I am going to join the party and dance on my own tombstone.” Before he died, John did just that. He held his own party and danced on the tombstone he himself had carved from local stone. One of his classmates, many of his European friends, and his family members joined John for this event. He was the only one at the party who had dry eyes throughout the entire evening. It was clear that he would be deeply missed.</p>
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John’s final effort, like many other endeavors he had taken on in his life, was focused on a few good friends and family. John traveled to the United States, visited his roommates and family, returned to Trouville, and died several days later, surrounded by friends; his two young children, Justin and Clemence; and their mother, Marie Pierre.</p>
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We bid farewell to a great friend with a poignant entry from a classmate’s journal, written upon returning from his last visit with John in September 1994: John Shelby is going to die soon.</p>
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I came to France and to Trouville to see him, as much to show him that he was important enough to do that, as for any other reason. How can it be that he will be gone soon—a soldier, an American in France, and a friend? How sad it is that we did not know him better. The significant event for us may not be his passing, but rather how his passing reminds us that those friends can be taken away. And that time spent with friends should not be squandered doing less important things.</p>
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Farewell, good friend.</p>
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<em>Your roommates and family</em></p>