A Remembrance from the Family of Dennis Noricks

Willard Dennis Noricks of Canton, Michigan, died Friday, April 30. Dennis, who was born in Detroit, recently celebrated his 78th birthday, though he regularly told anyone who would listen that he was "older than dirt." He died from COVID-19 after 20 days in the hospital – and after being fully vaccinated.

Dennis was the son of Willard (Bill) and Edith Noricks and brother of Sharon (Dick) Wagner. Dennis is survived by Joan, his wife and true partner of 48 years; their three children Jeff (Jennifer) Noricks, Julie (Scott) Isgrigg, and Rebecca Noricks (Mike Jones); and his four treasured grandchildren Grace and Megan Isgrigg and Zachary and Elizabeth Noricks.

A Real Piece of Work – An Attempt to List the Ways

Full-time, lifelong devotee, friend, source of laughter, and partner in every way to his wife Joan.

His own man. Dennis knew what he was about, had an unwavering sense of right and wrong, and he would not budge even against a firehose worth of pressure. This was, of course, exasperating beyond description at times. It also made him the target of much good-natured family teasing, which he took as well as he gave.

Responsible, honorable, steady. He acted justly, loved mercy, and walked humbly in faith. He would say that "he did what he had to do," whether it was reporting for duty after being drafted into the Army during the Vietnam War, facing an illness, or taking any honest work he could get if he'd been laid off. Dennis's sense of responsibility to provide for and protect his family meant he did work every day that took its toll on his body. He worked 30 years as a union journeyman electrician through IBEW Local 58.

Sage. His children and plenty of others benefited from such wisdom as, "Don't mess with the bull or you'll get the horns." As well as this reminder of the cure-all of good hygiene, "If you took a bath once in a while, you wouldn't have that problem." And finally, "Stay out of the bars."

Grampa. Being a grandfather brought a light out of Dennis and gave him a fresh and eager audience for his antics. His grandchildren reflected that light back at him.

Collector of miracles. He survived a construction accident in 1981 that crushed his skull and somehow left him with only minor nerve damage in his face. In a dramatic encounter with the table saw in his woodshop, he shortened his fingers and still managed to call an ambulance because he was home alone. After kidney failure that put him on dialysis (presumably for the rest of his life), Dennis defied all the odds and recovered to the extent that he no longer required dialysis.

Kitchen soloist (and inventive lyric re-writer) of such melodies as "O Sole Mio," "You Are My Sunshine," one about a girl who's "got freckles on her but she is pretty," and many, many Johnny Mathis and Bee Gees songs.

Joan's sous chef. He was the peeler of potatoes, apples, peaches, and tomatoes. He washed the dishes and scrubbed the pans (even if he grumbled that she "used every dish in the kitchen"). He was the tireless hand-cranker of the old homemade ice cream maker.

Giver of nicknames. His kids were "rugrats," his grandchildren were "scamps" and "rascals." Anyone who earned his affection – especially the nurses who cared for him in the hospital and the servers at his favorite local diners -- was "kiddo" or "buddy." Dennis's judge of character meant that there were those who did not earn a place in his affection, in which case those individuals might be called an "old screwball." (If you're reading this, it probably wasn't you.)

Saturday afternoon watcher (and re-watcher) of John Wayne and Clint Eastwood Westerns – with the volume up too loud.

Woodworker. He made beautiful furniture, he turned one-of-a-kind pens and wooden bowls on his lathe. He gave as much of his work away as he could. We don't yet know all the ways that we will miss Dennis's lifetime of accumulated knowledge of tools, fixing broken things, improving how things worked, let alone his skill for creating beautiful new things.

Coach and giver. If he could teach what he knew or do what he knew how to do for others, he did. He coached baseball and women's softball. He taught anyone who expressed even a whisper of interest in woodworking how to use his tools. He gave his tools away if he thought someone would use and enjoy them. And always, on the quiet, we knew him to give cars, furniture, and dignity to people who needed a hand.

Professional leg puller. Along with so many other reasons, his grandchildren will miss the annual promise that they would receive only dirty socks for Christmas.

Lifelong baseball lover. Award-winning snorer (though it's debatable whether that's an accomplishment worthy of an award). Campfire tender. Chocolate malt connoisseur. Smiler at babies in restaurants. Husband. Dad. Grampa. Friend.

Dennis, the Golden Rule, and COVID

Dennis contracted COVID after he was fully vaccinated – and after 14 months of taking every precaution to protect himself and others from the virus. We will never understand how this happened. He experienced multiple miracles in his life. That COVID was the invisible thief that took his life adds to our grief. While in the hospital, Dennis spoke repeatedly and passionately about the insult he felt from those who deny the power of either the virus or the importance of the vaccine. Though in the end Dennis still succumbed to COVID, it was his vaccination that gave us any hope outside of another miracle that he had any possibility of pulling through. Dennis lived by the Golden Rule; if ever there were a time when we could apply it, it is now. All of us can look after the welfare of others while also caring for ourselves by receiving the vaccine.

Memorial Gifts

The healthcare workers and staff at St. Joseph Mercy Hospital in Ann Arbor cared for Dennis with compassion and excellence more times than we would have wished in the last 10+ years. We invite those who are compelled to make a memorial gift to direct it to the SJMHS COVID-19 Colleague Emergency Assistance Fund at St. Joe's Ann Arbor.

Gifts can be made online at giving.stjoeshealth.org/ann-arbor, or by check mailed to Trinity Health-Michigan, P.O. Box 7410140, Chicago, IL 60674-0140, noting "Willard Dennis Noricks" on the memo line.