Rod Beer, a longtime reader of this blog and sometimes its fiercest critic, had gone silent on me these past few months. I missed hearing from him and feared that perhaps I had written one Mary Barra missive too many. Beer didn’t have an issue with my critical view of Barra; he had just tired of reading variations of what he viewed as a worn-out theme.
While writing my critical Jamie Dimon post on Thursday, one I’m certain Beer would have approved of, a text message from Beer flashed across my computer screen. I was excited to hear from Beer and immediately stopped writing to read his message.
Regretfully, the message wasn’t from Beer but from his spouse, Julia.
Eric, I am scrolling thru Rod’s phone … he always spoke highly of your journalism and enjoyed your communications… and … I wanted you to know that the reason he stopped is because he lost his battle with end stage pancreatic cancer…I wish you well…his wife, Julie
A while back, Beer mentioned he had been diagnosed with a health issue but said he was optimistic about a positive outcome. He never mentioned that it was pancreatic cancer, or that it was late stage. My last correspondence with Beer was Monday, April 13, when I sent him a Victor Davis Hanson video commentary, one I knew Beer would enjoy.
Wow!! Powerful!
Your thoughts?
I shared my thoughts and Beer shared his.
According to his obituary, Beer died five days later, less than three months shy of his 74th birthday. He cared about the state of the world until the very end.
I’m not entirely certain how Beer and I came to know each other. It’s likely from the days when I wrote about the implosion of southeastern Michigan’s Beaumont Health, a once nationally respected regional hospital system that declined under the leadership of a CEO who cared more about profitability and gussying up the healthcare institution to sell the place rather than patient care.
The story had numerous heroes, including Anesthesia Associates of Ann Arbor, a physicians’ group that provided anesthesia care for some of Beaumont’s hospitals in less affluent areas. A4, as the firm is known, lost a lucrative contract with Beaumont because it refused to agree to staffing terms it believed were potentially harmful to patients. Beer was part of A4 for most of his professional life, although not for the Beaumont hospitals.
Beer was a big supporter of this blog, often forwarding posts he liked to friends and family and encouraging them to subscribe. He felt strongly Starkman Approved deserved a bigger audience and was always suggesting ideas and sharing articles about expanding online readership. He perceived Substack as a better platform.
Beer frequently “liked” my LinkedIn posts after I told him it helped generate traffic. That was especially gracious of him because Beer preferred to keep a low social media profile.
For a man of science, Beer was a superb grammarian, often correcting my English usage and flagging spelling and typos, which annoyed him. He was such a stickler for accuracy and detail that he’d flag errors before even finishing the post, as he wanted me to fix them before other readers possibly saw them. I’m blessed to have another reader, also a Michigan medical professional, with a keen editor’s eye and often I’d get mistake alerts almost simultaneously.
Although he was for the most part supportive, Beer wasn’t always part of the reader cheering section. In addition to taking issue with my Barra posts, Beer objected to what he viewed as snark, a comment or turn of phrase intended to mock or ridicule. While I preferred to view the style as dry wit, he wouldn’t have it even if he agreed my target was worthy of disdain. Beer once refused to circulate a post he agreed with because he said the community he associated with would be turned off by the style.
His objections to my Mary Barra posts notwithstanding, Beer shared with me months ago that his brother-in-law’s GM truck engine had failed while he was driving to Florida. I appreciated that he told me. Beer wasn’t the sort of person who ignored evidence simply because it complicated a position he had previously taken. I’ve written quite a bit about issues with GM’s truck and SUV engines, and while I was hoping the episode might make him more receptive to additional stories about that and other serious issues plaguing General Motors, he never gave me the green light.
For the most part, Beer’s criticisms were administered with supportive kindness and intended to help me improve. One night, however, he sent me a particularly harsh message. I was taken aback, and the next day he apologized, admitting he had one glass of wine too many.
Over time, Beer and I corresponded regularly, texting each other articles and posts we knew would be of interest. Beer shared my anger and distrust of corporate media, and I found it especially therapeutic sending him articles that validated our perceptions. Knowing that at least one other person viewed the media landscape the same way I did made me feel less alone in the world.
Beer and I bonded over our mutual love for dogs, and I’d sometimes forward him videos of them I found particularly moving. Beer shared last year that one of his family dogs had died, and he appreciated my repeatedly asking how he and his spouse were faring. Dog lovers understand the pain one experiences losing a canine companion.
Despite our frequent correspondence, I knew little about Beer except he was a University of Michigan trained anesthesiologist who worked at St. Joseph Mercy Hospital/Trinity Health in Brighton outside of Ann Arbor.
I also knew that Beer had a place in Montana, which was a refuge for him. He’d often disappear for weeks on end, and then resurface with an apology, saying he was “off the grid.” Beer was such a loyal reader that when he was between connecting flights on his return to Michigan, he’d read up on Starkman Approved blogs he missed.
According to the obituary posted on the Nie funeral home website, Roderick Walter Beer was pure Michigan: he was born on July 9, 1952, in Pontiac to Louis and Marian Beer.
Beer graduated from the prestigious Cranbrook School in Bloomfield Hills in 1970. He went on to earn his degree in psychology from the University of Michigan in 1974, where he was honored as a member of Phi Beta Kappa. He continued his education at the University of Michigan School of Medicine, graduating in 1978. He completed both his internship in Internal Medicine and his residency in Anesthesiology at U-M.
Rod embraced a wide range of passions. According to his obituary, he enjoyed long walks with his dogs and spent countless hours fly fishing and hunting birds and elk in the mountains of Montana. He was an avid tennis player and downhill skier. Music was also an important part of his life, and he often ended his days playing unplugged rock and roll on his guitar.
A wine enthusiast and collector, Rod also loved to travel, exploring destinations around the world as well as returning often to his beloved Montana.
Rod is survived by his spouse Julia Morris Beer, to whom he was married for nearly 50 years, two sons, Michael and Daniel, who both live in Ohio, a sister, Mary Galatis of Concord, New Hampshire, and a brother, Rick, who lives in Bloomfield Hills. He also is survived by two grandchildren and many nieces, nephews, and extended family members.
I’ve never aspired to be an “influencer” but rather just someone who wanted to attract an intelligent audience who might appreciate my contrarian viewpoints. That’s why I valued Beer’s loyalty and criticisms so much. He often didn’t agree with me, but he respected me enough not to cancel his subscription the moment he read something not to his liking.
I was honored by Beer’s loyalty and interest and will miss his correspondence and insights. I won’t promise never to write about Mary Barra again. But if and when I do, Rod Beer will be top of mind.