by Kim Maka
Growing up in San Marcos, Texas, in the 1980s was its own special type of challenge. A small university town caught between Austin and San Antonio, it mirrored our teenage years, caught between childhood and adulthood. While we had our ups and downs with school and friends, what I remember most are the adults who helped guide us through those rough times and who made the transition into adulthood easier.
Those people included Joe and Judy Koke. I first met them in 3rd grade when Judy was my Girl Scout leader. After recruiting my mom as a co-leader, Judy adopted us into her family. Jacqueline, Shawn (my sister), and I were forced together a lot, and as happens, we became friends – a status we have maintained through today.
I remember Joe being somewhat terrifying when I was a child. He was stern, with a sardonic sense of humor I didn’t usually get. But as I grew older, I learned to appreciate the truly kind soul inside the gruff exterior. When I was in high school, Joe assisted me with a biology science fair experiment that got me all the way to state. He helped me come up with the hypothesis and allowed me to use his lab equipment to run my experiment. It was the first time I had ever succeeded in a science fair project (I am more of an English kind of gal), and I have him to thank for that.
Later, when we were in college, Joe helped my sister open her first bank account when our own father wasn’t there to do so. I still remember his horror that a 20-year-old didn’t know how to write a check. He took my sister under his wing, helped develop her focus on her biology major, and fostered her growth as his lab assistant. He helped her learn how to be an adult. Whenever either of us needed anything, whether it was a trip across town or help with schoolwork, both Judy and Joe were there. They were our second parents.
Losing Judy was hard. Losing Joe is like the end of an era. I remember one of the last encounters I had with him before the series of strokes began to erode his memory. I was in Santa Fe at a State Bar program. I decided to walk across the square at lunch to see what was being sold in the open-air market and found myself passing Joe. The non-sequitur took us both by surprise. We stared at each other for a second before we realized that yes, we were both in Santa Fe on the same sidewalk at the same time. After a quick hug and briefly catching up on our lives, we went our separate ways, but I was so tickled to see him and see him doing well that it made my day.
Joe, I don’t know if I ever thanked you properly for the care and guidance you provided us throughout our early lives. You and your family are still a cornerstone of my life. I remain best friends with your daughter, and in fact, live with her today. I am so privileged to have known you, and I cherish the family you brought into this world. You will be missed, and you will always be deeply loved.
