Remembering My "Moongotcha" Uncle Geoffrey Fuchs

With Rheita and Geoffrey Fuchs in Ontario, Canada, summer of 1991

I received word from my dear cousin, Laura Lubin, that her father, my uncle Geoffrey "Jeff" Fuchs, had died on Friday evening, February 21, at the age of 94.  "It was peaceful and fast.  No struggling," she shared. 

This post is my remembrance of him.

My uncle, Geoffrey "Jeff" Fuchs and I have always had a special connection.  It's not like we spent much time together; my father, his kid brother Hanno, was a "homebody," so the rest of us in his nuclear family were, too.  

But when we did see each other, mostly on holidays or special occasions, (we were in New York, and Jeff's family made their home in Massachusetts) he and I always made a point to catch up with each other, usually by way of our special inside joke.  When I was a boy, he would take me over to a window, lean down or crouch behind me and say, "Hey Danny, look up there.  Do you see that?"

"See what?" I'd ask, playing along, beginning to giggle and brace myself.

"Right up there.  The moon."

Then he'd poke at my ribs and grab hold of me, yelling "Gotcha!" much to my delight.

Thus he became my "Moongotcha Uncle Jeff."  That's how he would sign off on cards, letters, and, later, emails.  Or he'd use it as a nickname for me, as in, "Hey there, Moongotcha!  How's it going?"

Corny? I guess.  Silly? For sure.  But it belonged to my uncle and me -- the two elder sons in our respective families -- and was, therefore, sacred.  I cherish that nonsense word to this day, and will do so for the rest of them.  

Rest in Peace

Geoffrey W. Fuchs

May 3, 1926 - February 21, 2020