Monday, October 26, 2009
Horace Mann Homecoming Thank You
A million thank yous to Horace Mann would never do justice to what Tom Kelly, Melissa Parento, the School, and the Varsity Football Team did for Jonathan and our Family at Homecoming this year. The game was dedicated to Jonathan’s legacy, the team all wore his number on their helmets and retired the "32" jersey for the season. Many of Jonathan’s teammates, including his co-Captain wrote the most wonderful and touching letters that were read to the team before the game for inspiration, and stood with our family on the field. And the most amazing gift of all – after the dedication and the moment of silence, the Team Captains presented each of us with a number 32 helmet – a moment our many friends who were there said they will remember forever. With eternal thank yous and love for Horace Mann – who is more of a family to us than even a school - for a day we will never forget. And our guardian angel Jonathan - we know that you were there watching the ceremony, for on a day of nonstop torrential downpours, the skies took a break for the 10 minutes when Tom Kelly stood with us on the field. We hope you saw what a legacy you are at Horace Mann. We love and miss you forever. ~the Family
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Letter from Teammate
Friends:
When Jon’s sisters asked a few of his former teammates to write something about Jon, I imagine that there was a prevailing and consistent reaction. How can you describe the leadership that Jon brought to our team? I was at a loss for words. And then I read a story about Pat Tillman. Tillman’s former coach Dave McGinnis said the following: “I remember when he came to our team meal before played Seattle that weekend [in 2003], he just walked into the room and there was silence. The room was stunned. Everyone on that team respected him so much – and you’d have seen that respect if he went out and played again.”
That’s a lot what it was like to be Jon’s teammate. He walked into a room and instantly the room was silent because we knew what a fierce competitor he was. We knew how much he wanted to win and we didn’t want to let him down. For that, Jon commanded the respect of his teammates and friends. As I think about my own football career at Horace Mann, I am reminded that it would have been quite different without Jon:
• There would be no trips down the hill as we snuck away from the two-a-day practices in the summer
• There would be no rants from coach Colandros as he yelled at Jon during the Monday afternoon practices: “Come on Kleier, sweat out the weekend’s festivities!”
• There would be no league championship game against Dalton in 2000
• And worst of all, there would be no heart on the team
Everyone who played with Jon would invariably agree on one simple fact. He was always someone you wanted on your team. Jon, we’ll all miss you. And we all thank you for the ways that you bettered our lives: in the classroom, in the cafeteria and, most of all, on the field.
When Jon’s sisters asked a few of his former teammates to write something about Jon, I imagine that there was a prevailing and consistent reaction. How can you describe the leadership that Jon brought to our team? I was at a loss for words. And then I read a story about Pat Tillman. Tillman’s former coach Dave McGinnis said the following: “I remember when he came to our team meal before played Seattle that weekend [in 2003], he just walked into the room and there was silence. The room was stunned. Everyone on that team respected him so much – and you’d have seen that respect if he went out and played again.”
That’s a lot what it was like to be Jon’s teammate. He walked into a room and instantly the room was silent because we knew what a fierce competitor he was. We knew how much he wanted to win and we didn’t want to let him down. For that, Jon commanded the respect of his teammates and friends. As I think about my own football career at Horace Mann, I am reminded that it would have been quite different without Jon:
• There would be no trips down the hill as we snuck away from the two-a-day practices in the summer
• There would be no rants from coach Colandros as he yelled at Jon during the Monday afternoon practices: “Come on Kleier, sweat out the weekend’s festivities!”
• There would be no league championship game against Dalton in 2000
• And worst of all, there would be no heart on the team
Everyone who played with Jon would invariably agree on one simple fact. He was always someone you wanted on your team. Jon, we’ll all miss you. And we all thank you for the ways that you bettered our lives: in the classroom, in the cafeteria and, most of all, on the field.
Letter from Teammate
Put simply: Jon Kleier may have been the best teammate I’ve ever had. Jon and I played varsity football and lacrosse together for 3 years and in that time, he exhibited all of the qualities that one could ever ask for in a teammate.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Jon wasn’t some bubbly cheerleader, organizing bake sales and making signs out of poster board. He was a player. An athlete built like a medicine ball and that hit like a brick. In tackling drills, you would count down the line to make sure you weren’t set to face Kleier, because he was going to make you hurt. Snot bubbles were the standard.
Kleier didn’t take plays off. Not in games. Not in practices. And it wasn’t because he was kissing up to the coaching staff hoping to get more playing time. It was because he loved it. He loved everything about Horace Mann football from the contact to shouting out “Yeeeeeeeeaaaahh Lions” from the sidelines.
Jon was the rare breed of leader that led vocally and by example. You could always tell when Kleier blew a play because he would be absolutely destroying someone on the next play. For Jon, it was all about pride. He took pride in himself, he took pride in winning, and he took pride in his teammates. He expected the best from those who surrounded him and pushed them to achieve it. In the defensive huddle, he would look the line in the eyes and ask “who’s going to make this play?!” It wasn’t a question; it was a challenge. It was a call to action by the team’s leader to step up and bring it from whistle to whistle the same way he did.
While I miss Jon and wish he could be here today to bellow out his trademark “YEEEEAAAAH Lions,” I can take some comfort in knowing that when it comes to playing football, Jon passed with absolutely no regrets. He left it all on the field. He took on every hit like it was his last hit. He ran every play like it was his last play. He hustled every game like it was his last game. From the second he put on his helmet to the second he took it off, Jon did anything and everything he could to win. He was a champion. And now Jon can rest in peace knowing that there are some kids who played for Riverdale, Fieldston, and Dalton who walk with a limp because they chose to take on Kleier, rather than team up with him.
My advice to you all this day, as you get ready to take the field, is play like Kleier. Play loose, play fierce, play hard. Challenge yourself to make every play. Put some snot bubbles in a kid’s nose. Let them know that what Kleier stood for weren’t just the qualities of one exceptional athlete, but a football program that takes pride in every play, every snap and every hit. Go out there and play like it’s your last game, because when that game comes and goes, you’ll want people to be able to say this about you.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Jon wasn’t some bubbly cheerleader, organizing bake sales and making signs out of poster board. He was a player. An athlete built like a medicine ball and that hit like a brick. In tackling drills, you would count down the line to make sure you weren’t set to face Kleier, because he was going to make you hurt. Snot bubbles were the standard.
Kleier didn’t take plays off. Not in games. Not in practices. And it wasn’t because he was kissing up to the coaching staff hoping to get more playing time. It was because he loved it. He loved everything about Horace Mann football from the contact to shouting out “Yeeeeeeeeaaaahh Lions” from the sidelines.
Jon was the rare breed of leader that led vocally and by example. You could always tell when Kleier blew a play because he would be absolutely destroying someone on the next play. For Jon, it was all about pride. He took pride in himself, he took pride in winning, and he took pride in his teammates. He expected the best from those who surrounded him and pushed them to achieve it. In the defensive huddle, he would look the line in the eyes and ask “who’s going to make this play?!” It wasn’t a question; it was a challenge. It was a call to action by the team’s leader to step up and bring it from whistle to whistle the same way he did.
While I miss Jon and wish he could be here today to bellow out his trademark “YEEEEAAAAH Lions,” I can take some comfort in knowing that when it comes to playing football, Jon passed with absolutely no regrets. He left it all on the field. He took on every hit like it was his last hit. He ran every play like it was his last play. He hustled every game like it was his last game. From the second he put on his helmet to the second he took it off, Jon did anything and everything he could to win. He was a champion. And now Jon can rest in peace knowing that there are some kids who played for Riverdale, Fieldston, and Dalton who walk with a limp because they chose to take on Kleier, rather than team up with him.
My advice to you all this day, as you get ready to take the field, is play like Kleier. Play loose, play fierce, play hard. Challenge yourself to make every play. Put some snot bubbles in a kid’s nose. Let them know that what Kleier stood for weren’t just the qualities of one exceptional athlete, but a football program that takes pride in every play, every snap and every hit. Go out there and play like it’s your last game, because when that game comes and goes, you’ll want people to be able to say this about you.
Letter from Bill Kuhn
I played on the HM Varsity team for 2 years. Jon, who was 2 years younger, played both years with me. Needless to say, he was pretty good at football at a young age. Good enough that he could hang with the big boys...RELATIVELY big that is! I could go on and on about the great plays he made on the field but most of all, I remember his attitude off the field. His infectious outgoing attitude. He was never scared. He was one of the most real individuals I have ever met. He stood up for what he believed in. He motivated others with his jovial locker banter...he always had a joke to play on an upper classman and wasnt afraid to back down when things got ugly. Everyone liked him no matter who. I can still remember his laugh to this day...that loud cackle that no matter how much you felt down or upset, put a smile on your face. He loved his teammates. He would always stick up for them on and off the field. I remember times when he would catch the back of guys in MY grade. Imagine that. His loyalty was unmatched. He was someone you wanted on your team. I can't say enought about that.
I also had the fortune of hanging out with Jon in Florida at the Boca Raton Beach Resort. On typical day we would wake up at 2pm, call each other, meet up by the pool, order breakfast and gawk at girls. When we saw a pretty girl walk by, jon and I would look at eachother, wink, and smile...that smile would turn into a laugh when we dared eachother to go over to her and say something embarrasing or to that effect. When the sun went down, we would retire for our daily naps. After that we would wake up for dinner and do it all over again at the bar that night, intermittenly driving around listening to Biggie Smalls in my car. Jon loved Biggie. He is the only person besides me who knew all the words to every song. We spent several weeks carrying on like this. Tough life for us as you can tell.
What is the message I am sending you? That Jon was nothing short of the man and his memory, all the good memories, should live on in all of you that knew him. For those that didn't know him, I hope I painted a picture so that you can imagine what an awesome guy he was. In the words of his favorite rapper: How you living biggie smalls? In mansion and benzes, giving endz to my friendz and it feels stupendous.
I hope you're living in mansion and benzes, Jon.
We all love you.
-Bill Kuhn
I also had the fortune of hanging out with Jon in Florida at the Boca Raton Beach Resort. On typical day we would wake up at 2pm, call each other, meet up by the pool, order breakfast and gawk at girls. When we saw a pretty girl walk by, jon and I would look at eachother, wink, and smile...that smile would turn into a laugh when we dared eachother to go over to her and say something embarrasing or to that effect. When the sun went down, we would retire for our daily naps. After that we would wake up for dinner and do it all over again at the bar that night, intermittenly driving around listening to Biggie Smalls in my car. Jon loved Biggie. He is the only person besides me who knew all the words to every song. We spent several weeks carrying on like this. Tough life for us as you can tell.
What is the message I am sending you? That Jon was nothing short of the man and his memory, all the good memories, should live on in all of you that knew him. For those that didn't know him, I hope I painted a picture so that you can imagine what an awesome guy he was. In the words of his favorite rapper: How you living biggie smalls? In mansion and benzes, giving endz to my friendz and it feels stupendous.
I hope you're living in mansion and benzes, Jon.
We all love you.
-Bill Kuhn
Letter from Joseph Pinion
Jon Kleier was my teammate.
At least, that’s how most people who knew us both growing up over the 13 years we spent together at Horace Mann would categorize or relationship. Ostensibly they would be correct. For seven years, Jon and I shared sidelines together, shed blood on the gridiron together, and sweat bullets on the hardwood together. But this characterization would fail to encapsulate who Jon truly was. It would fail to describe just exactly what Jon meant to me. That’s because Jon Kleier was more than a teammate. He was also my brother. He was also my friend.
Jon and I shared a bond that grew from years of mounting mutual respect, understanding, and admiration. Contrary to popular belief, football was not the embodiment of our relationship. Rather, football was the catalyst that allowed a Jewish kid from the city and a black kid from Westchester to understand concretely what they both had known intuitively from the age of 6 and refused to acknowledge: We were scarily similar! I call Jon my brother because like a brother, our similarities in many ways were a source of friction. Jon had a burning desire to be the best….to impose his will on his opponents in all aspects of life. The problem was I had that same desire, and two young boys journeying together through adolescence while attempting to be the same thing or prove the same point is often a recipe for disaster. We had moments of frication, probably years worth if you add them all up. I look back on them with now with great fondness and a tinge of Sadness. Fondness that I could find a kindred spirit in a person the world may have viewed as completely different from me. Sadness because now, my brother is gone far too soon and I wish I had back those wasted moments.
As a child my father always told me to be my own man. Be the “lead dog” he would say, a reference to the Iditarod dog sled races I enjoyed watching (don’t judge me). The lead dog is the guide. It is the sheppard for the other dogs and even the sled pusher. Its relentlessness spirit forces every other dog in tether to push forward and endure. Years before PETA and Mike Vick my father asked me “Do you know what they do to the lead Dog when he’s no longer good enough to BE the lead dog?” Not knowing any better I responded “Move it to the back?” Of course this was not the answer. “No” he exclaimed. “When the lead dog can’t be the lead dog anymore, they shoot it….shoot it dead….because there’s no going back….because the lead dog refuses to accept any other position….because it would rather die than back down.”
While I don’t know about the efficacy of this practice (or even that it really existed) it is clearer now what exactly my father meant. In fact, I believe it is analogous to the early pitfalls of my relationship with Jon. For 10 years, we were just two kids trying to be the lead dog. For 10 years, we were just two athletes vying for supremacy, not because we disliked each other but because of the unwavering belief we each had in our own God-given ability. But something happened along the way: we learned to love and respect each other’s talents. We learned to TRUST in one another to paint a broader canvas and deliver a more polished result.
Jon Kleier taught me how to trust. With him I learned how to be truly dedicated to a cause greater than myself. From him I learned how to pursue a cause with reckless abandon, not because of what you feel YOU are capable of but because of the confidence you have in the dedication and ability of the man beside you.
As you take the field today with the number of our fallen teammate emblazoned on your helmet, I urge you to play the game as Jon Kleier would have played it. Play with unbridled passion. Play without fear. Take the tools you have been blessed with, the plays you have learned, the values that have been instilled in you and unleash them ALL together in a chilling display of euphoric vitriol and elegance. Perhaps more importantly, play with the knowledge of the life lesson that Jon helped me learn: the lesson of the Lead dog. Because in football, the lead dog is not just one man but 11 men trusting in each other. The Lead dog is not one man willing to die for greed or pride but 11 men willing to lay it on the line for their brother secure in the knowledge that he would do the same for you. Be the lead dog….Be the Lion. Win homecoming!!!
Let’s get it!!!!!
Joseph Pinion III
Horace Mann class of 2001
Co-Captain 2000
At least, that’s how most people who knew us both growing up over the 13 years we spent together at Horace Mann would categorize or relationship. Ostensibly they would be correct. For seven years, Jon and I shared sidelines together, shed blood on the gridiron together, and sweat bullets on the hardwood together. But this characterization would fail to encapsulate who Jon truly was. It would fail to describe just exactly what Jon meant to me. That’s because Jon Kleier was more than a teammate. He was also my brother. He was also my friend.
Jon and I shared a bond that grew from years of mounting mutual respect, understanding, and admiration. Contrary to popular belief, football was not the embodiment of our relationship. Rather, football was the catalyst that allowed a Jewish kid from the city and a black kid from Westchester to understand concretely what they both had known intuitively from the age of 6 and refused to acknowledge: We were scarily similar! I call Jon my brother because like a brother, our similarities in many ways were a source of friction. Jon had a burning desire to be the best….to impose his will on his opponents in all aspects of life. The problem was I had that same desire, and two young boys journeying together through adolescence while attempting to be the same thing or prove the same point is often a recipe for disaster. We had moments of frication, probably years worth if you add them all up. I look back on them with now with great fondness and a tinge of Sadness. Fondness that I could find a kindred spirit in a person the world may have viewed as completely different from me. Sadness because now, my brother is gone far too soon and I wish I had back those wasted moments.
As a child my father always told me to be my own man. Be the “lead dog” he would say, a reference to the Iditarod dog sled races I enjoyed watching (don’t judge me). The lead dog is the guide. It is the sheppard for the other dogs and even the sled pusher. Its relentlessness spirit forces every other dog in tether to push forward and endure. Years before PETA and Mike Vick my father asked me “Do you know what they do to the lead Dog when he’s no longer good enough to BE the lead dog?” Not knowing any better I responded “Move it to the back?” Of course this was not the answer. “No” he exclaimed. “When the lead dog can’t be the lead dog anymore, they shoot it….shoot it dead….because there’s no going back….because the lead dog refuses to accept any other position….because it would rather die than back down.”
While I don’t know about the efficacy of this practice (or even that it really existed) it is clearer now what exactly my father meant. In fact, I believe it is analogous to the early pitfalls of my relationship with Jon. For 10 years, we were just two kids trying to be the lead dog. For 10 years, we were just two athletes vying for supremacy, not because we disliked each other but because of the unwavering belief we each had in our own God-given ability. But something happened along the way: we learned to love and respect each other’s talents. We learned to TRUST in one another to paint a broader canvas and deliver a more polished result.
Jon Kleier taught me how to trust. With him I learned how to be truly dedicated to a cause greater than myself. From him I learned how to pursue a cause with reckless abandon, not because of what you feel YOU are capable of but because of the confidence you have in the dedication and ability of the man beside you.
As you take the field today with the number of our fallen teammate emblazoned on your helmet, I urge you to play the game as Jon Kleier would have played it. Play with unbridled passion. Play without fear. Take the tools you have been blessed with, the plays you have learned, the values that have been instilled in you and unleash them ALL together in a chilling display of euphoric vitriol and elegance. Perhaps more importantly, play with the knowledge of the life lesson that Jon helped me learn: the lesson of the Lead dog. Because in football, the lead dog is not just one man but 11 men trusting in each other. The Lead dog is not one man willing to die for greed or pride but 11 men willing to lay it on the line for their brother secure in the knowledge that he would do the same for you. Be the lead dog….Be the Lion. Win homecoming!!!
Let’s get it!!!!!
Joseph Pinion III
Horace Mann class of 2001
Co-Captain 2000
Saturday, October 10, 2009
HM Homecoming Football Game, Dedicated to Jonathan, Saturday October 24th
Horace Mann will be dedicating its October 24 Homecoming Football Game to Jonathan. The team will be wearing his number 32 on their helmets for that game and the entire season, in honor and memory of its captain. They also retired his number for the season, and are leaving his jersey on the bench in his memory. In addition, the team's coach will be reading letters written by former teamates before the game. If anyone would like to write one, please send it to samantha@ghk.com or sabrina@ghk.com by October 22. Please please come to the game at 2:45 and help show Jonathan how much he is loved and missed and what a legacy he is leaving. We know he will be watching. - the Family
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