by Phil Goldstein | NorthFortyNews.com
A personal letter on friendship, mischief, and loss spanning nearly 60 years.
Dear Tom,
We first met in 1966, our junior year in high school. We became friends quickly, but I must confess now, 59 years later, my parents were rather concerned about the relationship.
Up until that time, I’d hung out with some very straightlaced guys, and my perceptive parents saw you as the more independent, adventurous guy that you were, thus surely a bad influence on naïve and impressionable Philip. And indeed, life and times from that point forward with you were anything but boring!
The popular and successful athlete that you were in high school made you a hero to me. For a skinny, short, unathletic kid who often was picked on, once it was known that I was your friend, my social standing improved considerably.
You often let me borrow your very cool Volkswagen Beetle for dates, no doubt taking pity on a guy who otherwise would have had to drive his parents’ 1960 Studebaker station wagon. Teaching me to shoot your pellet gun out of your grandmother’s attic at the street signs was the first of much mischief to follow, from which we thankfully avoided any serious repercussions.
Both of us were still living at home our freshman year at WVU, and it was your idea for us to pledge a fraternity, where we then roomed together. We immediately made our mark on the organization’s reputation when a pledge prank you and I led put the frat on probation. We were somewhat more discreet in our misbehavior thereafter, but clearly relished our brotherhood leadership role in that regard. Ultimately, as we looked back some years later, we decided that actually earning degrees was not too steep a price to pay for having such a swell time during those four years.
By the way, I suppose now’s a good time to forgive you for hanging me outside our third-story frat house window by my feet one day, upset as you were that I had a date that night and you didn’t.
After college, we each bought our first homes. But when you bought a second home on the lake outside of town, complete with a boat, our post-college social life stepped up to new heights. Everyone in our social circle appreciated you even more for your generosity in making the lake house everyone’s party house.
I eventually moved away, ending up in Colorado, but I always remained in touch and interested in your various successful careers in the mining industry. When I finally got married in 1999, Amy and I were honored that you and the family drove the 1,500 miles to celebrate with us.
In 2017, you and I and two other college friends took the first of three successive summer trips around Colorado. Nothing much had changed in our irreverent fun-making after all those years, other than we were now three old guys who wisely drank less, although you were like a college kid again when you learned that marijuana was available legally out here.
That brings me to the present. Although several of us sensed that something was amiss with your health of late, I love and respect you even more for not wanting to burden us with your problems. I guess you knew, especially for me—the little guy who always looked up to you since 1966—that seeing your health decline would have been even more devastating than it is now that you’re gone so unexpectedly.
I suppose one of our small group of high school friends had to be the first to pass away, but I never thought it would be you. Thanks for taking me along for the ride almost 60 years ago. I miss you terribly.
Phil
Phil Goldstein is in his fifth year writing Tales from Timnath for North Forty News. Phil is a 15-year Timnath resident who is finally using his West Virginia University journalism degree after getting sidetracked 52 years ago. The views expressed herein are Phil’s only. Contact him with comments on the column at [email protected].
