I am starting to get email about my fiftieth year Mayo reunion. How I came to actually have a fiftieth year anything is beyond me. I don't feel sixty-six years old.
The strangest piece of information I have received so far is the reported death of David Hargesheimer. He was the biggest guy in my class at Bamber Valley and I was the smallest. The high point of my career at BV was at a kickball game. I was playing shortstop and David was a bat or is that at foot? I was usually the last or second to last to be picked for any team. I like to think that was a function of my size, not my athletic ability or personality, but who knows, so not much was expected of me when David kicked the ball. I wouldn't have caught the ball had it not been directly at me. My memory says that the balled followed a direct line from David's foot to my solar plexus, exhibiting no arc whatsoever. Actually the ball caught me more than I caught it. Again memory says that I was actually lifted off the ground by the velocity of the ball. But catch it I did, retiring large David.
The only other memory I have of him was at my ten year reunion. I recognized him right away even though he and I were then about the same size. The only bit of the conversation that comes back to me was him looking at me with droopy eyes and saying, "oh, wow" in what seemed to be a heavily sedated slur. I assumed that he was stoned, but I don't know. He had another thirty-four years of life ahead of him. I don't know what he did with his remaining time above ground.
I find it surreal that he is dead. Forever.