TERRY MOSHER
Next Saturday there will be a gathering of Elton Goodwin’s close friends at Wayne Gibson’s place on Rocky Bay out there somewhere in God’s Country and stories will be told to laughter and a few brews consumed in “Goodie’s name. It should be a good time, only sadden because Elton won’t be there.
Elton died unexpectedly after hip surgery on Nov. 7 last year, leaving a big hole for many people who had been touched for life by him. He was as genuine a person as you can get here on Earth, and not only a heck of a baseball coach (three state high school championships) but one heck of a guy.
So there will be a little sadness that Elton won’t be there.
There have been a lot of comings and goings in my life. I could go broke hosting parties for my friends who have gone on to that great beyond. My best friend, Adolph, died three years ago this December from a massive heart attack, interrupting the best marriage I have ever seen. Dolph and Joanne were married just short of 50 years, and they truly were best friends who cared deeply for each other. She was good for him, and he doted on her. Then, poof, he was gone. The last time I talked to Joanne she said the nights were the worse because they used to sit together in their living room giving comfort to each other.
Ray, who was about 6-feet tall, but was the only one among us who could actually dunk the basketball, died seven years after getting his educational degree from Western Washington. He was teaching at a junior high in Bellingham when he died at 31, leaving behind his young wife and a slew of friends, including me, that were stunned by his early departure.
I’ve written about Putt before. He and I were similar size and looked alike in those post-high school days. Some people thought we were twins. Putt was way smarter than I was, but drink and smoke stalled his forward progress in life and while I got a college education he worked as a laborer in the potato fields to earn enough money to continue his drinking and smoking.
Putt never gave up his two habits and at the age of 53 died of cancer that had moved from his throat to his brain. He was drinking a beer and puffing on a cigarette when he departed.
I’ve also written about Pete and Dick. Pete was one of our main guys through high school and college at Western. We had a lot of fun doing some crazy (but legal) stuff. He got married just after graduating from Western, then got divorced and disappeared from our radar. I found him in the mid-80s working in the cafeteria at JamesMadisonUniversity. Then he disappeared again and about a year ago I discovered an on-line obit that said he died Dec. 23, 2008 in Delaware.
Although I have tried to figure out what made Pete Run, I failed. I will never know why he just upped and left without ever corresponding with his immediate family or friends again. The one time I did talk to him when he was at James Madison, he deflected the question and would not give an answer.
So it goes.
Dick, of course, was one of the four of us who left Portville, New York in January of 1960 and headed for California. Dick was killed two years later in a single-car accident near Portville. He was just 23 and one of the sweetest guys with the brightest smile you would ever want to see.
Then gone, just like that.
When I was going to college at Alfred in the late 1950s I used to hang with Dale and Lynn on weekends. We would drive in the night through the many small towns in that part of New YorkState looking for the latest adventure and, of course, girls. We found plenty of both.
Lynn turned out to be an alcoholic and died of cancer in 2000 and Dale died of the same disease several years ago. We had a lot of fun together, living a young and reckless life with a lot of dim lights and loud music.
Frank, the most natural comedian I have known, died in California in the late 70s. You couldn’t help laugh with and at Frank, who was in his late 30s and a principal at a school near the LA Forum when he departed.
I played football as a young kid with Bruce. He was one of the toughest among my friends at that time. Bruce died years and years ago of cancer. He didn’t have the best post-high school life, and for that I’m sadden.
Jerry didn’t make it to 20. He died working on a dam in New YorkState. Jerry was a sweetheart. He had no enemies. And then one day he too was gone way too young.
There are some others, including my mother in 1953whenshe was just 48. Her death has impacted my life, sending me into my dark years. But I survived somehow to tell stories and to raise a good and decent family. I wish the others were here to share, but that is life – and death.
Be well pal.
Be careful out there.
Have a great day.
You are loved.