My first memory of Kevin is during a boring party at his parents’ house that my parents dragged me to. We were probably six-years-old, our parents, and a bunch of old people (far younger than I am today), were chatting about some perfectly boring adult subject. And so we went off and played, ignoring the old people, Kevin undoubtedly making a smart-aleck comment.
I spent many a time at Kevin’s house. I can remember eating what seemed like the most delicious tuna fish sandwiches there. I’m not sure what he or his Mom did, but they tasted better than the ones my Mom made (and she was a good cook). They always drank Fresca, so it wasn’t like it was perfect over there.
In third grade at Lowell Elementary School, Kevin was in Mrs. Hardy’s class and I was in Mrs. Olson’s. So you wouldn’t think we would have spent much time together at school. Except for the thing is, we were both smart-alecky, and would both often find ourselves thrown out of the classrooms and ordered to sit in the hall. And there in the hallway, we ended up playing chess and checkers together. We ended up spending a lot of time together after all. Like many disciplinary methods, third grade teachers’ were none too effective.
And, of course, every June, there were Kevin’s famous end-of-school parties, which grew less innocent as the years passed, just as we did. Kevin was far cooler than me but didn’t pretend he was. He always knew more about the larger world, so much so that when we had to create and perform a play in, I believe it was middle school, he came up with the idea of the Cocaine Connection. I helped write it though I’m not sure I really knew what cocaine was. Kevin always got the girls, taught the rest of us about them, knew things about them we hadn’t the slightest idea about.
Also in middle school, the science teacher, Mr. Baily, was a creep, and a pervert, known for looking down the girls’ blouses. Today perhaps he’d be drummed out of the system, and rightfully so. Back then, that didn’t get a teacher in trouble much. Somehow pre-Internet, news could still spread fast in a school. I heard lickety-split in my classroom that Keven had been kicked out of this seventh-grade science class. At the end of some science lesson or another, Mr. Baily had asked the class if anyone had any questions. Kevin raised his hand and asked Mr. Baily, have you ever had sex with your dog? I remember laughing so hard when I heard this, and now I also think Kevin was righteous to ask it. Those were freer days, for good and bad.
After I left Bellingham, we kept in touch through letters and later emails and when I moved back to Seattle I’d see Kevin, both when he lived in Seattle and later when he moved back to Bellingham. We connected even more closely a few years ago when Kevin drove his mom from Bellingham every week to take her for chemotherapy at a hospital in Seattle. Kevin would hang out at a coffee shop and I’d meet him for lunch. We’d chat about our parents, old times, catch up on mutual friends, discuss life, the universe and everything.
Kevin was someone you could confide in, who would really listen, and offer sage advice, or sometimes just provide a willing ear. And he was still a smart ass, ready with a witty line, a good cut, and a funny note.
When I was up in Bellingham a couple of years ago, after Kevin’s Mom passed, at a credit union handling some business for my mom, I ran into Jim, Kevin’s stepdad, who was there to handle some financial business of his own. But Jim was 90 and seemed a bit confused. I said hello to him, reminded him who I was, and while I talked to a teller, I could hear Jim a bit baffled talking with a bank manager. I texted Kevin to give him a heads up, although the bank manager was helpful and understood the situation. It’s the beauty of smaller towns, that people know who needs help, and often provide it.
Kevin’s wife, Terri, is about as kind-hearted and sweet a person as you can know. Her decency radiates outwards into the world. I was lucky enough to see her two weeks ago when I went to visit Kevin, with two other childhood friends. The five of us talked and talked—about old times, about Kevin’s time being a cop, about his talent for remodeling and the incredible fountain he had built in their backyard.
It was tough to see Kevin, who was a large and strong man, so weakened, so tired, so thin and gaunt, his body weak. The medicine occasionally caused him to lose his train of thought, but in there, in that fragile vessel, he was still Kevin. He still made us laugh, with a wry comment, still provided a sharp insight. And when he gave me a baseball autographed by old New York Yankees, that his Mom had left for him, and told me how he still remembered our playing baseball together as kids, we both wept.
Cancer took Kevin last Saturday, but will not take memories of him, of his generosity, his great sense of humor, his love for Terri, and a multitude of stories that I, and all who knew him, will cherish to the end of our days. Today, on Thanksgiving, I give thanks for knowing him and having him as a friend. Give thanks to your loved ones today. RIP Kevin.
International Need to Know will return next week in its regular form.
