This has been a tough few months for Dad, with respect to the fact that he has lost his two best friends since June. The first one, Mike, they’d been friends for 52 years! I flew home for the funeral because, even though to most of my friends, he was simply Mr. Murphy, the assistant principal at our high school, to me, he was an ever-present friend.
It was the same just a couple of weeks ago when Barry died. Although I had not planned to go home for the funeral because it was pretty short notice, Dad called me and asked if it was possible for me to come. When your 78 year old Dad asks you to come home, you come home. Barry had been Dad’s friend for almost 50 years! Again, to most of my friends, he was simply Mr. Owen, the principal at our high school, but to me, he was a friend.
The three of them were like the Three Musketeers, inseparable during the school year, and they were always up to something. I know that Mike was there to welcome Barry as he crossed over last month.
I remember before I went to Central, Dad brought home a 5 pound (!) Hershey Bar and a giant Peppermint Stick that Barry sent home to us from the trips they made to Wayne’s Candy Company to pick up candy for the school sales. His daughter, Christina, used to babysit for Steve and me when we were younger. I was in attendance at his wedding to his wife, Glenda, who I’d always thought was as close to Jackie O as a lady could get. I remember when their son, Blake, was born.
I went to Mike’s wedding to his wife, Kristi, and still remember the red and white silk roses that were favors for the guests at the reception. When Dad had knee replacement surgery a few years ago, Mike drove him home from the hospital, and for the next few weeks afterward, Mike would leave his house on the east side of Memphis and drive 60 miles to pick up Dad across the river in Arkansas and drive him to physical therapy. It reminded me of my Navy buddies, because we would do stuff like that for each other.
There were plenty of Saturday afternoons at our house when Mike, and sometimes Barry, would come over to watch the Tigers play basketball – with the television muted and the immortal voice of Jack Eaton, the local broadcaster, coming through the stereo. Those days were pretty idyllic. There were usually smoked sausages from Payne’s, and I always ended up making the slaw for them.
When I was a junior, I was in trouble at school a lot, and one morning Mr. Owen caught me at my locker after the late bell for homeroom… again. He escorted me to the office, where I sat nervously and defiantly, while my Dad’s two best friends – these men I’d known since I could remember – gave me an ass-chewing that I would not soon forget as Dad watched from the side of the room. Mr. Owen told me I was out of Central for good, and the drive home that morning was dead silent. I had to do a lot of groveling to return to Central, including writing a letter begging to come back and promising to follow not just the letter of the law, but the spirit of the law because Mr. Owen was big on the spirit of the law. At school, I always addressed them as Mr. Murphy and Mr. Owen, and even my dad became Mr. McKee for those hours we were at school.
Somehow, I managed to return and keep my butt out of the office for the next year and a half, and I’ve never forgotten the looks on those two mens’ faces that day, nor the night of our graduation.
I’ve seen them both over the years, as they kept in touch, and shared their friendship right up until the very end. It reminds me of how grateful I am for the many people I’m lucky enough to call my friends, and especially those who are like family… just like the “Three Musketeers” were after all those years.
And on a better note, Dad looked and sounded better than when I saw him at Christmas, and I am ever-grateful for that. I even tucked him in to bed one night with his baby raccoon.
Sweet reflections! Keep ‘em coming!