My high school German teacher was a teacher of the old
school. She was strict. She was demanding. But she loved her students.
One morning at the beginning of class she noticed that Patty
was absent. My teacher remembered a front page story in the evening newspaper
from the day before. A look of fear came across her face and she quietly asked,
“Was that her mother?”
I knew where Patty lived. I was also friends with someone
whose family was friends with Patty’s family. I knew that Patty’s mother had
been in a bad traffic accident years before and was in constant terrible pain.
The story in the newspaper told of a woman who went into her
garage, took a garden hose from the exhaust pipe of her car, ran the other end
of the hose into the car, got in the car, and turned on the engine.
When I worked the night shift at a radio station in Central
California, Mike did mornings. He was a loud, boisterous kind of guy. He had
done mornings for years, but was later demoted to mid-days when a friend of the
program director’s was looking for work.
Mike ended up quitting a few years later and opened a bar. Ten
years after I left the radio station a friend from that station called me to tell
that one day, as Mike’s wife was about to go Christmas shopping, Mike told her
that she would get a big surprise when she came home.
When his wife came home, she found that Mike had blown his
head off with a shotgun.
A few months ago there was a post about of an obituary of one
of my instructors from junior college. He was 73, as I recall, and had died of
natural causes. That did get me thinking about Dan, another instructor.
Dan was a good guy with a great sense of humor. He was rather
dapper, always wearing a three-piece suit to class. He drove a classic Jaguar.
Dan was looking forward to me being successful in radio and he could not wait
to listen to me on KGO (San Francisco) – even though radio was not my major in
junior college.
I tried looking up information about Dan. About the only
thing I could find at first was mention of a memorial scholarship in his name.
Further searching told me he died in August, 1981. He was 38.
I have a friend from high school who went into the line of
work we studied in junior college. Dave is retired now and often travels to
diverse place around the world. I did not want to ask Dave when he was on one
of his trips. Last night he was home, so I messaged him.
He replied, “Only know the short story, he put a gun to his
head and pulled the trigger. Whatever demons he was fighting got the better of
him.”
Several days ago I was speaking with someone about what super
power we would like to have. We talked about the usual stuff.
Now I realize that if I could have a super power, it would be
the ability to slay those demons that drive people to desperation.
As I mentioned, my friend Dave travels around the world. He
goes where the people go, not to big resorts. It is as if he travels to see the
good in people everywhere. I have often thought that this was his way of
fighting his demons.
I just wish I could help others fight theirs.
