Dick and I were classmates at St. Joe's. He wrote film reviews for the college newspaper when I was its editor. We went to see the Beatles' film Help! together, and a lot of other films besides. We used to stop at a Toddle House on Broad Street late at night and have BLTs. The last time I was in touch with him was when Alan Bates died. Dick and I had seen Nothing But the Best together and were taken with a line an old lady delivers when a car speeds through a crosswalk (nicknamed a zebra in London). "Cahn't he see the zebra," she exclaimed. So when Bates died, I sent Dick an email with that line as the subject. It was all that was necessary. He joined Time the same year I joined The Inquirer. We both ended up with the jobs we had dreamed of having. Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord. As the speaker in Browning's "A Toccata of Galuppi's" puts it, "I feel chilly and grown old."
No comments:
Post a Comment