Melancholy

I was listening to an old Elton John song (nothing you've heard of unless you were a fan in the early 1970's) and was struck by an overwhelming desire to talk to my friend Richard, who was a fellow fan of his early stuff. Richard was my college roommate and the friend who really introduced me to Philadelphia. He wasn't what you would call a high-powered, successful person. He'd probably agree with the New Pornographers lyric "success is just survival gone too far." But he was kind and generous with his time and spirit. He died suddenly in the summer of 2002. It's still the only funeral I've spoken at.

I told the story of when the house we were sharing (with 5 other people) in West Philadelphia was robbed. It was during the summer and someone left a window open on the first floor and a camera got stolen. This was a bunch of students living together and were weren't exactly fastidious. In fact, our most frequent fight was over who had to clean up that week. Anyway, the cops come and Richard, who was the only one home, came downstairs to talk to them. He told them about the stolen camera and the policeman said, "Well, it certainly looks like they ransacked the place." And Richard replied, "Nah, it always looks like this."

He was one of the very few people I could talk to about absolutely anything, and it saddens me that no matter how hard I try to summon him up, I can't get anything more than a memory.