January 28, 1986 -- "You Never Know"
We had just taken our ten-minute break in our Wills & Trusts class, the class that reminds us all that we will not live forever. It was a Tuesday, which means I had been at work late the night before, and once again very early in the morning, to get my sports section ready for print. So I was especially tired.
Our professor was Mr. Henry, who was as famous for his big, bushy eyebrows as he was for knowing the finer points of law.
I came in after the break and found my seat.
Mr. Henry broke the news, "The space shuttle just exploded. It took off and like 90 seconds later just broke apart right there in the sky." It was an image I would later see on television about a hundred times, just that day, and a million times in the years ahead.
"See?" he said. "This is why we have this class. You never know."
June 23, 1986 -- Putting It All Together, Sort Of
It had become, in my small world, my U.S. Open, the only four-day golf tournament I would have a chance to play in. And I always set a realistic goal, to shoot between 310 and 320, which would mean four rounds under 80. But, try as I might, I could never do it, especially on the final day. I had generally played my way into the championship flight, something I was proud of, even though I was chasing Mike McGee and had no possible way of catching him. Every year, I kept coming back, thinking this would be the year that I would do it.
I was still working for The Free Press after finishing up my second year of law school. And for the summer I became a legal intern in the Warren County Prosecutor's Office. Don't ask when I found time to practice, and I can't honestly say I played all that much -- expect the Wednesday night Tamarack League at Weatherwax where I played with Rod Dillon.
But on this date, I finished with my best scores ever, 77-77-80-83 -- 317. I felt it could have been better because I shot 43 on the final nine of Highlands during the last round. But I was proud. It was a good feeling. I was hoping maybe I was on to something I could build on.
And then, two months later, we abruptly decided to move to Springfield.
A month later I was out. The great feeling of that Weatherwax Sunday soon became a distant memory.
...
December 30, 1986 -- An All-Time Low
I ended up, of all places, in the center of the Dayton Mall -- upstairs, away from everyone, because I had nowhere else to go. It was noon on a Tuesday, only a few hours after the court hearing put an end to a three-and-a-half year marriage, and the world kept going even though it seems like my world had stopped.
The end of the relationship was something I could see coming. Hell, I certainly owned way more than my share of the fault. But the reality of it ending felt like a death. And I wasn't sure I could see how everything could one day get better.
So I sat.
And sulked.
The night before, I went down to Steve Dalton's house, where Griff and Jerry were there, and we played pool and talked about how life was so much different for all of us at 26 than it had been when we were only teenagers. There were bills to pay and jobs to tend to. I fought the reality that I was the first of us guys to get divorced, and since I was still six months away from graduating law school, I was the only one among us who didn't have a regular "job" -- though I was the sports editor of the local paper, and maybe that count. This compounded the inferiority complex I already had around those guys, who all were way more popular with girls and more successful in sports than I was.
But on this night they all said the right things, that -- with time -- everything will be okay. The closing of one door only brings the opening of at least one more, and perhaps several more.
I wondered if that was possible as I sat there high above the hustle and bustle at the Dayton Mall that Tuesday early afternoon. Where would my life be five years from now? Will I really find someone new? Deep down, I suspected it was true, but I would not believe it until I actually experienced it. For now, I just felt terrible.
I got in the car about 2 o'clock, headed nowhere in particular. I song by Chicago came on the radio, from a long, long time ago.
"Beginnings."
Could that be true? It seemed like only an ending.