It all started with a phone call to my parents.
My father recently discovered a locally-run alumni website for the small-town high school that my family has attended for four generations. The site is a gold mine of local history because there’s a record of everybody who graduated from the school from 1908 to the present. Registered members can also report classmates’ deaths, which prompts the site administrators to post obituary information from newspaper archives, thus enabling alumni to read what their classmates and forebears did with their lives and by whom they were survived.
When I registered, one of the first things I did was submit obituary information for my friend Sean McCash, who was killed in a hit-and-run accident in 2001. While compiling what little information there is about him online, I took some notes on what I remembered about Sean and the things we did together, like singing in the school choir, playing in the band, and performing in plays together. Some of the Sean memories I treasure most occurred during the summer of 1995, when both of us attended Illinois Summer School for the Arts, at two-week residential arts program for high school students that was held at Illinois State University. I was quick to discover that it was unusual for two people from the same high school to attend, but Sean and I had chosen different concentrations and our hometown is in an economically distressed county, so I suppose we merited an exception.
Those weeks were transformative. Sean made an immediate splash with his dyed-green hair and wardrobe of long, floral skirts with combat boots. After I revealed a certain penchant for the playfully written word (e.g.. Ode to a Chocolate Doughnut), we fell in with the literary crowd led by a counselor named Erik, who sponsored an unofficial branch of the Dead Poet’s Society that met at night in the basement of Manchester Hall. It was a heady thing to experience art-making as we’d never done it before by day and then writing about it and sharing it as poetry by night. One of the highlights of the DPS was when the resident poet, David Hernández, attended one of our meetings and not only read one of his poems to us but also listened to ours. That night, I shared a poem called “The Drum” that had been inspired by the incredible rhythm and music of Hernández’s poetry, though of course it was as earnest and literal as you’d expect from a sixteen year-old.
At the end of the two weeks, David Hernández presented the whole camp with a poem that thrilled the DPS members because he described interactions with us as well as those he had with his writing students. Sean and I were both thrilled to have been mentioned by hair color and the work we’d presented at the DPS meeting David Hernández attended, so I knew I needed to revisit the poem, since it’s one of the places that Sean and I will always be together. Unsurprisingly, the poem wasn’t anywhere online, but in the process of searching, I found out that my Famous Poet (for that was his self-proclaimed title) died in February of this year at the age of 66. After listening to a number of his performances online, the desire to find his poem was even stronger. Sean and I were there. The Famous Poet was there. All hanging out and forever enriched by the experience.
Though the original documents I brought home from ISSA are either gone or buried somewhere in boxes at my parents’ house, I knew I still had the black-bound “Book of Stuff” I started keeping at ISSA, in which I collected poems by me, my friends, David Hernández, and other Famous Poets whose work touched me. Last night, I found it sitting on the bookshelf at home. I opened the imitation leather cover, smiled at some of my early efforts, and there it was:
A Thank You-Kid Poem For my Young Peers
Thank you for letting me
dig up on your creative soul
and if your old man cusses you out
don’t get too cold about it because
people die inside and don’t appreciate
the gems they sow at times
and gracias for the green-haired
attack on my rebel senses with
your warrior words that strike
hard rockin’ rhythm beat keep it going
man oh man it’s alive! and young!
and strong! thank you for the
flute dance and music my senses
I looked down and you took me
there and hey kid the silky blond
poem you read struck at midnight
lit up the dark side and your voice
took winged horses for a ride
thank you for the dark haired
moments of in between symmetry
like short pauses of your life
and the beautiful evolution
you will change this earth
there is no doubt about that
that you will paint
this one-horse town
of a world red
and hey kid
Thank you for keeping
fresh this old Poet
a veteran of foreign wars
that took place in the Minister
of the Interior’s house next
door to my heart
Thank you because you
blew me away and I can
rest easy now since the world ain’t going to be
bad at all with the likes
of you around…
thank you kid
I dig up on you
(The Famous Poet)
Godspeed, Sean, who found his creative voice with me in a town called Normal.
Godspeed, David, who showed us that those voices were important.
I dig up on you.
(The Not-Yet-Famous Writer)
7 thoughts on “A Thank You Post For Friends Gone Too Soon”
I remember this. He came home from camp so excited. I’m sure I have this midst his stuff. Thank you for this. Love.
*hugs* Those weeks changed us both for the better, I think. Love to you, too.
Through an amazing series of what I cannot just call coincidences I just now stumbled upon this post. I was at ISSA in 1995. I remember going to DPS and playing my bass guitar while someone read their poetry in the basement of the dorm where we were staying. This morning the memory of David Hernandez reading that night at ISSA popped into my head and led me to find the WBEZ post regarding David’s death and your comment on the article that led me here. I believe that was the year I was roommates with Sean. How you described him with his green hair, clothes, is exactly how I remember him. I remember a conversation with him where he was explaining to me how he used Elmer’s glue to keep his hair up. I am also heartbroken to hear of his death. I am constantly reminded of how life-changing ISSA was for so many of us even all of these years later. Thank you for posting David’s poem.
*enormous hugs* This is extraordinary- I’ve been trying to think of how to respond to your comment, but I’m just sort of sitting in grateful awe that you continue to be touched by the same things that touch me. What a powerful testament to everything David, Sean, and ISSA gave us. I can still hear David reading the poem to us in my mind’s ear. Thank you so much for finding this and sharing your own memories, Owen. I can’t believe it’s been nearly twenty years since that summer, but I’m thrilled that you, I, and those who were lucky enough to be there continue to be enriched by it. And NOW I know the secret ingredient to Sean’s hair!
After finding your post last month I printed off your image of David’s inscription and have it taped to my wall at work….it encourages me often.
Hello again – Memories of Sean and the rest of the crew from ISSA came back to me last week on my way to Mt. Carmel, Illinois for work when I drove up to the sign for Olney on my way to my destination. I remember Sean talking to me about this little town he was from, but being from Bloomington, I never imagined I’d ever have any reason to visit so I was overjoyed when I drove up and saw the sign that read “ I also remembered you and what you wrote here about Sean and our time at ISSA.
Oh no! The most important part appeared to have been edited by WordPress! The sign read “Olney – Home of the White Squirrels” 🙂