If you know me, you know I don't believe in coincidence. Today's my birthday. In a few weeks, I go into the hospital for my second and final stem cell replacement to try and slow down the progress of the cancer again.
I learned a few days ago that the bridge over University Avenue connecting Vilas Hall with the Humanities building was going to be torn down. I took a walk across the bridge and down memory lane this morning, thinking about my late friend and bandmate, Bill. I sang "Songs to Thee Wisconsin" as I crossed over toward the big red W on the lawn. You wait all summer for the plants to grow into that beautiful fall display. It was one of Bill's annual favorites.
I thought to myself, no one will be able to take this photo again. Earlier, as I parked my car and walked toward the building to head for the bridge, I passed under the overhang where for four wonderful years, the UW Band was dismissed after home games. After announcements about the upcoming week, and the singing of "Varsity" our professor and mentor Mike Leckrone would watch us file out to our individual lives after being dismissed by our drum major. Hokey? Maybe, until you are a senior and realize that all the friends you made in those four years will be heading on to bigger and better things. No more early Saturday morning rehearsals. No more run-ons as a member of the greatest band in the land, the University of Wisconsin Marching Band. Those thoughts came flooding back as I jumped on the elevator to the third floor.
A fleeting thought passed as I boarded the elevator. I could ride up to Mike's office, stop in, and bother the man. He'd no doubt be gracious, but a bit annoyed as he's got a lot to do before school starts. But that was never our relationship. His door was always open. But I never needed to stop in. Just knowing his door was always open was enough for this small town boy. So when I opened the door to the stairwell on the third floor, that also led outside to the bridge, I wasn't the least bit surprised to see my old professor bounding up the stairs, wearing a backpack. Mike and I exchanged some pleasant words, a true joy for me to still be recognized after 40 years. I crossed over the bridge deep in memory, but with a bounce in my step, knowing that things would be all right.
Things were going to be all right.
