“Life’s mostly handshakes and divorces….true blue friends who bend and sway….” --Jerry Jeff Walker
A pair of black Allen Edmonds oxfords sits on the rear floor of my car. Size 7 ½. I wear a 10 ½ so—even if I was inclined to wear them, which I’m not—they would never fit. But there they are, sitting on the driver side rear floor. I see them every time I open my door.
They were placed there on July 10, 2009 and I haven’t been able to move them.
I know this is odd but that’s the way it is.
Have you ever had a friend in your life to whom you revealed everything? A friend who knew everything about you – the good bits and the swirls of “not-so-good” stuff and the downright defective parts? A friend who knew the mistakes you’d made and the challenges you’d faced and who had been there in your life every step of the way and—knowing the whole enchilada of your being— made a conscious and loyal decision to love you anyway?
I had a buddy like that.
I met Paul Jennings when we were both in the 8th grade at Sherwood Forest Junior High. It was the early autumn of 1968. He arrived at Sherwood later in the fall, after the initial semester was already underway and –-because he started the term a little late--- he didn’t really know anyone. He would stand alone by the flagpole in front of the school in the mornings and during the recesses. I noticed him there, but thought little of it until Debbie in Home Room remarked that she thought Paul was “cute.” Thus, I was shortly thereafter dispatched to approach him and secure such intelligence about “the cute new boy” as was important to 8th grade girls in 1968.
So, I did.
He was very approachable—even then—and he was a handsome devil – even then. We hit it off quickly, as lads in the 8th grade often do. Our coincidental intermediary, Debbie, was soon dismissed from Paul’s area of interest, but he and I never looked back. We were close friends from that day until he died of metastasized lung cancer at 10:29 a.m. on Friday, July 10, 2009. He was 54 when he left us, same as me.
Some of the closest pals I have today are they guys I met in the 8th grade. Paul was one of those dear friends and we remained close through high school and college. We stayed close as we all wandered into the years after college when we built families, businesses, professions and lives. Packed into a handsome frame, the only thing more appealing about “PJ’s” outside was his inside. Bashful and unpretentious, he knew better than almost anyone I ever met how to live the old saying: “If you want a good friend, then BE one.”
It was a shock when he received his cancer diagnosis in January of 2008 especially since there was really no rhyme or reason for it. I was initially angry about this staggering turn of events, but Paul was not. A few months before he died he told me he only had room in his heart for love or anger. And he chose love. That's what he said to me.
He fought hard, but—in the end—he left us. I was with him until the very end, just as he was there for me throughout over 40 years of abiding friendship.
On the day he died, I met his beautiful wife, Linda, at their home and we selected the clothes in which he would be laid to rest. I brought them to the funeral home and they took everything but said they didn’t need the shoes. So, I placed them carefully in my car, thinking I would do something with them later. They are there even yet.
They go everywhere with me and I cannot move them from where they were lovingly placed. I know it’s peculiar but the presence of those oxfords lead to me to feel Paul is with me still, as –of course—he certainly is.
I know PJ won’t mind riding with me for awhile. He knows I’m not yet able to say a final farewell.
He would smile and understand. He was a fella who always understood. He was my dear friend and I knew him well.
And he knew me.
--J.R.
