Then there was the time in 1970, a half-century ago, when the Kent State massacre of college students happened while I was, myself, a college student. A day or so later when campus unrest swept the nation, my school, Southern Illinois University, told us all the school was closed, everyone go home. I instead went out after a curfew to "get the photo of a lifetime". I found a place where a moving phalanx of police in riot gear approached up a deserted downtown street. I snapped the shutter as a tear gas canister struck the steel mailbox on the corner. It struck with considerable force, just behind my right ear. He might actually have been shooting it at me, not the mailbox. Or maybe he just hoped he would miss me and hit the mailbox. I will never know. Either way, I got pretty lucky that day. Neil Young's song about "four dead in Ohio" could have had a version that added, "and one more in Illinois". David was not lucky enough to have lived through any of these remarkable experiences.
Only the unlucky die young. This is sad, but unfortunately true. We want to give to those around people dying young, some measure of reassurance, some value to be appreciated, so that the grief becomes more bearable. It is not entirely a fool's errand. Feelings do matter. But as I await the Grim Reaper, I know that I have been the lucky one, to get to be the old man. Perhaps the brother that I never knew has given me the contrast to fully appreciate my good fortune. Unlike the results for David Eugene Cooper, or for Shelley Duval or Richard Simmons, the clock still ticks for me. And I can still hold out hope that the memories somehow come along for the ride when the ticking stops.
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