The Death of a Good Man

A lot of people didn't see my friend Dave the way I did. Some disliked him, others only knew him to be a drinker with a temper, and other just saw his as another felon after his many trips to prison. However, despite the twenty year age difference, I saw in a Dave a good guy who was the product of society. Granted, the first time I ever met Dave, he literally scared the hell out of me. He had been drinking and I gave some friends a ride to his house. Dave was well known for his drinking and temper. But something intrigued me about this guy. I knew there was more to him.

My buddies and I would hang out with sporadically at first, but then it became a weekly event. We'd take beer and sit around and listen to Dave rant. He was so funny, too. A few months after we left, Dave went to prison for battering someone while he was drunk. I'd given him my address so he could write. Who would have thought a drunken old man would have such excellent handwriting and would express the most logical thoughts?

Through the multitude of letters mailed back and forth for two years, I learned quite about the man who I had once considered a mystery. In his 42 years of life, over half of it had been spent in some type of institution; Boys' school, county jail, and prison. During his stints behind bars, he'd obtained several college degrees. Dave was very open and honest about his past and his mistakes, while accepting every bit of responsibility for his actions. So, what could make such a good and smart man act so ignorantly while he was not locked up? Alcohol. Dave swore several times while he was locked up that he'd never drink again. I had always wanted to believe him, but I knew his track record wasn't good.

While the time wore on, the letters became scarcer. I was busy with school, a marriage, and kids. Dave was working on yet another college degree and attempting to appeal his last sentence. He wanted to come home. He wrote about how much my kids loved to play with his remote control cars and watch his cockatiels sit on his shoulder. He talked about how him and my daughter, then a toddler, would lay in his hammock and swing like they used to. Dave couldn't wait to see the son my husband and I had while he was still in prison. He never got to see him.

I had been really negligent in writing to Dave for a while, and when I did finally send a letter, it was returned. Dave was no longer in prison. By the time I found someone who had seen him, Dave was already reportedly backed to drinking. I was disappointed, yet not surprised. Dave was just Dave. He could not help the way he was; it was the only life Dave knew. I planned on going to see him, but just hadn't found the right time. I didn't want to catch him at a bad time and know lived 20 minutes away.

Today, I would walk that 30 mile walk to be able to sit down at the kitchen table with my friend Dave just one more time. I won't make the trip though. Not today, not tomorrow. Tomorrow I am going to Dave's viewing and funeral. From what I understand, Dave fell earlier this week, hit his head, and went into a coma. It was said that he only had a 10% chance of living. I would've gone to the hospital to see my friend, but by the time I got home and looked at the paper, Dave's obituary was already there. It was too late; my friend is gone.

There will be no cookouts in the yard this summer. My kids will not play with his remote control cars. The hammock will remain empty and the flowers planted will bloom without a witness. I will not hug my friend and welcome him home. I will go to my friend's funeral tomorrow and feel the pain and regret of waiting a day too long. I should've stopped by, even taken a case of beer. Strange to me that it always seems to be the good people. Dave was unique, that goes without saying. I just wish more people had gotten to know the real side of Dave. Regardless of the poor choices the man made in his life, David Keough was a good man.