Memories Of A Departed Friend

By Author: Gregory J. Ballan
Total Articles: 9
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Memories of a departed friend

I'd like to take a break from humor for a day and recall a lost friendship. It's funny how the strangest things can resurrect memories both good and painful. As most everybody knows, James Doohan (Scotty) of Star Trek passed away yesterday. I loved that show and his character. I find myself often repeating some of Scotty's keen one liners such as; The best diplomat I know is a fully charged phaser bank. There are countless others, but Star Trek is not the point of this entry, I mention it because it was the catalyst, somehow, for calling forth the memories of a great friend who took his life last year.

I was privileged to know a man named Glenn. I choose not to use his last name, not out of any fear of legal recourse, but out of respect for his family and his children whom I hold in the highest esteem. I'll never forget the first time I met Glenn, it was in 1990. I was just getting into traditional archery and was looking to buy a back quiver to hold my arrows as well as other traditional gear that I needed for the pursuit of this wonderful sport. My friend Brian had suggested ...
... that I buy my gear from someone he had met at an archery shoot awhile back. He gave me the phone number and encouraged me to call. That night I called and asked for Glenn. I introduced myself and explained why I had called. What would normally have been a five minute phone call turned into an hour long conversation about archery and the fine art of making things from scratch. We agreed to meet at his home that weekend, Saturday morning.

Well, I was slightly apprehensive about meeting this guy despite the great rapport we had on the phone. I figured I'd just get my quiver and be on my way after a few minutes. I knocked on Glenn's door and was greeted by the symphony of barking dogs. The door opened and there stood a man my height wearing a big smile. He yelled at the dogs and motioned me in. There was a magic about Glenn that to this day I'll never be able to explain and there was a warmth in that house that seemed to welcome anybody inside. Glenn had a special way of making anybody feel at ease and comfortable. He led me to his basement workshop and showed me the quiver he had made. It was absolutely incredible; the workmanship and quality were simply amazing and no detail was overlooked. I happily forked over my $100.00 knowing that a product of this quality would have set me back four times as much anyplace else.

We went into his basement family room and I spotted a collection of arrowheads and spear tips that would have been a museum curator's wet dream. There were relics from the Egyptian Empire, the Roman Empire, and hundreds of Native American stone arrowheads all neatly arranged, labeled and encased in wooden and glass display boxes. Glenn came even more alive and excited as he caught me studying his collection. He spent over 90 minutes showing me different pieces and entertaining me with stories of how he acquired them. Glenn always said you can find a treasure in another mans trash and he was the king of the yard sale bargain. Several of his most valuable collectibles had been acquired through yard sales. Artifacts valued at over $1,000.00 dollars had been obtained for the sum of fifty cents to two bucks. Glenn had an eye for a bargain and a shrewd knack for a good deal.

We began talking and eventually wound up in his back yard with our bows and arrows shooting into hay bales and other assorted targets that he had for his personal use. I discovered how deadly a shot this man was and how freely he dispensed his knowledge of traditional archery. Over the next several hours, I was given an archery clinic that would have cost hundreds of dollars at any sports shop. The day literally flew by and before I knew it six hours had passed and I was long overdue (Anybody who follows my blog knows that this isn't an unusual circumstance for me). As I was preparing to leave, an aroma of sheer delight attacked my senses. Glenn's wife had finished preparing dinner. As I made my way through the kitchen I saw a feast fit for a king. His wife had already prepared a place setting for me and I figured I was already late, what would another hour hurt? Glenn's wife pointed towards the phone and instructed me to call Mrs. Esper and let her know that I was still alive and kicking and would be dining here this evening. The meal was magnificent as was the company, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. After dinner Glenn and I went back down to his family room and watched several movies and talked about archery, hunting and family. I felt I had found a kindred spirit and a possible good friend for many years.

Glenn and I developed a close friendship and I came know his wife and children very well over the last 14 years. There were many dinners, many hunting trips and many late nights watching movies and just talking about life and life's obstacles. Glenn had so many talents; he could make or repair anything made of leather, he could load the hottest shotgun shells or bullets and make some of the best traditional arrows to be found anywhere. His hunting and tracking skills were incredible and I was a willing student. But most of all, he was a good friend and a great host, I always enjoyed our times together and looked forward to a long and lasting friendship.

But he also had his demons, which he had spent the last three years of his life battling. Glenn and I grew apart because of these demons, and they affected his health and home life and put a strain on our friendship. I sometimes wonder if I had been a better friend, maybe I could have done more. But Glenn was a very proud man and did things his way, whether anybody approved or not. Addiction ate away at him both physically and emotionally and was tearing apart his family. He had done things that were questionable and had to face up to his actions in a court of law. All of Glenn's friends turned their backs on him, people he'd known for years and had done so many things for in the past, all disappeared from his life. Despite all of it I was still Glenn's friend and we still talked and visited, although admittedly not as frequently. I tried, honestly, to get through to him, his wife tried, but in the end we all failed. Glenn hadn't been happy for about two years, he claimed he was depressed (I believe that he was), he had other health issues; some brought on by his addiction and others that weren't. In the end his demons got the better of him. My friend took his life last October, in front of his youngest son.

I remember talking to both his sons and daughter after Glenn's funeral; they boys were now young men, no longer the boys that I remembered from 14 years ago. I had watched them grow up and had witnessed so much in their lives. I saw his daughter, such a beautiful young woman and remembered how tiny she was when we first met. It was heart breaking to see the pain in those young eyes, for they had lost their Dad too soon. They had so many unanswered questions and so much hurt to endure. I talked about their Father with them for a good while, reminding them of the man I knew and regarded as a friend. When I remember my friend Glenn, I remember the wisdom and kindness he always showed me and the love and zest he had for life while he was healthy. This was my friend, what he had become due to his illness was sad and such a waste. I still think of him, especially when I have a bow out or I'm using the quiver that he made for me so many years ago. That quiver is more precious to me now than gold. It's a keepsake and a reminder of how a great friendship began. Whenever I'm in the woods, I know that his spirit is watching me, laughing at my misfortunes and cheering my successes, from a better place where he's free from his pain and suffering. I miss my friend and long for the friendship that we shared, for he was a rare man indeed.

About the Author Science Fiction writer and columnist.