Larry Solomon (1949-2007)
This morning I'd like to pay tribute to an old high school crush of mine, Larry Solomon (1949-2007). He was a junior when I was a freshman. We were in the same gym class. What's more, he was the reigning king of the trampoline which he spotted as part of his duties as Boy Leader. And, in his spare time he anchored the gymnastics team.
He eventually earned an All-American scholarship to Springfield College. My senior year, word spread that Larry had fractured his neck during a tumbling practice at Springfield. I think most of the school was saddened. There was a fund raiser for Larry's medical bills. I was particularly devastated for his parents who, though I didn't know them, had obviously had Larry late in life and was their only offspring. I remember his dad was a mailman.
I visited Larry several times at the Rush Institute in Manhattan even though it meant working through our gym teacher who didn't know me well at all. What struck me almost immediately upon seeing him completely on his back the first couple of times, was his absolute determination to keep the conversation as casual as possible. If he mentioned his quadriplegia at all, it was to explain a procedure or an exercise he was about to go through. Mostly it was an hour of two guys talking about nothing.
I soon found out that the entire staff was dedicated to treating him as just another nineteen-year-old guy. On one of my last visits, the summer before Middletown, he let it be known that he was going on "a date" with one of the nurses later that evening. The nurse in question confirmed what Larry had said and added that regular excursions "off-site" were part of his routine and that included visits to her apartment. "How progressive!", I thought.
As my own college career took off, those trips to Manhattan's Upper East Side receded into the rear-view mirror. Every once in a while, I would wonder to myself "What ever happened to Larry Solomon?" But with every year that went by, so did my possible contacts.
I didn't know his parents well enough to cold call them. Ditto with Mr. Pugliese. I kept thinking his story would be in the New York papers eventually (well, I was half-right.) The years turned to decades and while I hadn't forgotten about Larry, by the time the internetz was invented, I had begun to dread actually knowing his fate.
Until, for some reason, yesterday. Between all the shredding and vacuuming, I suddenly was inspired to google "Larry Solomon Obituary" and here's what I found: https://tucson.com/news/local/lawrence-larry-solomon-some-people-dont-do-a-thimbleful-of-what-he-did-in-life/article_f5e957cb-3c7e-5525-bcc8-238916eef476.html
Wow. Those eyes. The rest of Larry's face aged gently into middle-age. The crow's feet and brow suggest someone who laughed easily and often and who was well-loved. But those eyes. They're the same eyes that looked back at me from deep within Cody's core that one moment of connection at the art showing. They are the eyes of someone who looks Death right in the eye virtually every moment of their lives.
At first, I was kind of jealous of Larry. Really. True to the newspaper's headline, he had lived an extraordinary life that included - and I only hope his parents lived long enough to see them - two children of his own. And I've already lost track of all the degrees he earned.
But, something about that obit picture looks almost too perfect. He's almost too recognizable. Sure, he's no longer the lean, muscular Boy Leader of my 1965 gym class. But he could easily be Mr. Pugliese.
He eventually earned an All-American scholarship to Springfield College. My senior year, word spread that Larry had fractured his neck during a tumbling practice at Springfield. I think most of the school was saddened. There was a fund raiser for Larry's medical bills. I was particularly devastated for his parents who, though I didn't know them, had obviously had Larry late in life and was their only offspring. I remember his dad was a mailman.
I visited Larry several times at the Rush Institute in Manhattan even though it meant working through our gym teacher who didn't know me well at all. What struck me almost immediately upon seeing him completely on his back the first couple of times, was his absolute determination to keep the conversation as casual as possible. If he mentioned his quadriplegia at all, it was to explain a procedure or an exercise he was about to go through. Mostly it was an hour of two guys talking about nothing.
I soon found out that the entire staff was dedicated to treating him as just another nineteen-year-old guy. On one of my last visits, the summer before Middletown, he let it be known that he was going on "a date" with one of the nurses later that evening. The nurse in question confirmed what Larry had said and added that regular excursions "off-site" were part of his routine and that included visits to her apartment. "How progressive!", I thought.
As my own college career took off, those trips to Manhattan's Upper East Side receded into the rear-view mirror. Every once in a while, I would wonder to myself "What ever happened to Larry Solomon?" But with every year that went by, so did my possible contacts.
I didn't know his parents well enough to cold call them. Ditto with Mr. Pugliese. I kept thinking his story would be in the New York papers eventually (well, I was half-right.) The years turned to decades and while I hadn't forgotten about Larry, by the time the internetz was invented, I had begun to dread actually knowing his fate.
Until, for some reason, yesterday. Between all the shredding and vacuuming, I suddenly was inspired to google "Larry Solomon Obituary" and here's what I found: https://tucson.com/news/local/lawrence-larry-solomon-some-people-dont-do-a-thimbleful-of-what-he-did-in-life/article_f5e957cb-3c7e-5525-bcc8-238916eef476.html
Wow. Those eyes. The rest of Larry's face aged gently into middle-age. The crow's feet and brow suggest someone who laughed easily and often and who was well-loved. But those eyes. They're the same eyes that looked back at me from deep within Cody's core that one moment of connection at the art showing. They are the eyes of someone who looks Death right in the eye virtually every moment of their lives.
At first, I was kind of jealous of Larry. Really. True to the newspaper's headline, he had lived an extraordinary life that included - and I only hope his parents lived long enough to see them - two children of his own. And I've already lost track of all the degrees he earned.
But, something about that obit picture looks almost too perfect. He's almost too recognizable. Sure, he's no longer the lean, muscular Boy Leader of my 1965 gym class. But he could easily be Mr. Pugliese.