After the tragic deaths of East Rockaway's Christopher Hummel and Bryan Baxter in a car accident on Feb. 15, I remember thinking that this wasn't a story I wanted to cover. I grew up with Chris, and when I was older I hung around with Bryan.
I left for Pennsylvania on Feb. 16 for a ski trip, planning to return two days later for Chris's and Bryan's wakes. I sat in my hotel room late that first night, contemplating my decision not to contribute to their story. Once again, I reached a "stay out of it" verdict.
Then, last Wednesday morning, there was a message waiting when I returned to my hotel room. It was from a grief-stricken family member of one of my late friends -- and the grief overwhelmed the words. After returning that call, I realized that this column wasn't something I had to write, but rather, I wanted to.
No one can prepare for a friend's death, even one for which there's plenty of warning. Such an even is even more tragic when there's no prep time at all. At 24, I never imagined attending the services of two fallen friends. At times it didn't seem real. It didn't seem possible that two guys who were so well liked by those who knew them could be swept away in a matter of minutes.
Chris and Bryan were two great dudes. Their respect for life, others and their families and friends were qualities we can all learn from. It was impossible not to enjoy their sense of humor and sense of self. Chris's "Jerky Boys" impressions were the best, and Bryan -- well, he was funny just being "Baxter."
My favorite memories of Chris include our constant arguing about the Islanders and the pros and cons of using performance-enhancing supplements in bodybuilding. At one point I was a diehard Islanders fan, though I later made a loyalty switch to the Florida Panthers and New Jersey Devils. Chris made sure to never let me forget that my true roots were here in New York. And after a column of mine titled, "Ephedra -- are we ever going to learn a lesson?" appeared last spring, Chris was the first to get under my skin. He knew my hard-nosed opinion on this controversial issue, but whether he agreed or not, he just enjoyed the argument, laughing as I tried to defend my stance.
My memories of Bryan include his frequent use of glow-sticks. I could never understand why some people get a thrill from tossing around these neon-liquid-filled cylinders until I watched Bryan break it down one night in a local club. I was amazed. He took a skill that appeared so stupid and made it into an art form, flipping the glowing tubes from hand to hand and around his torso with impressive dexterity. He gave me a new appreciation for a toy I once thought to be ridiculous.
I've overlooked a lot of details in my life, instead of standing still for a minute and allowing time for appreciation. I've taken things for granted, and I'll probably continue to do that.
In May 2002 I had the chance to attend a training session for a runner named Marlon Shirley in Colorado Springs. At that time, I had no idea who Shirley was.
During Shirley's warm-ups, I couldn't believe my eyes. He was the fastest human I'd ever seen. When he changed from athletic pants to shorts, I realized I was looking at a lot more than an everyday athlete. This was Paralympic champion Marlon Shirley -- the world's fastest amputee runner.
What does Shirley have to do with Chris and Bryan? The answer is appreciation. Whether people live to be 23, 55 or 99, they can teach us to appreciate what we so easily take for granted. Each time Chris and Bryan walked into a room, they gave their friends and family new appreciation for what it means to have an uplifting spirit. Their short lives were very full, and that spirit has now moved to higher ground.