by Tom Ashley
At the age of seventy-five it all became shocking and soberingly clear. Classmates, relatives, colleagues, neighbors, and a wide variety of friends began passing away. Even if I hadn’t seen nor spoken to them and weren’t particularly close in recent times, it was a halting moment, a reminder of the temporal nature of the human condition.
One day a friend and I took a walk through the Hayden Planetarium after an overdue lunch. One exhibit extended thirty or forty yards outlining various momentous events and achievements of life extending back as far as the Big Bang. Stonehenge, cave paintings, saber tooth tigers, the Roman Empire – they were all there. Then it showed current life spans approximating where we fit into this scenario. We were more or less represented by a pin head. We looked at each other and began laughing. We were 100% involved in our lives and this world as we know it, but Mother Nature and Father Time could care less.
Having lived in ten different cities for a year or more, I’ve built up a substantial aggregate of people I‘ve know well through a variety of circumstances . As time has passed I’ve been out of touch with so many of them but have strong feelings and emotional attachment to allies who have had impact. If a friend dies I never remove their name from my phone book or the cell. I look at their names and happy recollections return. My framed photographs and pictures on my refrigerator door are beginning to remind me of Forrest Lawn. When the phone rings now I nervously look at the number fearing the worst. If I see area code 312 I panic thinking my childhood friend who has been extremely ill, has passed. If it’s area code 520, I wonder if anything has happened to my semi-reclusive son living in Tucson. But it’s not only phone calls. Emails, texts and obituaries in the New York Times have shaken my world on a consistent basis.
Covid devastated so many of us. The unending news, the ambulances, and fear engulfed all but particularly those of us of a certain age. Many no longer roamed the halls of our school nor other spaces we frequent. We all lived in tremendous fear. Could we be next?
Recently I’ve been shaken by the loss of individuals with whom I have not had contact but were certainly a part of the events that shaped my career and my friendships. Within a ten-day period I shockingly opened the Times to read the final chapter of three men who had impacted my life and the lives of many others.
First was the loss of a well-loved man who had a superb career in baseball but had fallen into the wrong crowd and ended up on the wrong side of the law years later. He was a lovely man who brought laughter, fun and joy to all within his orbit. I had been given an assignment from one of the networks to profile him over a two-day period during the off season. It was only for two days, but I felt a kinship with this exceedingly fun-loving boy/man who brought me into his world. We had never met before nor seen each other after those two days spent with him in his hometown of Ponce, Puerto Rico. I felt heartbroken when he was sentenced to two years in prison but joy when he redeemed himself by becoming a guidance counselor post-prison and had been inducted into the Hall of Fame several years thereafter. In less than two days he deeply touched me with his generous personality and his passing, while sad, brought back warm memories.
Two days later a colleague who had joined ABC Television the same day as I, passed on. We were more than co-workers. We lived near each other, our wives and children were close and we shared our hopes and dreams. He methodically made all the right moves and went on to carefully nurture talented executives at both ABC and CBS. He remained humble and always willing to explore ideas and help others, myself included. I know we appreciated our time together. This gentle giant, physically imposing and passionately loyal, left me in tears.
On the other hand, three days later another colleague was afforded a lengthy obituary in the Times. He had accomplished a great deal in his spectacular career. I’d go into this further, but the third-century Greek philosopher, Chiron of Sparta, said it best: “Don’t speak ill of the dead.”
And so life begins and ends. We’re all on this carousel with all its ups and downs. Grab that brass ring and hold on tight. It’s a short ride.