I recently learned that Rob Beadle, my best friend in high school, died.
We hung out together and I got into mischief with him like no other friend. We blew up a stump with pipe bomb when the Fox Hills community was just being built. When we lit the fuse, we ran back 100ft and watched as a huge KABOOM preceded a giant mushroom cloud...pieces of stump flying in every direction. Stunned at the destruction, we took off running before the police could arrive.
At Halloween, we met up with Dave Gillihan and Tony Clasen - more mishief. At one point we threw a smoke bomb in between a front door and a glass door, then rang the door bell. The owner was ticked and shouted out some choice words to Rob and I as we were halfway down the street. He caught sight of Dave and Tony and ran after them. Rob and I watched from the shadows as Dave zoomed by. Next Tony, a few seconds behind - followed closely by the offended homeowner. When we met up with Dave and Tony, the homeowner just put his hand on Tony as he broke through some vines and escaped.
In High School Betsy Warner and some of the girls asked me to join rally. I thought it was a ridiculous idea, but I figured I'd pass the rejection onto Rob. I said, "I'll do it if Rob does." They ran over to Rob and asked him and, to my astonishment, he said yes. I assumed he would say no, but the next thing I knew, we were running out to the basketball court shouting slogans to the crowd. I hated it...but loved being around Rob. His enthusiasm was contagious and everyone at school liked him. I wasn't sure of myself and I sure wasn't sure why he liked to hang around with me. Maybe he saw something in me that I didn't.
In high school Rob was into karate and self defense. He showed me how to use nunchucks and throw Ninja stars. One time he took me and another buddy Scott Hansen down to his parents basement and gave us some boxing gloves. I didn't know what I was doing, but as we sparred Scott laid a nice jab on me. Not realizing my adrenaline kicked in, I rushed forward quickly to attack him with a primal blow. Luckily Rob saw my intentions and broke it up to calm me down before Scott hurt me worse. That's what a friend is for...to protect you before you make a big mistake.
Of course he couldn't always protect me. We took up skiing lessons together and went every week up the mountain to race down the hill. After high school we went up when Timberline had very little snow. It was the end of the day and we raced down to the bottom. But I had gone so fast I didn't realize I was heading for a rock field and bounced then tumbled over and over until I crumbled to a stop. Rob sat by my side until the Ski Patrol arrived and escorted me in a sled to the lodge. He drove me home after the accident on my head...later I went to the emergency room. I still remember limping into my parents' living room with him helping me in. "Don't worry mom, I'm okay," I said with a temporary bandage covering my bloody head.
While attending Portland Community College, Rob was doing a story for the college paper. Earlier in the week we went rafting down the Clackamas river. I like to paint and was taking some art classes along with my business classes. Little did I know, the next paper's headline was "Artist Get's into Scene" plastered across the top, with a photo of me going down some rapids. Accompanied was a story of how before I do a painting, I like to physically experience the landscape. It was all made up without my knowledge; but I was so impressed with the story, I thought that maybe I should follow his advice.
He went into the Army, but talked me out of joining because he knew the Navy was better for me. And yet, after our stint in the service, we both ended up being electricians - him a lineman and me in maintenance. Every other year, out of the blue, I'd get a call from him...usually after he had a near death experience. One example went something like this:
Rob: "Hey Gary, how are you?"
Me: "Okay Rob, what happened?"
Rob: "Well, I was on my way to the hospital in an ambulance and I was thinking of you...." and he'd precede to tell me about the huge wrench dropped on his face when he looked up at a lineman from a tower that called down "Look out below!"
Whenever I'd hook up with him through the years, he'd have a disfigurement...maybe a scar on his head - I think that was the motorcycle accident. I never knew how he was going to leave this world, but assumed it would be in fantastic fashion. Nevertheless, after each near death story he told, he usually followed it up with relationships, friendship, etc.
As I write through these tears, the emotions stir up more stories that are more detailed, more funny, more drunken, more thought provoking, but I think you get the idea. I'm not sure how I even met Rob, but through time, I found religion - he didn't, and we slowly drifted away...but not completely. The last time I saw him was at a High School Reunion. He was overweight and difficult to recognize - until he laughed and mentioned something witty...then the same old Rob peeked through.
In the last several years, after trying to locate him without avail, I thought maybe he ended up in some foreign land. He could and would do something like that.
High School was tough, but life is even tougher; so his death reminds me to cherish those around us at every moment. One thing is for sure, we always loved each other like brothers, and I'm going to miss him.
