My dear friend, longtime SEMO colleague and editor of The Cape Rock (a poetry journal that published some of my poems), Slo-Pitch softball teammate, and ROTO baseball buddy, Harvey Hecht, died unexpectedly this morning. Only three weeks ago I accompanied him, his son Matt, and another friend, to St. Louis to watch the Cardinals play the Dodgers. Harvey collected baseball memorabilia, and he and I had a deal: I would pass along to him any information on baseball cards and other baseball items I learned about, and he would notify me of any Faulkner manuscripts he found. Harvey and I had both lost our beloved spouses, my Kaye and his Lea; and he was a great counselor and comforter to me in my grief, as I hope I was of help to him. Given his great sense of humor and his ebullient spirit, it was hard to think of Harvey as old; but last year, after a ROTO league meeting at my house, I watched him walk past my flower beds, limp down the steps to the sidewalk, and head for his car. It struck me how old we were both getting to be. I immediately went to my computer and wrote the following poem. RIP Harvey; you'll be missed.
Decline
--for Harvey Hecht
Only a few tulips,
their bright yellow
pasted on the wilting heat,
and a few petunias,
white as ash . . .
The rest have finished
their season of color
or have succumbed
to the drought.
I watch an old friend,
as old as I,
limp down my front steps
and walk to his car
to drive to a lonely house.
We never thought
it would come to this,
never thought at all,
in those bright summer days,
about aging and death.
In the shadow of that limp
I see a young man,
bat in hand,
confidently striding to the plate.
Hammerin’ Harvey Hecht.
I remember it all.
How we ran the bases,
lost in our moment in the sun.
Next spring the flowers
will bloom again.
Sorry for the loss to the English Department as well as a dear colleague. The poem was on target.
So sorry for your loss. Your beautiful poem about your friend made me shed tears.