A Moment for Gordon

Many years ago I lost one of the dearest friends from my youth.  His name was Gordon Weider.  It was only a year or so after college that Gordon’s life was taken from him senselessly while riding his bicycle.  Unfortunately, because I lived so far away at the time, it was almost ten years before I became aware of the circumstances and his fate.   Consequently, I never mourned his loss properly or celebrated him for the wonderful human being that he was.

I met Gordon in elementary school.  In those days my last name was Weiss, so Gordon and I were always forced together for alphabetical reasons.  He was a prince among clowns.  Even at a young age, he possessed a gentleness of spirit that was rare.

As we got older, many of us became awkward and self-conscious.  Not Gordon—he simply mellowed.  The sweetness of his character became embodied in his artistic eye.  By fourth grade he had developed a great talent for drawing.  For one assignment, we were asked to tell a story to the class, using whatever means we wished.  He presented 101 Dalmatians, drawing each of the characters by hand on dozens of vinyl “colorforms.”  I remember his presentation vividly;  he moved like a puppeteer, animating the puppies on the felt board with their variously rendered aspects. 

I remember the embarrassment of being among the first students to get braces on my teeth.  While the others taunted me, Gordon sat next to me at lunch and asked if it hurt and whether it was difficult to chew.  When I was finally allowed to have my ears pierced, he caught my eye across the classroom and squeezed his own earlobes, nodding his head in silent affirmation. 

I was crushed when Gordon’s family moved from our neighborhood, sending him to a different school.  His absence left a hole in my daily life.  I was thrilled to reconnect with him years later in high school.  We were in many classes together.  I remember, in particular, working through problems in Algebra 2 and Trigonometry with him.  We had an experimental high school where math classes were conducted in a lab-type setting.  Students sat  at large tables in informal groupings, working at their own pace through the materials.  The teacher was there as a resource only when needed.  As we finished each chapter, we would get a pass to the Test Center to take the exam.  Together, he and I would work the problems, pushing each other in playful competition to see who was ready to take the exam first.

Finally, graduation day was upon us.  We arrived at the Miami Beach Auditorium for the big ceremony along with about seven hundred other students and their families.  Once again, as the alphabet would have it, Gordon and I were thrown together near the end of the line.  If I had known that this would be the last time I would sit by his side I would have tried to repay the debt of kindness that I owed.  I would have let him know how valuable his friendship had been to me through some of the most difficult and awkward days of my life.  I would have enumerated each time that the generosity of his spirit made a tough day a little bit better.  I would have held on a little tighter as we said our final good-byes.  Instead, as they called for our row to rise and join the procession, he grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight, surprising me that he, too, remembered  with fondness our humble beginnings as elementary students standing together at the end of the line.

It seems no coincidence to me that one who was possessed of so much heart was born on Valentine’s Day.   While I celebrate this day each year with the ones I love, I also remember my friend Gordon:  the boy with more than enough heart, yet not enough time.