I met Don in the spring of 1962, I was 11 years old and had just moved to Weston from Battle Creek Michigan. Donnie quickly became one of a small group of new friends I spent a great deal of time with. We grew up together.
Our primary interests went from model cars, to girls, to driving cars, to music, to mind expanding drugs, to girls, to education, we both studied printing and art reproduction, to making a living, to horse racing, to making more money to replace what we lost on horse racing, to marriage and raising 3 girls for Don (I married much later), to business (we became partners), to food and fine wine, to travel, to what to watch on Netflix, to relaxing with our sweethearts, Don and Elizabeth and me and Maria.
I am excitable, raising my voice and waving my arms at the slightest provocation, Don never was. Don was always calm on the outside. He was never rushed, as a matter of fact you couldn’t rush him if you wanted to. He was stoic with a smile.
He had a wonderful curiosity, if he took an interest in something he would follow the trail like a bloodhound until he found the best of it. If I came across a new way to cook an omelet, Don would be the first person I wanted to tell. The thought “wait ’til I tell Don” has become second nature for me, I suppose it will fade with time. My memories of Don never will.
I looked in the thesaurus for a better word than sad (Don would have probably done the same) and found nothing adequate. Probably the closest is a primal scream followed by soft weeping but I don’t know how to spell that here.
I will miss not having new adventures with Don, but the Don I knew will always be with me until I take my final rest. A better friend a man cannot have. Requiescat in pace Don.