Twenty-five years ago today, we all lost a dear, dear soul. His name was Edward Fritsch. If you knew him, I think you'll agree that it's fair to say that Edward was a character, a real one. Simply put, Edward was someone you wanted to be around. It seemed like everybody did. If you knew him, I'm certain you'll agree with that, too. If you didn't know him, you'll just have to take my word for it.
Upon receiving the news that he died, my jaw dropped and I all I could get out was a load of gibberish. Still, and this will be one of the hardest things I've ever said, I saw it coming. I don't take much pride in telling you all that I, for once, possessed the gift of prescience, but I did, and too clearly. Believe me, I'd prefer to possess some other gift, such as the ability to sniff out gold buried ten feet deep in the ground, fix broken things around the house, or catch fish with my bare hands. Almost any other gift would be better. Being as dynamic and lovable a character as Edward Fritsch might be the best.
His memorial service was held the next day. I'm not sure whether I entertained the notion that the news was an unusually Byzantine conspiracy, and a cruel and distinctly unfunny one at that, perpetrated by the most loathsome bastards who ever walked the Earth, but when I got there, I would have sooner kissed a group of tasteless pranksters than see with my own two eyes my friend in a coffin, dapper as the day of the senior prom. I very well may have hated the funeral director's guts that day, and for the next several to follow, but the man dressed in black because that was part of his job, which he performed splendidly.Aside from the announcement of Edward's funeral, which took place two days later, I don't remember a word of the service. Maybe everything was drowned out by the drone of a broken air conditioning unit. That's what happened. It's a version of my own creation, and that's the version I want. The air conditioner was broken. I couldn't hear anything.
I remember the next several days somewhat vividly, beginning with the conclusion of the memorial service. Everyone who attended approached Edward's family to offer their condolences. My turn came, and that's when it all came to a head. I was inconsolable to the point of near hysteria, bawling like a child who lost his favorite toy. Frankly, my expression of grief bordered on the unseemly. Strangely or not, his mother, and almost everyone else there, it seemed, burst into laughter, which seemed freakish to me at the time. I don't doubt that I made a real spectacle of myself, so I don't blame anyone.
Without meaning to, I'd lent a perverse levity to the proceedings. I assure you, I wasn't there for comic relief. I hadn't experienced loss that profound since my paternal grandfather and beloved Uncle Benny passed away within several months of one another. I didn't attend my uncle's funeral because the shock was too great. Sitting here, I realize that maybe I made a sensible decision.
Mike, who, all these years later, remains at the top of a, by design, short list, and I spent the next couple of days scrambling around for or cobbling together outfits from clothes we already owned to bury our friend in. My mom and dad obtained a suit for me from a family friend, which swallowed me. Mike wore a plaid shirt and a tie, which he claimed I tied for him. That detail has continued to elude me, but Mike's a man you doubt at your own peril.
I was one of the three folks asked to say a few words during the service about our friend, and I obliged. I couldn't not. Nervous enough to soak through a suit several sizes too big, I stood at the front of the church and delivered a few of the best words I could come up with, some that expressed what kind of person Edward was and the place he held in peoples' lives, and others that expressed how much I loved him. I can't think of anything I'd put more effort into, and I can say, with unshakable certitude, that I did my best to honor him. Mine weren't the best words, but I'm proud of them and I still stand by them. Mrs. Adrian, perhaps the best-liked substitute teacher from our high school, spoke simply and eloquently when retelling a story about a water balloon fight Edward participated in with a group of young children (I think he worked as a lifeguard or at a camp one summer.) However, the best words of the day were yet to be delivered.
After the funeral, Mike, Billy Sumpter, the other three pallbearers (I'm sorry, but I simply don't remember who they were), and I were approached like heroes home from a fresh conquest; in plain English, that felt weird. Burying our friend didn't seem heroic to me. Nonetheless, one admirer, whom I will not identify in any way, approached us to tell us how grown up and nicely groomed we looked. Mike didn't miss a beat: "Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it?" I got the anger immediately. I didn't get the meaning until years later. "I have to say, boys, even punks like you can clean up nice when you have to." "Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it?" Those words remain one of my fondest memories from one of the most hellish weeks of my life. Those words were heroic.
There are too many wonderful stories to tell about Edward, too many wonderful, funny stories that illustrate what a larger than life character (again) Edward was. The stories about being young and dumb with Edward are legion. I can only tell a few, and I choose to tell the following here. One night, Edward, Mike, and I got our hands on a fifth of Jack Daniels, but don't ask me how (that's a funny story in and of itself.) Mike and I went first, sneaking timid nips straight from the bottle. As Mike and I recoiled from the insult of Tennessee's finest, Edward seized the opportunity. In one graceful swoop, Edward snatched the bottle, yanked it up straight up skywards, and polished off half the bottle in one swallow. It looked like a python swallowing a Pinto. I remember the funny way that Edward's Adam's apple ululated as the liquor went down. Right or wrong, I was awestruck. It was an impressive feat, even if I was pissed that Edward bogarted most of the booze.
Maybe you had to be there, and you weren't. You might think that story's inappropriate. Judge if you will, and if you will, you already have, and I've laid another opportunity right in your lap. Knock yourself out. You can thank me later, and I'd rather you didn't bother. Regardless, you were probably young and dumb, too. You just weren't young and dumb with Edward Fritsch. Your loss, boss.
In seventh grade, Edward and I were in a class called LAD, which was short for Language Arts Development. One of our assignments was "Record Pantomime," but you can call it lip synching. Most of us formed bands for the assignment. Me and a couple of other friends performed AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap," and destroyed thousands of dollars of imaginary guitars, amps, and drum kits well before the song ended. Edward, who had the courage of twenty LAD students, went solo. To this day, I don't know the name of the song he performed , but I do remember that it was from a Sesame Street record, and it featured one of the show's lesser monsters. Edward, ably (I understate) played bass, slung real, real low, and sang lead vocals. My recollection of the lyrics is piecemeal, at best, but the chorus went roughly like this:
"AND THEN THE MONSTER GOES AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!/
AND THEN THE MONSTER GOES AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!/
AND THEN THE MONSTER GOES AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!/
AND THEN THE MONSTER GOES AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH/
AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH/
AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!"
His performance was, without question, the most original and, needless to say, the best, by a country mile. I don't think there's a better way to describe his performance than to say that he threw himself into it completely. As a rule, seventh graders don't kick ass. He did.
That story, spotty recollection of it notwithstanding, serves as, to my mind, the best distillation of who he was: larger than life, funny, and always up for mischief. Edward didn't go around looking for a good time - he made the good time. A real charmer, too (ask the ladies.)
I'm making him out to sound like he was a scalawag or a juvenile delinquent. Nothing's further from the truth. Edward was a true prince of a man, a uniquely sweet, gentle soul, unfailingly kind and, even, possessed of an innocence that endeared him to everyone. You couldn't help but love him. Edward might be the most loved person I've ever known. He loved me back, which was my privilege. We were soul brothers.
Make no mistake: Edward had his demons. That's something I don't like to say. In the interest of decorum, I won't enumerate them. This isn't the time for it. I'm not sure where else to say it, so here's good enough: if you're the type to pass judgement on Edward or someone who suffered like he did, I recommend that you minister to your soul first. You, too, have your demons; in fact, they might be the same ones that plagued him. I'd be willing to bet some of you do. Maybe you've learned to put them in their place, or maybe you're one of the fortunates who's never had any to contend with. Either way, you're a Master of the Universe. Count your blessings.
But even if you've got the universe by the balls, I'll ask you, from the bottom of my heart, to practice humility, and to keep practicing until you can rightfully say, but don't, that you have it. And whether you've got it all sorted out or not, if you know, or even suspect, that a loved one is grieving, reach out to that person, and don't waste any time. Acknowledgement alone goes a long way, but let that person know that you're always there to listen. Tell that person you love him and that the world is a better place just because he's in it. [Note: My usage of the third person masculine form is done to comply with current convention.]
I ask because I had my chance and blew it. A year or so before his death, Edward moved to Dallas. Shortly before Christmas of 1988, his family invited me to accompany them for the holiday. I thought about it, but declined because I was expected to be available for duty stocking canned goods and manning a cash register. Edward died by his own hand shortly thereafter. I still carry that around some days. I'm happy to say I don't do that as often anymore. I still wonder, though.
I still think about him, and I'll bet you do, too. I think about the times we'd throw a frisbee in the vacant lot across from his house, or shoot hoops in his driveway. More often, I think about the epic games of hide and seek we'd play. Home base was a tree in his front yard. One day, we and some other friends struck upon something that blew our fourth grade minds - we didn't have to limit ourselves to hiding in the backyard greenhouse or one of the Fritsch' evergreen bushes. There was a field of fallow growth behind our houses where we'd never be found. Our friend Keith and I hid in that field, and from our vantage point, we could see Edward and my younger brother Scott looking for us, dumbfounded the entire time, and we laughed our little kid heads off. That worked once, so we got cocky. The next time we tried it, Edward and Scott let us sweat a little. When Keith and I thought we'd struck upon the perfect hiding place, Edward and my brother caught us off-guard and ambushed us. They bounded into the field, arms flailing and screaming AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH! After that, our entire neighborhood became our playing field, and we played until it was so dark we couldn't be found even if we hid behind the bush. I still have dreams about him, too. The dreams aren't about anything in particular that I can ascertain, except us hanging out, picking up from where we left off yesterday, as it were. Invariably, I awaken from these dreams and while I'm still between states, he's still alive and I get another chance. Each time I come to, I discover anew that he's not around anymore. The world's a sorrier place for that, and yes, it sucks, doesn't it?
I can't tell you what Edward would be doing now if he were still with us. All I can tell you is that shortly after Edward passed, his father mentioned something about an opportunity to attend medical school. For whatever reason, Edward declined. Of course I wish he'd gone. He'd have been an excellent doctor, for one. I can't help but think he might still be with us, for another. It wouldn't have mattered whether Edward became a doctor, to me. I just wish he and I could have discovered what he would have become together. All I know is that he would have been the best at it and that a lot people still love him, and the reason they do is that he loved them back. There's meaning there, if that's what you're looking for, and you'd damn well better love yourself while you're at it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOVH8tNWJBk
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