So I Just Heard Ken Levy Died ...

Two years ago.

Two years ago.

Maybe more .. not really sure of the date.

Happened to be trolling for familiar names from high school on classmates.com just for grins and maybe to entice them into doing more profiles on bc67.com ... (don't know about you, but I'm really enjoying reading about everyone, imagining slices of their lives, picturing what it's been like to be them, probably getting it all wrong, but wtf! It's fun anyway.)

And I saw a link to Betsey Friedman, Ken's high school girl friend and first wife.

Now, I did know that Ken and Betsey had split up, after a pretty long and I think not necessarily smooth go of it for at least 10 years and probably longer ... had gradually lost track of them as we all moved into our thirties ... and I did know Ken had remarried maybe 12 or 15 years ago, because I saw him again in NYC a couple years ago with his new wife Beth.

We had dinner at Rain, the Thai restaurant, on the Upper West Side; heard a good bit about their life in Scottsdale, outside Phoenix. Ken and Beth had moved there from Colorado several years before for his health; he was having lung problems and the air was much easier to take there for him.

Ken told me his son Aaron was getting into Little League and getting pretty good, and that he would love for Aaron to hear me tell him stories about how Ken was as a ball player back in Little League and beyond. That Ken's son would be good at baseball is completely natural. Anyone who ever hit against Ken, or tried, can certainly remember that big leg kick, then the swooping left arm reaching half-way to home plate, releasing fast balls popping into the catcher's mitt almost before he let them go. Whoosh-pop! And way more often than not, you'd be bailing or waving feebly, as the ball zoomed past you.

Ken grew up around the corner from me. He and I played against each other so much that I could actually hit him from time to time. Ade Arnold, our coach on Carroll's, used to joke that Ken was the only pitcher in the league I could hit. Real funny, Ade. I got a couple lines I could use on you, too ... never mind, not the time or place ...

So I emailed Betsey, just to say hello and like that; she emailed back right away and happened to mention, I guess you heard about Ken, he died two years ago, just couldn't get the lung transplant in time. Wha .... what? What the fu@##?

No.

Somehow, I missed that one.

I mean, this is the guy I grew up with. We had as many adventures together as Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. The guy with the awesome record collection and dramatic Earth Science notebook (he drew these amazing cumulus clouds). The guy taught me that most necessary and vital survival skill for high school and beyond: How to Be Cool, importing from NYC the latest Happening Thing, whether in clothes (we bought our first madras shirts together), music (how many hours after the next Beatles or Stones release did it take for us to acquire each one), dating, nightlife (we made our first fake ID's together) and yes, drugs, too.

Ken had many outstanding qualities --- intelligence, sense of style, charm, openness to new ideas and people --- and chief among them was his sense of humor. I know we brought it out in each other, as so many of our conversations became laughfests within seconds. He had that big smile, as well as the grin that just told you another amusing insight was on its way. We'd be out driving or even just walking around and whenever you were out with Ken, it was like a tour of car catalogs: "there's a '57 T'bird ... that's a '65 Mustang! ... over there, Buick Skylark ..." Yes, he was a bit of a car fag and I caught that from him. He was always way quicker on the draw than me at this game. One time, as I struggled to come up with the proper make and model: "Over there, that's a ... a ... um ..." Ken intoned: "Those things are called 'cars', Charles."

How could you not laugh with Ken.

As high school ended, inevitably our lives moved apart, college began, he at NYU, me at Tulane, yet he'd be the first I called when I was back in town. I helped hold the huppa at his and Betsey's wedding. I remember Betsey's mom coming up right before the ceremony and giving me a big kiss on the cheek, probably because I was the only young guy there wearing a jacket and tie. By that time, age 23 or so, Ken was definitely leading an alternate lifestyle. There was so much dope being smoked at that wedding in Ken's backyard I was sure the BP's would bust the event. His parents were not amused, although they made a game show of it, while pretending nothing was happening.

I would have gone to the funeral. The least I could do, for my best friend from high school.

I guess the point is, how would I have known? Was this in the Spotlight? I still have two brothers, Graham and Barry, in Delmar, but neither saw anything about it, otherwise they would have alerted me. And maybe no one alerted the Spotlight. Who would have? Ken's parents passed on years ago and of course he had no other immediate family in the area, especially as he and Betsey had gotten divorced 20 years ago.

So maybe if we have a blog here, for good news and bad, we can all stay a little more connected. There was a time when we were all so much a part of each other's lives.

I know Ken was a huge part of mine.

He always brought a smile to my face. And he always will.

--
Charlie