Monday, December 2, 2024
I got to know Keevin in high school when we ran together on the cross country team. He was a skinny little guy with a nose like a hawk’s beak- thin and prominent. Perfect for cutting through the air.
The most prominent thing about him, however, was his quiet presence. The way he faded into the background in a group. So quiet that you could almost forget he was there…but then when you looked up it almost surprised you to find him there, completely engaged and aware of you. Totally in tune with what was going on.
Just like the way you could be pounding along, completely caught up in your race, and the pain you were in, and you’d turn to check on the rest of the race and there was Keevin, right on your shoulder, loping effortlessly along just waiting to pounce. That always shook the hall out of me.
I lost track of him after 1971 when he moved Canada. His brother, Brent, would catch me up on his exploits- driving trucks across the Slave Lakes in the middle of winter! Advising would be prospectors of the possibility of finding gold on the piece of land they were fixing to buy.
He lived a full life.
I only saw him once more when he came to visit. I was out, probably buying groceries, when my wife called and said, “You need to come home now!” I walked in the door and there was the old cross country team, Keevin included!
We had the forethought to get a picture of us. Graying but doing our best to look fit.
Keevin is in the middle, looking mildly at the camera. Ready to pounce.
(Being over seventy, with most of these memories fifty years or more behind me, I ask you to please disregard any historical inaccuracies, and go with the flow.)
Rest in Peace,
Matt Ward
