A Special Kind of Friend

Rogers was a large school and there were probably close to 500 students in our class of 1970. In the four years I was in Newport, I can’t say I knew everyone personally or discovered who was related to whom, but I tried to attach a name to nearly every face. At Thompson Junior High everyone had been “tracked,” grouped according to the foreign language chosen and to our expected academic level. We changed classrooms every period, but we traveled from room to room within our designated clumps.

There was some remixing for Homeroom, Home-Ec/Shop, Gym, and of course Band. Otherwise, the same 30 plus or minus students were my constant companions. But, once we got to Rogers High School for our sophomore year, the tracking system disappeared and anyone could be in your classes.

Charlie was in my graduating class, although not in any of my classes. But friendships included friends of friends and anyone who showed up at the weekly Saturday night Teen Canteen dances (with a live band). That’s where most teen romances and many close friendships bloomed.

That’s where I knew Charlie from, but only casually. He was one of those genuinely nice guys that everyone liked, really cute, and the subject of many a girl’s crush, although he seemed unaware of any of that. Everyone knew that his father owned the biggest funeral home on the island… which is why I’m writing this today.

Because I moved away the summer before my senior year, I don’t automatically know what happened to this person or that person. Their lives continued without me, as mine veered onto a different trajectory. Most of them might have forgotten me, but I’ve always remembered them as foundational to who I am. And so, since the Internet created Classmates.com and other ways to find old friends, from time to time I’ll wonder what became of someone and “google” them. Sometimes I’ll reach out to reconnect, but mostly I’ll just smile to see who became a judge or an admiral, a Hollywood producer, a professional musician, or a published writer. Sadly, for many, what I find is an obituary, and for my Newport friends, that obit usually leads back to Charlie’s funeral home, which of course he has now owned and operated for decades.

This strikes me hard, comparing his life and loves in Newport to mine. As impactful as those four years there were, as important as those friends and experiences were for me, mine was a short segment of time.

I’m not in contact with him, so this is supposition, but life in Newport for him, more than anyone else I know, is and was always meant to be full-circle. Like most of his classmates and neighbors, he was born there, grew up as every other normal kid; living, learning, and loving. As far as I know, his entire life has been rooted in that one small city by the sea, in that place packed with several different yet intertwined ethnic and family histories. To us, he was just “Charlie,” one of the guys. But, I guess he always knew he’d be the fourth generation to operate the family business. And now he is tenderly ministering, over and over again, a last loving grace to so many of his own personal friends and their loved ones. Years ago, I would never have given this a thought, but I’ve reached the age where such reminders keep smacking me in the face. What Charlie does takes a special kind of soul.

Charlie, God bless you!

And I would ask blessings for the thousands of others across the country, in Smalltown, USA, who have a similar story.