In Memorium

So, I guess if I’m going to start this thing up again I should just be on with it. This weekend was a mess. Mother & father filled up the old Toyota for me to come home to create some terrible diversion from real life. Saturday morning I found out my favorite professor from college died last year. I had no idea as I pretty much hated all things Hardin-Simmons except the two professors who really believed in me. Dr. Fink (you guessed it…English) and Mr. Moritz (all things Marketing). Good ole Moritz had all sorts of cancer and was always in dreadful pain. He took a group of us business students to New York to show off his urban savvy I imagine. We had meetings at all these big deal places. One investment place especially sticks out in my mind. The CEO was giving us some speech about how sometimes it’s necessary to cut a few employees which I would be almost ok with if it wasn’t for that horrible smirk he had on his face the whole time. So, come question time I pretty much ripped him a new one…in the most pragmatic way some snot nosed 21 yr old can rip the CEO of an investment company in New York City a new one. God I wish I could remember what I said…but I was damn proud of my idealistic soliloquy. I was a tool and a phony what can I say.

Anyway, I had a letter from good ole HSU sitting at my place at the breakfast table along with a stack of over due bills that got forwarded to my parents house after my move from Houston to Austin. I figured it was another laughable letter about giving to Hardin-Simmons the college that gave you so much. More like the college that stripped me all things spiritual. Boo. I hate that place. But no…it was a letter asking for money for a scholarship in Mr. Moritz’s name. I sat there in front of my parents choking back tears…kind of like I’m doing right now. Contrary to what some people think of me…I hate crying in front of people…especially my parents. I’m the strong, hardened one who looks at life terribly realistically and sometimes, I’ll admit it, pessimistically.

Death is weird to me. I haven’t dealt with it much in my life…and I don’t think that’s a good thing…I’m 26 years old and I don’t know how to deal with it. So, I finished my breakfast, took my letter up stairs and bawled a little.

This one time I had to go up to his office during his incredibly short office hours to turn in something late. He made me sit there while he gave me some long winded speech about why my GPA was as low as it is.

Susan, you and I both know you’re a helluva lot smarter than this GPA reflects.

(People that weren’t afraid to use the word ‘helluva’ at HSU were always my favorite)

Yeah…You are right…I dunno…I need to work it. I’ll work on it I promise.

Old Tom was the type of guy that kept Christmas Coke in his fridge…in the middle of the summer. He likes to buy it on sale when they’re apparently trying to get rid of the Christmas cans and save it for the whole year. He was a real good man that Tom. Every year there would be this sale on Titlist golf balls at the one and only golf shop in Abilene, Texas. Mr. Moritz would clip the coupon for the balls…march right into the Super Walmart and insist they match the price. I mean that’s what they always advertised right? He knew he was the smartest man in Texas every year on that day…He wasn’t waiting in line at the Golf ‘n’ More store where you have to fight for every last box of balls.

I’m sad he’s not here anymore. I’m sad I’ll won’t get to go back to Abilene and show him how successful I’ve become (we’re obviously talking years from now). I’m sad I’ll never get to write the letter I’d been meaning to write…that he was my favorite…He was a real hard ass…but my favorite nonetheless and not to change anything no matter how ridiculous the students get. And most of all thanks for seeing through that stupid 2.96 number and realizing I still have a brain. So, this is my pathetic attempt to make things right in my head and in my heart. I love you, Tom.