Farewell, Mr. C.

At the end of a long week comes news that my lifelong friend and former roommate James lost his father last night.

The three Csonka boys (James’ dad and brothers Dale and Jeff) used to come over to our apartment on Christmas Eve. Usually I was out with my own family, but on one occasion I had the opportunity to hang out with James and his guests. The Csonka men enjoy their beer, and Mr. C. was mildly tipsy ensconced in our recliner, complaining that the music James played didn’t have enough Bing Crosby. After a while he nodded off. Then he snapped awake and, disoriented, blurted “WHAT’S GOING ON?!!” Just as quickly, he’d get his bearings and settle back into the chair. Then a few minutes later, he’d nod off again. Time passed.

“WHAT’S GOING ON?!!”

It’s a silly memory, but one of my fondest of a gruff but lovable guy. Here was a man whose favorite spot was a fishing lodge in Wisconsin, yet whose beautiful backyard garden was probably his truest expression.

Farewell and Godspeed, Mr. C. I’ll think of you each Christmas.