Having planned to come through Ft Myers beach for a few days between Christmas and New Years 2010-11, intending to spend much time with Michael. He was my last close buddy from Edison Elementary. I was puzzled not to hear back from him, despite my phone calls and e-mails. I even inquired at the newspaper (but didn't know his first name was Chesley so couldn't research effectively). At 3 AM this morning I stumbled across this obituary and I felt my heart would break. Our last correspondence ended, after a litany of recent deaths among his friends–in a sympathetic response to my litany sent to him– "but you and I are in it for the long haul." I smiled widely when I read that. It made me feel great. My childhood was interrupted by my father's violent death when I was 11 and my family's immediate move away from Florida; Michael and I, over the decades, kept up a connection with decade long gaps and a few very precious visits during which his wonderfully vivid memory and generous nature helped me fill in blanks that were invaluable. But my most recent trip came a few weeks late….What I saw in Mike was a very generous and candid nature eager to share his stock of recollections and his love of life, with an occasional acerbic aside. He wished one day to retire to Columbia, at least part time. And to buy a boat. I don't think he got to Columbia– a high risk place, anyway–but he did get the boat and issued a standing invitation for my wife, Pam, and I to go with him up the Caloosahatchee into the Everglades together. As kids we sold coconuts and mangoes and gladiolus to tourists at the intersection of Coconut Drive and MacGregor Blvd, still largely unchanged. We visited my father's farms weekends, rode horses, saw Saturday matinees at the Lee and Arcade and Edison theaters, played among the snake and spider infested roots of the already vast banyan tree in front of the old courthouse, fished for cat fish, Sheepsheads & sand sharks from the seawall at the foot of Coconut Drive, biked all over, fought like cats and dogs, made up, biked on. You have my love and grateful friendship forever, old friend. I have always missed you in my life, I always will. And I will never forget the wide grin on the freckled face of your childhood. [I have no idea how Mike died. Any sharing of what anyone knows of his last days would be appreciated: Bill, at [email protected].]
