Kurt

I have been trying to deal with this for a while now. I have always been someone who could work things out by writing and letting it all out in print. But, I've tried and I can't work through this. Kurt Schamberg and I went to the same high school. He was a year older than I was, but his sister, Terah, was in my class, and was and still is one of my closest and dearest of friends. I didn't know Kurt very well until my junior year when we played football and had art class together-although I felt as if I'd known him longer. It was easy to forget that we didn't know each other well. Terah and others who had known him all their lives had enough stories and love for and about him that by that time I'd met Kurt, it seemed as though we'd already met a while ago. And there was something else. We shared the love of art and we both shared the need to pull laughs out of people in whatever way we could. He could sacrifice his own pride for the sake of a laugh and all was fair game. All were equal in the eyes of Kurt Schamberg and all were worthy of a laugh. I've been racking my brain in search of a story and I can't find one. Try as I might, my memory is failing me. I only know that there wasn't a time when he was around where someone wasn't laughing. There wasn't a time when anyone felt unwelcome. It's a special person that has the ability to do that and Kurt Schamberg was a special person. After his graduation, I'd run into him at parties or through hanging out with Terah, but I never had the chance to get really close to him or to thank him. And as the time moved on, my run-ins with Kurt grew farther apart. But, with Kurt, this minor technicality of time didn't matter and I always felt like there was no catching up to do. And even in that small amount of time, he left countless gifts for me.

On Thursday, May 19th of this year, Sgt. Kurt Schamberg was killed in action in Iraq. I found out and couldn't bring myself to talk. I didn't know how to tell my girlfriend, how to tell my friends here in Chicago. Suddenly, time mattered again. I wished there was a way to go back and remember all those stories, get all the time back. I wanted to go back and make more memories. There suddenly weren't enough because he was no longer there to erase that time in between. When you know someone killed in battle wrong and right, good guys and bad guys stop mattering. There's a hole that can't be filled-a life cut short. I know he died honorably and I know that he'd have preferred that outcome as opposed to losing any of his fellow soldiers, but it's hard to accept that he's gone.

The funeral was deeply moving in both beauty and sadness. An entire town poured into his memorial service to pay their respects. Flags lined the streets and people had lined the streets, too, when the hearst carrying Kurt, brought Kurt back home. The line was long, but no one complained. Kurt and his family meant that much to everyone. You could feel that heavy weight of loss. All you needed was to look around and see how far Kurt's love and laughter had spread. While in Iraq, he had written to an elementary school class-once even writing seventeen letters in a day. This was a man who cared. A man whom others cared about. A man whom, I later found out, was carried by a color guard from his own regiment that had requested to be there in person to pay their respects to their beloved friend and comrade in arms. In his twenty-six years, Kurt spread love and laughter worldwide and left a lasting impact on all those he came in contact with.

You will be missed, my friend-both by those who knew and loved you and those who will hear of you for the first time in days, weeks, months, and years to come. But, your story will live on. I'll always remember that spirit of laughter and acceptance. I always will. It's the gift you gave me. You were a great artist and you lived your life with the precision and love that any great artist applies to their work of art. I miss and love you dearly and I didn't even get the chance to really really know you. But, I'll be listening for that laughter from up high. How lucky all those angels are.

Please pray for my friend Terah and her family and Kurt's friends.

Ted

Those who know me, know that I like coffee and crave the atmosphere of a nice quaint coffee shop to mellow out in and catch my thoughts. So, it was lucky for me and all of us in The Animal Club that our apartment happened to be located a mere block away from Viva Java and even luckier for us was that Ted was the loving owner. Every morning, on our way to the train for work, there was Ted standing behind the counter. Instantly, he'd see us and a warm smile of recognition spread across his face and a hand would come up and wave at us like we were old friends. It was enough to wake you up once and for all from that dragging sleepiness which comes with knowing you have to go to work and be excited that smiles like those could be waiting for you throughout the day. And, even if you didn't get a single other smile the whole day, you knew that, coming off that train, there awaited the promise of another warm smile and a wave from Ted and a cup of coffee if you liked. He conversed with us all and really wanted to know how we were and what we were up to. It was real conversation, just as his smile and his laugh were real. You could tell he loved his little shop and the rotating cast of characters that passed in and out. He treated us all with that same familiarity and interest and even if you didn't like coffee, if you went to Viva Java once, you'd want to come back again just to say hi to Ted. He meant a lot to all of us. To the point that if we were low on cash and had to go to the other local coffee shop which accepted credit cards, we all felt a little saddened and covered our cups as we walked past Ted, for fear he'd be disappointed in us. This was a ridiculous act, of course. Because, even after weeks of absence from his coffee shop, the day we came back, we were treated like it had only been a day. That was the magic of Ted.

Two weeks ago, the lights went dark and for days on end, Viva Java didn't open its doors. We had known that Ted had been sick at one time, but from that warmth he emitted, we thought whatever was ailing him was past. So, when the sign appeared one morning letting us know that Ted had passed away, we were taken aback. We didn't know what to do. It just felt wrong and weird. We only knew him from those visits to the shop. We had only exchanged glimpses of our lives. We didn't even know his last name and here he was gone. There was so much more that we wanted to know and see of him. Life is funny like that, I suppose. There are people you just get to meet in passing. You never know them that well, but they leave lasting marks.

Now, I walk to work in the morning and Viva Java is dark. I get off the train after work and it's still dark. I find myself searching for that smile and that wave to wake me up and excite me to the possibilities of the day. And I suppose Ted reminded to keep an eye out for more warm smiles and waves in this world. But, to know that his smile and his wave are gone is too much to think about. So, I'll think of his warmth, the light he emitted and, with that, Viva Java will always be illuminated.

Rest In Peace My Friend.