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Tributes
A Tribute to Daniel Young
Class of 1959
July
16, 2005
Nutsy
Lives:
I
was saddened to learn from Larry and Al that Dan Young
died this week. Although I hadn’t seen him or talked to
him in ages, as with many of our childhood friends, the
sense of his continued presence in my memory kept his
companionship and friendship alive.
Nutsy and I were buddies – buddies in the context of
growing up in the fifties. We played ball together, we
were in the band together, we hung out together.
Yes, his name was Daniel but we all called him Nutsy. In
these days of political correctness, calling someone Nutsy
is seen as demeaning and offensive. But he was Nutsy
because he was different – a free spirit, a guy who
sometimes did unusual things, a clown. We called him
Nutsy because the word described our friend and companion;
and he wore the nickname proudly.
Growing up, Nutsy was one of those kids that are all
gangly with their bones held together loosely with sinew.
He seemed to be ‘double jointed’ and could contort
himself into positions and shapes that we ‘mere mortals’
could only marvel at. When he walked his limbs seems to
flail about with abandon. But he was a good ball player,
could run, ride bike and climb trees with the best of us.
He simply had his way of getting the job done.
As buddies we often hung out at each other’s home –
sometimes just the two of us but often with other buddies.
I remember when several of us decided to build a cabin in
the wilderness that was Nutsy’s back yard. We had been
talking about building a tree house, kind of like the
Swiss family Robinson, but finally succumbed to our
limitations and began building on the ground in the
unmowed field area of his parents property. We gathered
up a bunch of scrap lumber, scrounged up our dad’s tools,
and set about building what turned out to be simply a
lean-to in which you could pretend you were ‘roughing it’.
Flush with success, we decided to sleep overnight in our
rustic retreat. Sometime after dark, we heard a thumping
sound that shook the walls. Needless to say, we were
scared (at least I admit I was – now!) but bravely grabbed
our flashlights and peered into the darkness. There we
saw, of all things, my mom and dad standing in the field
grinning at us. When I complained, Dad said that we were
making so much noise we were a public nuisance. He
claimed he could hear us at the store nearly a quarter
mile away. And what were we doing to create this
nuisance. Would you believe we were singing? Yes, of all
things that we might have been doing in our rustic
retreat, we were actually singing stirring songs like ‘The
Marine Corps Anthem’ and ‘Anchors Away’.
Like a lot of my friends, Nutsy and I played pool at
Steffeys Barber Shop. Nutsy wasn’t the greatest pool
player but, like everything else he did, he did it with
intensity and in his own style. John Steffey had
organized an eight ball tournament and we drew lots to see
who would be our first opponent. My first match was to be
against Nutsy. Even though he was my buddy, I have to
admit that I was pleased that he would be my first
opponent – because I was sure that I would win and then go
on to become the 8-ball champ of
Worthington
. Nutsy won
the coin toss and chose to shoot first. He folded his
fist around the tip end of the tapered shaft of the pool
cue and proceeded to prepare to ‘break’. Yes, you’re
right. His form was unorthodox. It almost seemed comical
to see him sliding the cue back and forth between the
pointer and middle finger of his left fist. With a
surprising intensity, he struck the cue to ‘break’. The
cue ball bounce off the one ball, went around two corner
cushions and rebounded into the rack striking the eight
ball in such a way that it went straight into the side
pocket for an instant win. Nutsy threw the cue on the
table, yelled a mighty war whoop and ran out of the
building laughing. I stood there in disbelief realizing
that I had lost without ever having a chance to play. But
we were still buddies.
On another occasion after playing pool at Steffeys, I was
walking up
Main Street
past Paul Reed’s house with Nutsy
and a couple other friends. We were just talking and
horsing around. Suddenly Nutsy and I were into it! Words
were exchanged. Pushes were traded and the battle was on.
Although I was bigger than Nutsy, I was faced with a
formidable opponent. He was bent forward at the waist
looking at the sidewalk and his arms were windmilling
rapidly whacking me on the arms, the shoulders, the head.
It was like being in a whirlwind and I admit I was
totally befuddled. Cooler heads intervened. The battle
was over as quickly as it had begun. And we were still
buddies.
Three weeks ago we had our all class reunion at
Worthington
and I had a marvelous time talking with
friends,
some of whom I had not seen for over forty years.
But
Nutsy wasn’t there. I talked briefly with a couple
of people about Nutsy and resolved to follow up and see
him again. Someone said that they thought Nutsy was in
the hospital so I decided to wait until he got home and
then I would follow up.
We all have many, many acquaintances but fewer good
friends. And the friends we have in whom we can confide
our hopes and dreams as well as our fears and worries are
even fewer. Most of those confiding friends are from
childhood or college. Having such a confidant in adult
life seems rare. I am fortunate to have such a friend
that I met through my business activities. Ed, like Nutsy
and a few others, is a person that I can talk to about
life and family. We often talk about trying to make sense
from this crazy world we work and live in. He told me
that he categorizes his sins or failings in two ways. One
ype of failing occurs when you try to do something
(hopefully the right thing) and fail. The other type of
failing occurs when you fail to even try to do something
you believe is right and good. He believes the second is
more hurtful. If you try and fail, you usually have the
satisfaction’ of trying and usually can seek forgiveness
from whomever you failed. But when you fail to try, you
find yourself in a situation that you often are prevented
from trying to rectify. My not seeking to talk to Nutsy
is one of these.
Yes, Daniel Young died on July 13. But Nutsy lives on in
my heart and memories.
Take care of yourselves and don't miss a chance to talk to
someone who is special to you.
Dick Henry (’59)
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