Only The Good Die Young....Memories of Billy Joel and Michelle

We are one Warrior smaller.  The Class of 1982, primed and ready for our upcoming 35^th reunion over Homecoming, will be missing one more piece.    Michelle Paige Ferguson lost her valiant battle with brain cancer this past week.  And I am sad. And feeling guilty that I let life get in the way of a visit to an old friend. And I am flooded with faded memories of a beautiful smile and extreme intelligence.  She was witty and kind and so talented—and much more mature than most of us were when we all met a few years ago…..

The Winner School District at one time had an extensive collection of rural schools.  Named for the townships they were located in; they were the place where many of my classmates attended school for grades K-8.   We “town kids” attended grades K-4 at either one of three schools—Eastside, Westside, or Central.  In fifth grade they threw us all together “downtown” at Central School.  Now that, well that was big time.  Four classes, new people, band, PE, and a much bigger playground met us upon our arrival in Grade Five. There seemed to be a little more freedom, too.   I remember it being quite the buzz of social activity at the time.  You saw the kids that lived over on the “other side of town”—the kids you may had heard about or seen at the swimming pool, the baseball diamond or at church or 4H.  Even though Winner was far from a metropolis, the world as we knew it was really our own little neighborhoods, and the carefully drawn school boundaries and boringly-named buildings determined where you spent your first few years of formal education.  I’m not sure any of us even thought about all the others out in the country schools.  And yet I cannot imagine our class without any of them.  As I wrote this I had to think really hard about when it was we all collectively became the (amazing) Class of 82.  Some arrived to the fold in 7^th or 8^th grade, but most completed their education at their township school.

Fast forward to Freshman Year.  For the Class of 1982, that would be the fall of 1978, and it was then that our crew would be expanded to include the Hamill kids, the Plainview posse, the Star Prairie and Ideal kids, and the kids from other places around Tripp County, all leaving the confines of their country school to come to “town school”. (And Michelle? Well she came from the Eden School via Harvard, Massachusetts where her dad had been an engineer before returning to the family farm in Witten in 1976.)  Thinking back, that had to be a huge adjustment for them.  Due to space constraints at the time, the freshmen were housed downtown at the Junior High, so technically, unlike other Freshmen, we were the “big dogs” of the building there…and trust me, we relished that role. It was cool to be a 9^th grader at Winner Junior High.  In my profession, I’ve seen those hungry, excited eyes…. Almost giddy as they wait to “own” the hallways and be assigned the awesome locker spots and preferred study hall seats.  Girls flipping their hair back and guys pushing and shoving their way down the hall so as to announce they have “arrived”.  We were probably the same way…sigh.  By this time were close to 80 strong, and would graduate 86 in May of 1982.

Michelle was someone you liked instantly.  She had a beautiful smile, perfect teeth, and gorgeous olive-colored skin accented by thick black hair.  But even more stunning than her outside beauty, was what you saw on the inside.   She was smart.  And witty and wise.  We warmed the bench on the girls’ basketball team and had a great time doing so…. she made things fun.  I recall being fascinated by her driving ability and her daring spirit.  (Okay, her speeding…daring spirit is code for speeding—it just sounds safer) I cannot for the life of me remember the make or model of her car, but it could fly and she was a really good driver.  She had a maturity about her and could talk to anybody—adults and kids alike.  We were co-editors of the annual our senior year and while I tried to balance cheerleading, a marginal basketball career, school, track, and music activities, she was the one constant that kept things moving forward.  She was the reason it got done.  We both loved our yearbook adviser Mrs. Wranek and by the end of the year, we were pleased with our final project.  Ironically, we both ended up buying the same Prom dress that year (a huge drama in today’s world, but a worthy laugh for the two of us back then) and took a picture for the annual wearing the matching Maurice’s, oh so 80’s, polyester cream gowns. 

  The very first album I ever owned was Billy Joel’s “The Stranger”.  I’m a huge Billy Joel fan.  I love his lyrics, his music, his piano playing… pretty much everything about him.  It was Christmas in 1976 and I was at that difficult present-buying age.  Those of you reading this that have shopped for kids know the age—too old for toys, too picky about clothes, and too young for the grown-up things you thought you needed.   My list no longer involved paging through the Sears Wish Book, earmarking pages of hints for Santa (a.k.a. Bob and Alice) to nestle under the tree on Christmas morning.  I remember seeing the obvious album-shaped package under the tree with a tag penned in my dad’s familiar script “To: Lynn Love, Dad” and was pretty sure it was THE Billy Joel album I had asked for.  Dad was a huge music fan and a great shopper.  I was hopeful  he hadn’t let me down and he hadn’t.  I listened to that disc for hours upon end. I am sure I ruined the needle on the small stereo in my room.  I am pretty sure I could sing the lyrics to the entire collection by the time Christmas break was over.  And I am sure my brother in the bedroom next door was sick of Billy by the 27^th of December.

Michelle also liked Billy Joel.  We were “Carpool Karaoke” before it was a thing.  When Billy Joel’s “Glass Houses” album came out in 1980, we all loved the track “It’s Still Rock-n-Roll to Me”.  My simple plan was to buy the 45 single at Gibson’s or Karl’s when it came out.  Michelle, as always, thought bigger, grander than just having the one single.  She wanted the entire cassette and it was not to be found in Winner. Ever the planner, she had called over to Gregory and found out they had the cassette.  Her plan was to quickly drive down and get the treasured collection of tunes.  She called me and swung by the house (after her 20-plus mile trip to town) where I sprinted to the car with some babysitting money to make my purchase. (And before Alice could ask me what I was doing….very rebel-like for me at the time.)   It was probably the first time I had ever left town without an adult driving.  The trusty car and Michelle’s “daring spirit” made the trip in no time.  We got to the store to find only one cassette left.  Michelle bought the cassette (I would have to wait until Gibson’s pulled through with the loot) and we ripped off the plastic and drove much slower home, singing along and learning Billy’s new tunes.  (Only after stopping to buy a pop at Stukel’s Café and make a few laps up and down our rival school’s Main Street.)  When we later pulled into Winner, I felt like we had been on some wild, exotic adventure, yet it was just another day for Michelle.  Even back then, she was bigger and brighter than many of us…she knew there was more to this old world than the confines of Tripp County or South Dakota.   She would see the world and do great things I was sure.  And she did….After our graduation, she steered her beloved car towards SDSU and began her life as a college co-ed.  But after her freshman year, she realized how much she missed the excitement that big cities and the east coast could provide. So she decided to move to New York to become a nanny.   I remember her calling me and encouraging me to come along and find a nanny job, but I was too chicken—too confined by what I thought I should be doing (life guarding and teaching swimming lessons AGAIN) and declined her offer of adventure.  

 Deep down I was not surprised when I heard Michelle wasn’t returning for her Fall semester at SDSU.  Nor was I surprised when I heard she had enrolled at Long Island University, graduating with an accounting degree that would take her to Pace University Law School.  She passed the bar on the first try (Of course she did J) and began her career of service as a lawyer for a union.  She was soaring….and none of us were surprised.  I like to think that while she was accomplishing all these amazing things, that she sprinkled some of her “South Dakota Nice” through the busy streets and bustling boroughs of her beloved New York City. Certainly these folks had to see how remarkable she was…

I was lucky to reconnect with Michelle through Facebook these past few years.  Her messages were always so funny and upbeat despite her battle with the brain tumors. Even in this battle she was “bigger and brighter” than most.   We discussed our love of Billy Joel and how much she now disliked his popular hit “Only the Good Die Young”.   I totally understood.  She wrote with love about her friends and her “nanny kids”—they were an important part of her life and I could sense the pride she felt in their accomplishments. They were often long conversations and sometimes there were long gaps in the time that passed between them.   I treasure the fact we had this chance to reconnect, and regret I had hadn’t kept in better touch with her the past 20 years. I’m glad we got a chance to visit at our last reunion. And I feel bad I missed her birthday party a few weeks ago when we were moving Scott to college. 

One of my most loved Billy Joel songs is an older, less popular piece, but one of my favorites just the same.  It’s lyrics ring true tonight as I attempt to write this blog….The song, “Summer Highland Falls” tells us we are always what our situations hand us and we are either happy or sad, but we have the choice. 

They say that these are not the best of times
But they're the only times I've ever known
And I believe there is a time for meditation
In cathedrals of our own

Now I have seen that sad surrender in my mother's eyes
I can only stand apart and sympathize
For we are always what our situations hand us
Its either sadness or euphoria

So as many of the Class of 1982 gather later tonight or on Friday morning, I pray we will take this time to celebrate and remember Michelle.  Remember her fight and grit and her beautiful smile and her kind spirit.  And take some time for mediation and remember how fortunate you are to be living this gig we call life…..and take it all in—the sadness and euphoria.  I’m positive Michelle would want us to.  

Dear Ember--Welcome to the World!

Dear Ember,

      Wow.  That looks so official. Seeing your name in print just looks so real.  You’re not even a month old and I’m writing you a letter. Today is your very first Valentine’s Day.  It seems like we just got the call you had made your much anticipated arrival, but you’re sneaking up on being a month old already!

There is really no way to tell you how long I’ve waited to write you this note.  Probably since 1998?  Or 1999?  That’s when I first met that guy you will soon be calling dad.  He’s doing a wonderful job of keeping us informed of your pure cuteness through pictures and Facebook posts.  Yep.  He’s become THAT dad.  And as someone who will not get to see you very often, I’m thrilled he posts these pictures.  And deep in my heart, I knew he would be THAT dad.  It’s something I love about him. 

I’m not sure when I knew what an amazing dad he was going to be, but it was early in our friendship.  Was it the time we tossed Tate in his front porch late one Sunday night because we had to take Scott to Mobridge for stitches after a head dive into the cast iron, white enameled bath tub?  We had not yet spent a full week in our new home and there we were needing an extra hand for our latest catastrophe.  We did not really know our neighbors.  They were nice folks—all had greeted us warmly, brought delicious muffins with cinnamon butter, and waved often as we started to make our new house a home.  But it was a little early to be asking them to watch our very nervous little first grader.  He had tried to stop Scott from the cannonball he was attempting in the tub and was feeling pretty bad about the aftermath.  Tate had school the next day and the last thing he needed was to make the 40 mile, one way trip to Mobridge while we waited for an ER doctor to sew up the gaping hole in Scott’s forehead.   As we grabbed ice, towels, and shoes, Mark immediately said, “I’m going to call Jeremy.  Tate can stay with him.  I know he won’t mind.” 

And he didn’t…

If I remember correctly, Tate got to watch Jeremy’s beloved Simpsons, drink a pop, and hang out in his bachelor pad.  According to Tate, it was very cool.  He wasn’t even tired, yet doesn’t remember us hauling him off the couch to his bunkbed.  I think he thought he was going to get to spend the night.  It was the beginning of many adventures with the guy my kids adored and called “Coach Kane”. 

Was it the time the beloved, overpriced, much begged for, basketball hoop took victim to the harsh South Dakota wind?  We came home after a weekend in Bismarck to see the hoop face down in the black paved driveway.  Despite having filled the base with water and perhaps even sand, it was no match for the breeze that had made its way through town over the weekend. The boys jumped out of the Taurus and immediately tried to stand it up.  Of course, Mark’s help was needed and it was apparent, the backboard, (a flimsy molded plastic contraption) had covered its last shot.  It was cracked, and falling off by the base.  Only the finest plastic on those things you know.  There were some pretty sad faces upon seeing the damage.  Mark assured them they could still go up to the courts to play and that he would try to fix it somehow.  Even as little guys, the Senftner boys knew the latter was not a possibility.  We just aren’t that handy.  After a few weeks, in steps our now very close friend, (and your dear daddy) Coach Kane.  On one of his trips home to the Kane Ranch (where your awesome grandpa and grandma were living at the time) he swung by in his familiar Duke blue pickup and loaded up the hoop, promising the boys he could put a new backboard on the base and it would be as good as new.  Big smiles from everyone…Perhaps the biggest one from Mark.

And he fixed it…..

You know that adorable outfit you were wearing in some of those first hospital pictures?  The one with the big navy and red “A” on the front?  Yeah, well that “A” represents your dad’s favorite team, the Arizona Wildcats. He loves them. For as much as we love your dear dad, we just do not see eye to eye on favorite teams. I mean, you rocked that outfit and you definitely have the style to pull off the Wildcat look, but we just are on two different pages here.   Tate and Coach Kane especially liked to battle over which was the best team.  Duke for Tate and Arizona for Coach Kane.  Your dad dislikes everything about my and Tate’s beloved Blue Devils.  And while Tate didn’t dislike Arizona, he just really liked Duke.  They had fun cheering against each other’s teams and liked to watch games and talk basketball together. I have a feeling you will spend some late nights watching hoops together.  (Don’t believe everything he says about Duke and also, don’t trip other people when you play games. Your dad will be really disappointed if you trip people.)

Okay, so back to the hoops transformation. I totally remember the unveiling of the newly remodeled hoop.  He told us he would bring it over after school and the boys were so excited.  It was one of the funniest things I ever saw your dad do, Ember.    As he unwrapped the tarp or blanket he had put over the hoop for the dusty trip down Highway 65 from the ranch, I could see there was something on the backboard.  Tate saw it immediately and started to half giggle and half grumble in between my comments and loud laughter.  There, freshly painted, and thickly shellacked, was a great big Arizona Wildcat decal.  The backboard was fixed!  And it was now an Arizona Wildcat backboard. It brought much laughter and Tate knew what a great trick he had played.  We still laugh about this trick.

Maybe it was the time he loaded up both Tate and Scott and took them to ranch for the weekend.  He asked us if we cared if the boys came with him for the weekend.  They were so excited and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit we enjoyed a little break from our family crazy too that weekend.  We had had a really busy school year and your dad knew just how to step in and help us out. He’s that kind of guy.

 It could have been the time that Tate begged to go to the State B Tourney in Aberdeen but we had school.  “Coach Kane will take me.  Just for the day.  He said we can go just for the day because we both want to see the McLaughlin game.”  He continued to plead. “I will only miss one day of school and I will get all my homework done.”   Reluctantly we relented, and I watched as they drove off early that morning in his (Duke) blue pickup to the big games. The trip did no go as planned, but it was the excitement of getting to go somewhere with a dear family friend that meant the most to me. (Have your dad teach you how to change a tire. I know he will, but pay attention.  He’s a really smart guy.)

It might have been the time(s) we all piled into the minivan and went to Bismarck for the day just to eat at Applebee’s and stop at Walmart—nothing else.  Scott was not a very good traveler at the time, and your dad never complained while the three of us were all praying he would fall asleep.  And he usually did….about 10 miles outside of Bismarck. I bet you will make a few trips to the mall in the coming years.  And someday, when he asks if that trip to town is really necessary, remind him of the times we did the very same thing.  I promise he will  remember wanting a little commerce and fast food.  

I could go on and on, Ember. About your beautiful mom, your dear Grandma Toots (Who will say prayers with you before meals and bedtimes…even if it’s just cereal. Ask Scott about this--he can fill you in.), We are so sorry Grandpa John just missed getting to meet you, but we know he was anxiously awaiting your arrival to the world.  Your dad didn’t become the great guy he is by accident.  He had the blessing of a being raised and loved by some amazing folks…. all of who couldn’t wait to see Coach Kane, (or Jer as some call him) become your dad.   He is one of the kindest, most sincere, honest men we know and we are so very honored to have your family in our lives.  Your dad and Mark spent hours together on the sidelines.  His role in Mark’s career as his assistant coach and more importantly, dear friend, is a blessing to our family.   We might be four hours away, but we aren’t going anywhere.  We can’t wait to see the adventures awaiting you.

Blessings to you on this very first Valentine’s Day, Miss Ember.  You are exactly what we prayed for….

You’ve got this, Coach Kane. 

We Love You,  Lynn