The Tree is NOT a crappy mascot.

So, Stanford's big rivalry is with Cal-Berkeley. The annual football game obviously carries a lot of mystique... Stanford isn't doing horribly well lately, but we did smack them down this year, and overall I think the stats are something like 55-44-11 now.

I have never been a poster-child for 'school spirit' but I have always been an instigator and a trouble-maker behind the scenes, so college rivalry was a nice personality fit for some antics back in the day. Back when I was there, early nineties, the pranking consisted of things like Cal sneaking onto our campus at night and spray painting yellow and blue bear paw prints all over the place. We returned fire in true softie Stanford style, doing things like disemboweling stuffed teddy bears on anything pointy and public, e.g. water fountain spouts, or making the bonfire at the rally into a funeral pyre for that teddy bear's second cousin, all on our own campus. Being a bit rougher around the edges and having obviously more questionable basic ethics, the Cal folks would respond with things like piano wire strung between trees at the exact height of a person riding a bicycle. Imaginative, but a bit serious for a football game.

"The Axe" is the game icon, with the winner displaying it in their trophy case for the following year. Both schools have an "Axe Committee" that, nominally, is responsible for the care and feeding of the Axe. In part, that's because of a history of pranksters from both schools sneaking onto the other campus to demonstrate their skills in B&E and Grand Theft Lumberjack Implement.

In reality, basically if the Axe is on campus, it's already well-protected and the group is an excuse to drink beer and talk about potential pranks and neat ideas for T-shirt designs for that year's Big Game. If it's not on campus, it's an excuse to drink beer and scheme out loud about ideas for stealing the Axe back.

During my sophomore year, I put aside my aversion for all things communal in the face of the pranking opportunities, and joined the Axe committee. And during my senior year, a few of my slightly-retarded friends and I decided to hold to tradition and show off our spirit by driving to Berkeley in the middle of the night, about a week before the Big Game, to load the water fountain in Sproul Plaza with industrial grade red food coloring. Our reasoning was that they would certainly be on guard inside of a 5 day window, but 7 or 8 days prior, they'd be belly-up and blind to the danger.

Into the car we went, with two gallon-size jugs of bright Cardinal red. Up the freeway and forty-five minutes later, we landed and a friend and I did a scouting run through the student union geography. This was an amazing demonstration of forethought, by the way. Walking through the plaza, we noticed two people that were obviously trying to go un-noticed, like we were, on the second floors of two separate buildings. We left casually, and returned to a sight line about 20 minutes later to confirm that they were not just casual smokers or statues, but sentries.
Our plans seemed to be doomed, so we milled around the car, pondering and scheming, then drove around campus for a bit before finally (and fortuitously) passing a big sign that indicated the presence of an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

Smiles all around.

Jugs were poked with screwdrivers and holes filled with thumbs, caps were loosened, and the get-away car was strategically positioned ten yards from a tree whose branches conveniently extended near the top of the fifteen foot wall surrounding said pool. Shadows moved, and the beautiful "skip-SPLASH" sound carried just before voices whisper-yelled "go GO GO GO!" as the less nimble of the two shot-put athletes crashed his way down to the ground through a notably number of large branches.

Two days later, someone handed me a copy of an article with color photos from the Cal campus paper and asked me where I was that night with a smirk. I asked whether fingerprints of any quality might likely be pulled from an empty plastic gallon-sized container that had been sitting in chlorinated water for at least six hours. The conversation was left there.

On the day of the Big Game, fueled by our success, we wandered into the plaza at Berkeley again in broad daylight amidst a massive crowd... Sat calmly at the edge of the fountain with two large drink cups from a 7-11... And, with a casual elbow nudge, painted the town red again.

It took everything we had to continue the calm stride until we got to cover to look on the results with pride.

Beat Cal.

Dave's Not Here.

David wasn't my uncle. He wasn't my brother, or my father. David wasn't even my best friend.

I met David through work. Like a lot of friends that I've found through work, the friendship really started when we spent a bit of time together outside of work. The first time I got a chance to know David as a person was on a rafting trip in Wenatchee. A handful of us drove out the night before to camp, and the memory of that night is still vivid. Tall trees and thick greenery overhead, with broken spaces that showed a summer night sky filled with stars. No campfire, but plenty of beer and good conversation to keep us all warm.

At that point, what I knew about David was pretty limited. I knew he was a technician in the manufacturing group, and by reputation he was very mechanically inclined, very sharp and very capable, not just a guy with a wrench, but a guy who understood what he was wrenching on. I knew he was a low-key personality, easy going and the type who surfed above the waves of stress that often overtake the crews that get pressed by end-of-the-quarter revenue madness. I knew he had a moustache and a decent sense of humor and took things in stride.

That was all I knew.

That night, while we all stood around, I built a better sense of who he really was. In the middle of typical guys-gone-camping moments like chucking a hatchet at a tree stump, spitting tobacco juice, telling dirty jokes and making fun of each other, I realized that this guy was a really good guy. When he spoke, he had two modes: subtle humor and kindness. When you get to know someone a bit, you gauge their sense of humor and how well it fits with your own, and that's where friendships begin. My friends are the people that make me laugh. Effortlessly. The ones that I make laugh. Unintentionally. Every other thing that came out of David's mouth that night got a chuckle from me, and deep belly laughs came every hour on the hour. He'd quietly toss something out there with a twinkle in his eye, and you'd snort and try not to spit out beer. And when he wasn't being silly, his manner was kind, and gentle.

I remember another occasion a few years after where we had more of a one-on-one conversation, and the kindness and sincerity shined brightly for me. We jawed at each other about random things... The company we worked for, playing guitars, women. And in the spaces between random conversation, I can still recall a handful of things he said, observations he made, that hit me in the stomach and the heart, and made me think, or just made me feel better.

That was David, to me. Sliding quietly into a group. Popping up his sense of humor like a prairie dog popping his head out of a hole in the ground. Getting laughter and smiles. Popping back down under the radar. And when you were talking, just the two of you, you knew he was listening to you. Taking you seriously. Looking for a connection point. Offering you what he knew or thought, for what it was worth, without expecting anything in return... Just being a good human being.

In recent years, the silly comments, subtle humor, and kind-hearted conversations only came once a year at June and Jack's annual slumber party. I remember finding out that David was sick, and not being sure of what to say or do. David made it easy. He handled things with a grace and humanity combined that shifted my picture of him again. He never lost his sense of humor. His physical energy came and went, but he went about things the same way he always did: with sincerity, quietly, patiently, kindly, without complaints, and always with a dose of humor. Because of that, I came to think of David as more than a friend. When you admit to yourself that you truly and deeply admire someone as a person, part of who they are for you is a role model. Someone you try to be more like because you realize that that's how you want to be.

One last thing. David somehow managed to walk the fine line between mutually respectful and hilariously irreverent. What I mean by that is, when he shook your hand, it wasn't an act. When he told you he would do something, you knew he was good for his word. He knew when it was time to be serious and real. And then in just the blink of an eye, when the moment shifted, he would throw something out that was off-color, light-hearted, silly... Almost like, for a minute, a 15 year old David decided to pop his groundhog head up to get you to laugh. June and Nancy might bluster but inside they were laughing, too.

If David was here right now, I'd take his hand, give him a hug, and then I'd recite the old routine from Cheech and Chong where Cheech Marin is standing at the door, knocking, playing a character named Dave, trying to get his friend to answer the door, and Tommy Chong just sits there and says "who?"... "who?"... "Dave's not here."

And in this serious, saddest of moments, saying goodbye, as irreverent as that joke might seem, something tells me Dave would laugh, sincerely, seeing the humor and appreciating the smiles that can overcome any tears... If you manage to laugh together. If you know that intentions are good, and that the whole point is to smile. Laugh. See the good things. And don't sweat the other stuff.

He wasn't my uncle, or my brother or my father, he wasn't even my best friend. Dave was just a guy who gave me a few more lessons about how to laugh. How to be sincere, and really connect with people by just being yourself. How to handle difficulty with grace and strength. He was just a guy who demonstrated for me exactly how to be a good human being.

Thank you Dave. Goodbye, but just for a while. We'll see you in a bit.

Post Number Zero

The Poi Dawg is in the Hooooooowwwwwwwsse.