The Cog Blog

Last night I had two things on my mind. Late into the night I was watching the Phillies anemic offense try to sweep the Mets. I was also considering where to ride my bike on my day off Monday. Then, the news came down like Willie Nelson at a traffic checkpoint. Osama bin Laden was dead. By this time, two things were clear. The Phillies weren't winning this game, even after 14 innings, and my bike ride would have to include a stop at the 9-11 Memorial in Lower Makefield. I had posted on Patch's message board that I would leave for my ride from Cosi in Newtown and anyone was welcome to join me, leaving by 10 am.   When I arrived at Cosi, I sat at a table outside and waited for any fellow bikers to show. What met my eyes immediately was a shame. I was originally gladdenned by the large flagpole and American flag atop it, but I was simultaneously saddenned by the condition of said flag. Its tatterred edges were were so badly damaged and windblown that they got caught up in the mechanism that fastens it to the line and flagpole, and was simply a battered tangled mess. A man from Jules Pizza popped out and we mutually lamented the state of Old Glory on this day. On THIS DAY. Sheesh. Now, I'm not Mr. Red White and Blue, of Camper Van Beethoven fame, but I like a little national pride now and again. And today was certainly a day to reflect on a big national moment. An appropriate flag would be a good starting point to do so.  

I phoned US Realty, who manages the site at Goodnoe's Corner. I was met by the predictable song and dance about how they've been trying to get the flag replaced and they just needed the local veterans group to show up and take down the flag and that it would be some time before they had a flag to replace it. How shameful of them to pass the buck to the veterans group. She actually gave me the line that they were due to show up today and take down the tatterred flag. I asked the woman with whom I spoke if she was serious, and that the site would be without a flag while they tried to source a new one. She said yes.

In .22 seconds Google showed me over six million sites where I can buy a flag. C'mon, US Realty. For shame.  

No one showed up to join me for my ride, so I headed out toward Lower Makefield and the memorial. As I progressed along, I remembered that there is the new veterans' cemetery along the way. Perhaps there I would find a representative in their office and a flag to grace Goodnoe's Corner. As I arrived, it was hard to miss the procession of limousines and color guard, especially those clad in kilts with bagpipes. Clearly, this was a special day for many people. In respect to those there, I decided this was a fight for another day. I continued to the memorial.  

Upon arrival there, I immediately noticed several news vans in the parking area as well as plenty of pedestrian traffic near the fountain. I glided up to a favorite bench there near the fountain. I got out of the saddle and stretched a bit then sipped from my water bottle. I had a seat on the bench. Within a minute or two a woman approached. She introduced herself as a reporter from Greater Philadelphia Media (think Courier Times and Philly Burbs) and asked if she could ask some questions. I kinda figured this may happen when I saw all the news presence there. I said sure.

We talked about how I found out about the news of Osama bin Laden's killing and what I thought this day meant to me and the other people gathered there. We also talked about the greater state of affairs regarding global terrorism and such. Then she asked me if I knew anyone who lost their life on 9-11. I pointed to the name engraved upon the bench on which I had been sitting.  

Bill Godshalk was a guy I knew from high school. I told the reporter that I may have even known him from Pennwood Junior High School. I just didn't know. Bill was the kind of guy that you felt like you had always known. He moved into circles of friends with ease, as if he'd always been there. He was the kind of friend that high school people describe as the guy you'd say hi to in the hallways at school and he always returned your greeting with a smile. Actually, he was probably already smiling. Great guy.

But not a guy who I would have seen socially outside of school on purpose. Sure, we'd see each other at summertime parties, or at the random Wawa visit, but clearly, if you asked his mom if she knew my name, the answer would be no. The last time I saw Bill was at a Super Bowl party several years before that senseless attack.   But, somehow his memory represents the senselessness of that attack to me. He was a good-natured Yardley guy that had no quarrel with anyone, much less Osama bin Laden. So, sometimes when I feel uneasy about global events or the human condition, I find myself sitting at his bench at the 9-11 memorial.   Just then as the reporter was about to ask me another question, a voice came from across the meadow.

I turned and instantly, I mean instantly, recognized the face of a friend I hadn't seen in 15 years. He approached quickly, and soon Neil's and my handshake turned into a big man hug across Bill's bench. The reporter asked how we knew each other. She had previously interviewed Neil earlier in the morning. Neil correctly answered that we had known each other all our lives. He was right. Our parents were friends at the time of our births, so we had probably spent some time together in various playpens or what have you. We later matriculated through the Pennsbury School System together and later had some crazy times together at Penn State's Ogontz Campus, stories of which should probably appear in a separate blog entry if at all.

We even had some bike adventures together, most notably our trip from Yardley to Sea Girt, New Jersey where my dad lived. Back in 1985 we made that trip there and back in two days in easy time the way only two great friends can. In fact, the last time I had spoken to Neil was the day of my Dad's funeral last October when Neil phoned to pay his respects. His voice was so welcome that day. 

Neil and I have been good friends for many years and I was delighted to see him this day after once again drifting apart due to life's meanderings and not any other reason.   The reporter was kind enough to recognize the situation and left us alone. Neil and I talked for at least an hour, but probably more. It was a conversation that began 20 years ago. Not really, but it was that easy. It was as if the time lapsed was only that of a trip to the restroom of the Continental Tavern at which we had spent more than a few great evenings.

We rekindled a friendship that was never really unkindled, just interrupted. He mentioned how he frequents The Green Parrot and I mentioned my favorite beer joint, Isaac Newtons. You see, Neil was the first person to introduce me to homebrewing, so our mutual love of great beer has always been a cornerstone of our relationship.

I look forward to many pints with him upcoming.   So, it turns out, what began as a night featuring a wasted Cliff Lee pitching effort, horrific memories dredged up in the form of a madman's murder and a bike ride's route changed, turned into a wonderful experience and renewal of my oldest friendship. Life's funny.

I just hope that dang flag has been replaced by the next time I go by Goodnoe's Corner, or US Realty's gonna have to change their name.