Once, Always

"A friend is someone who knows everything about you. . .and still likes you."
Over the years, my father made many friends and acquaintances. Probably more than he knew. His influence touched many lives besides just my own. I have met people all over the country that have crossed paths with my father. Without exception, they have had nothing but praise, respect, and admiration for him. Some knew him from the military. Most of them met him after he got out of the Air Force. Through business dealings and his Church responsibilities, all who met him knew that he was a man of his word.
I can remember in Japan, when I was about 4 years old, that a couple of Dad's friends used to stop by occasionally. One of them was a Lt. Blackwell. I think they used to call him "Blackie". I remember liking it when he would come over. I guess Dad kept in touch with him off and on through the years. He was evidently stationed in Viet Nam at the same time Dad was. What happened to him after that, I don't know. Also, while we were in Japan, the family that lived next to us had a daughter my age. We again ran into them in Florida, in 1969. I briefly tried to "rekindle" the "romance" that their daughter and I had shared when we were 4, but we had changed over the ten years we had been apart. But Dad and Major Bedsworth were still friends. We went water skiing with them, and they taught me to slalom ski. What does this have to do with anything? It has taught me the value of making and keeping friends.
Throughout my life I, too, have met countless people as a result of different jobs, schools, neighborhoods, and locales. Even though they number in (possibly) the thousands, there are comparatively few that I consider to be "true" friends. People that I try to stay in touch with, despite the miles that may separate us. People that share a bond with me. People that are like "family". People that will open their door to me no matter where or when we may chance to encounter one another. I have written about one of these people already, my friend Randy. I have known him for 40 years, and we still manage to communicate with each other at least twice a month through emails or phone calls. He has seen me through some of my greatest triumphs, as well as deepest despair, and remains to this day one of the people that I can call upon if needed.
Another man that I can call upon: my good friend John. We were in the junior-high band together. We were both trumpet players at the time. He was a year behind me in school, and by the time he got to high school, had decided to not be in the band. We saw each other in the halls occasionally, but never really connected until we found out that we were "dating" girls that lived across the street from each other. The four of us would occasionally do things together, but it was when the "girls" (who were best friends) would do things together (they both kept horses at the same stable), that John and I would end up hanging out together. Our friendship grew, and continued to grow after both girls had moved on, and we had chosen different career paths. After I moved into my first "place", John was a frequent visitor and guest. One time, he brought a guy that he worked with to our apartment. His name was Bill, and he was a black belt, among other things. I remember that they were "adding on" to the complex where we were living, and that there were always construction materials in the area. One night, they brought some cinder blocks up to the apartment, and Bill was breaking them with his fist. I was suitably impressed. John "moved" up to Alabama to attend college, but managed to visit pretty regularly. Randy was at college, and Bill and I spent a lot of time hanging out together. Soon, I was learning karate from Bill. He was an excellent teacher, and I was, honestly, a great student. I progressed rapidly, until he and I were teaching a class together, as well as being roommates. When his car burned up on the way to class one day, he was left without transportation and a lot of personal belongings. He enlisted in the Marines shortly thereafter. I tried to stay proficient in the martial arts during his absence. He stopped by when he would have leave, and we would catch up. Many times, John or Randy would be there as well. If you could get any two of us together for a while, there wasn't a beer bottle that was safe. If all four of us happened to be together, it was a party that usually stretched until dawn. My friendships did not end with their marriages, I simply gained another close personal friend. Their wives have all been like sisters, probably even closer. I have loved these men and their wives like family, and they have all returned my love in kind. The "shortest" of these friendships has spanned 35 years. I have met many people since, and few have cemented a bond like these three.
Roughly six years ago, I had the opportunity to speak at church. I happened to be relating a story about my father. After the services a couple came up to me and asked if I was any relation to Sam Fields, from Florida. I replied that yes, he was my father. They had known him in Florida and spoke of their love and admiration for him. My father made lasting friendships with all those that he touched. Well, maybe not "friendships", but certainly a lasting impression. A positive impression.
I am now "middle-aged", and have no idea if any of my father's squadron-mates are still around, but if they are, I know that they remember my father. When I spoke at Dad's funeral, I said something to the effect that he had been "one of the finest men to ever walk the face of the earth". After the service, more than one person came up to me to affirm that statement. Do I have as many friends? I doubt it, but there are at least three people who will remember who I am. True friends.