The year was 1973, maybe 1974, and Craig Racicot was behind the wheel of his Renault. The upholstery above the drivers side window was stained brown from cigarette smoke. Craig didnt smoke; the car was a hand me down from his father. There were quite a few Renaults in the Evergreen Knolls neighborhood of Peekskill, New York and I believe one of my fellow baby-boomers folks worked for that car company. Was it the Catagnettas? Maybe it was Craigs father. I dont remember. But, I do remember Craig, who was a helluva hockey goalie--I loved the way hed knock the goal behind him with his stick to keep a sense of where he was--John McPhee wrote a book of the same title about New York Knicks forward Bill Bradley-A Sense of Where You Are--used to swear at that car- a Renault--he would quip, The French cant even cook, why would they try to make cars? I digress. I was in the front seat on the way to our Friday football breakfast on the morning before our game. Maybe it was against Yorktown--that was a hell of an upset-or, maybe it was Sleepy Hollow? Were riding in that Renault--what year was that car Craig?--and, Craig did something Ill never forget---he swore off a particular tendency, idiosyncrasy, a behavior, and vowed to change his lifestyle in that regard. Lets just say he swore off swearing (it wasnt swearing). Craig reflected on the profound trust his grandmother had in him as a child and vowed to live up to her expectations. As a sixteen year old, I wondered about Craigs extemporaneous declaration. It wasnt hubris or fear, but profound sincerity. I remember that moment forty years later and think of the man who had no idea of the effect he had on others. And, the man had a heart on the football field the size of a, well, football field. No, Im not eulogizing Craig; hes not dead. Its just his birthday. Happy birthday, buddy. I love you, man.
Posted on: Thu, 10 Jul 2014 14:32:00 +0000
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