He was only sixteen years old when he died alone by the side of a road on a winter's evening. This kid who had the eyesight, reflexes, and hand-eye coordination to hit thirty-two curve balls in a row--and may have hit more if the box of balls hadn't run out--couldn't see the truck with almost no rear lighting and no underride guard that he encountered on January 12, 1994, in time to save himself.

Guy was an All-Star baseball player, a superb rockclimber, an excellent student, and state individual elementary school chess co-champion the first year Kentucky awarded such a title. But, it was not Guy's sports or intellectual achievements that made him my favorite person in the world.

It was his character and personality. It was the way he whispered to his grandmother that she should take back her move when she hung her Queen in a tournament chess game against him. It was the way he was curious about all things in life and was ready to go with me anywhere, anytime, at the drop of a hat. The way he was always willing to help out. The way he loved animals; the way, when his dog would jump up on him as he walked into the yard after school, he would put down his books, hug that dog, and go rolling over and over across the grass, laughing.

One time when I was getting ready to throw away a worn-out pair of running shoes, I told Guy I hated to part with them because they were like old friends. They had carried me, along with Guy, to places like the top of the Cairngorm, in Scotland, Half Dome in Yosemite, and dozens of other hikes and rockclimb approaches and descents. Guy said "Yeah, I feel that way about my climbing shoes, too." He had a little catch in his voice, so I looked at him. He had tears in his eyes, and I knew--he got it. Guy always got it. That's what made him different from other teenagers. And now I still pull his climbing shoes apart and stick my nose down into them just so I can smell the sweat that came out of his feet while we were in some of those unforgettable spots high off the ground. With his baseball hat and some photographs, that's all I have left of Guy.

To me, this quote by Juliet, of Romeo, tells how I feel about him:

"When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun."

R.
Father and son