Rooftop Philosophers

The frat guy showed us around the upstairs rooms; they looked suspiciously tidy. He paused at the head of the stairs as we started to go back down to the party. 

“I think you’ll find Kappa life enhances your aesthesis here.” He pointed with his pipe for emphasis. Brother. 

It was rush week at the University of Florida and I was with my friends Rich, Brad and Don. We were visiting fraternities, pretending to be interested, but really only interested in the girls and free beer. 

We followed the Kappa guy back down the narrow stairway in single file. Behind me, Rich stumbled on the carpeted steps and fell into me. I fell into Brad, who fell into Don, who collided heavily with the frat guy. There was grunting, banging and the sensation of being in a giant washing machine.

At the bottom of the stairs, a table was set up with a stereo and speakers. Our human snowball erupted from the stairs into the table, instantly silencing the Talking Heads and the conversations with a sickening crash.

Rich’s foot was in my face and he held a cracked beer cup. All of us were drenched. Rich laughed. “You know what?,” he asked as we were helped to our feet and then rather roughly to the door. “I think we need a beach fix.” 

I arrived at the University of Florida several years after the legendary Tom Petty had left for the west coast. But his philosophy still permeated Gainesville. 

“You have four years to be irresponsible here, to relax,” he said. “You’ll never remember class time, but you’ll remember the time you wasted hanging out with your friends. So stay out late. Go out with your friends on a Tuesday when you have a paper due on Wednesday … The work never ends, but college does.”

Located in north central Florida, the campus atmosphere was slow paced. Live oaks with Spanish moss slumbered in the languid humidity. Here and there were magnolia blossoms, kids flipping frisbees, people laying on quilts. Alligators dozed in the late afternoon sun on Lake Alice.

Florida was a big school and I only saw kids I knew in high school on rare occasions. I mostly made new friends, and one of them was Rich. 

We hit it off even though we were so different. He was neat; I was a slob. He diligently attended class; I ascribed more to the Tom Petty philosophy. He recopied his notes while I practiced spinning the frisbee on my fingertip, or wandered Alachua County taking pictures with my Pentax.

Our attitudes about the future also differed. He was a psych major with plans to go to law school; I was an engineering major with only a vague idea of how I’d earn a living. I figured it would all work itself out but my attitude for the here-and-now was an amalgamation of Tom Petty, Carpe Diem and Pop’s admonition to “always stop and smell the roses.”

Rich toed the line, but all it took was the slightest push to get him into Tom Petty country. 

He lived on the top floor of the dorm and one of our favorite idiotic pastimes was to crawl out his window and sit on the steeply pitched slate roof. As we drank our beers and looked down at the bike racks…and up at the stars…Jackson Browne drifted out the open window, giving us food for thought. About life, relationships, fulfillment.

One night we wandered the deserted campus, BSing, walking down empty corridors, across the moonlit quad, out to Lake Alice where the frogs trilled and grunted. Finally, the sky began to lighten in the east as the first birds twittered. Rich looked at me. “Well, dude,” he said. “Another one for the books.”

One of my favorite poems is Desiderata; it resonates deeply with me. The title is Latin for “things desired” and one verse neatly sums up how in the fullness of time, I found a job, made a living, and raised a family:

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Somehow, enough learning had soaked into my brain to enable me to work at IBM for almost 40 years. I got awards, patents and promotions; but I also retained the joy of doing stupid crazy stuff that you can only do during those four years.

So it was with this background that I recently made a trip from NC back to UF like a salmon seeking its headwaters.

I went with Sue, my daughter Kristen and her husband Paul… another Florida grad. The football game didn’t start until 7:30, so we had plenty of time to wander and reminisce. We split up and I visited spots I last saw 40 years ago. Anderson Hall and technical writing. Peabody Hall and differential equations. Leigh Hall, the infamous washout place of organic chemistry.

I sat on a bench in the quad in front of the library; it was Saturday afternoon and deserted. Back in the day, in the rush of the school week, the Krishnas were passing out their free food; Brother Jed was on a table with a bullhorn, thundering about judgement; and Century Tower solemnly tolled: There’s another hour you’ll never get back. Get going.

I wondered what Rich would have to say. He’s been diagnosed with early-onset dementia; we talk regularly, and we rehash the old stories and our inside jokes. But he’s slipping. He no longer drives and many things cause him anxiety. The updates from his wife are heartbreaking.

I stopped and looked at the dorm where half a lifetime ago we sat on the roof and talked about stuff. One by one the lights in the rooms would go out until finally it was just us and the stars. Two friends, closer than brothers, trying to figure it all out.

Game time gradually grew near and we found our spots in the stands. We’d had a lousy season and were playing ranked Tennessee, so we weren’t expecting much; but just being with 90,000 other Gators was immensely satisfying.

After our one and only touchdown, fireworks thundered overhead, bathing the stadium in brilliant hues.

As the game resumed, I continued to look up into the cool autumn skies. I saw a few brighter stars, unchanged after nearly half a century. I thought about us scrambling for purchase on a fourth-floor gutter and winced.

After all the years, some things have become clear as they can only do with time. Others are still mysteries that I’ll probably never understand until I’m called home to be with Jesus.

But I’ve tried to keep a bit of those college years alive in a corner of my heart.

I think Tom Petty would approve.

Maybe even Pop. 😎

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