Jean Taylor

Al was a great friend in high school. He was a regular member of our lunch crew, which included Jim McCurdy and Dennis Sturdevant and Tom Crittenden and Ken Mitchell and David Barnes (sorry if I'm temporarily forgetting others). Al had an English Ford; he put carpet on the dashboard, incuding a circle he could put or remove over the speedometer. We all piled into it for away football games. Al seemed always to have a cheerful disposition.

One of our escapades was to pop firecrackers at Halloween in a teacher's apartment. That earned me a D- in the citizenship half of my report card, to go with the A+ on the scholarship side, and a comment that I "hung out with a bad crowd."  I thought it was a great crowd.

After trying several times to get a date for his February graduation party (we heard all about it at lunch),  Al asked me, as a friend rather than a possible romantic interest. I still remember staying up all night, going bowling in the wee hours, and learning for the first time how to sleep a yo-yo.

I think I was the only one of the gang with strong academic interests. But that was all right by me; they were my pals, and they kept me grounded. Al has not been a part of my life since high school, but news of his death still hurts.