Frank Barlow

   My first semester in college had me in a crowded dorm room.  The new dormitory wasn’t quite finished yet and there were five of us crowded into one small room.  And what a hodge podge of boys we were.  Denny was tall, lanky and easy going.  Tom was also easy going, but to be more accurate, he was downright lazy.  Mike and Frank were the two athletic karate type.  They weren’t real bright, but they didn’t have to be with their karate skills.  And then there was me.

   I was the only one who was an early riser.  As a freshman, I always wanted to be on time, and the others used me as their alarm clock.  In the evening, Frank told me what time he wanted to get up, but in the morning, he didn’t really want to get up.  Actually, he was easy to wake up, but when he woke up, he woke up swinging and chopping and kicking every way there was.  Frank was an upperclassman and got the only single bed in the center of the room.  When it was time to wake up Frank, I knelt behind the footboard of his bed, reached over and carefully shook his foot.  Then I moved quickly out of range as Frank swung and chopped and kicked at whatever danger was awakening him.

   One morning, for some strange reason, Tom woke up before me.  He was in a fog and slid off his top bunk bed and lost his balance.  He landed on the floor and then tumbled onto Frank, who commenced to swing and chop and kick Tom to pieces.  That day, I saw Tom move faster to get out of Frank’s way than he ever had, or ever did, the rest of the years that I knew him.