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I lost one of my high school buddies recently.
I met Mark through some organized wargaming activity back in the day, and a half dozen of us quickly formed an inseparable pack that lasted for years, with perhaps another dozen occasional co-conspirators.
He was quick-witted, charismatic, and a mischievous instigator of the highest order, probably partially in response to what seemed like a difficult family situation. But whatever the psychological underpinnings, Mark made every day an opportunity for outrageous adventure, which was irresistible to us as a pack of bored adolescent guys.
While I can only relate a small number of our many adventures, here—to amuse my captain—are some of the memories I have of my time with Mark.
 Swashbuckling Heroes |
 Bring in that Floating Fat Man! |
 Perpendicular Brothers |
Summers spent on Water Street in Hallowell, caretaking his grandfather’s antiques shop. Then closing up shop for clandestine and nominally illegal group swimming trips to the local granite quarry.
Days at the local videogame arcade, particularly seeing his “MGE” initials filling the leader board of the Star Trek videogame. “Congratulations… High score!”
Numerous expeditions to some of the most memorable movies of that time: that perpetual source of quotes Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan; the iconic animated feature film Heavy Metal; the laughable ridiculousness of Krull and Beastmaster; and the ill-conceived and too-bad-to-be-funny waste of film called Caligula.
Of course, the hundreds of hours spent gaming. His persuasiveness at Diplomacy. The Fletcher Pratt naval miniatures engagements. Call of Cthulhu roleplaying sessions. Hands full of dice medieval miniatures. The planetary exploration and economics microgame Trailblazer, with its inhuman bookkeeping requirements, leading us to the long-remembered planet christened Fuck You All. And dozens of others.
Even spare-time sessions of “the dictionary game”, where we’d laugh until we pissed ourselves over definitions like “Kenny Kinnikinnick, inventor of Gnip Gnop” or my culturally sheltered inability to correctly pronounce “gifelte fish”.
Dozens and dozens of basement poker games, with stakes ranging from quarters to new wargames, computer disk drives, and upward of $300 in cash. And, of course, Mark’s introduction of his (and subsequently our) two favorite poker variants: Hurt Me and The Bates Motel.
He wasn’t above petty larceny, one night convincing us to steal the US flag from its pole in front of a Maine state office building, using the specious justification that it was a federal offense for them to fly it after sundown without proper illumination.
And then the coup de grace. We showed up early for an evening session at the local game store. While several of us kept Hal, the proprietor, engaged in conversation, Mark retrieved from a nearby top shelf the box containing the materials for a huge plastic model of the starship Enterprise, opened it up, loaded all the contents into his briefcase, closed the box, and returned it to its former location, where it remained unexamined for a year or more. Hence the righteous name of the operation, which will never be forgotten: Free Enterprise. It was really difficult keeping a straight face through the ensuing game session!
Mark left for college 30 miles away, but that didn’t preclude group shenanigans, thanks to careening, edge-of-control rides to Lewiston in Mark’s “Little Red Chevette”. There, he would found the Bates College Imperialists club and propagandize over his college radio show. He’d even open his own game store, which was the scene of my first date with my first girlfriend (appropriately, since we’d met one another at a gaming convention).
After college, I moved to Boston and didn’t have much contact with anyone in my old high school circle. Mark was one of the few of us who escaped Maine, but he might have overreached, moving to Japan to teach English, establishing his own language school, getting married, and bringing up a child. He pretty much fulfilled his vow never to return to the US again.
Although he was an infrequent correspondent, I did receive occasional emails from him. To my complete surprise, when I told him I was doing a bike ride to raise funds for the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, he became one of my most loyal and generous supporters. He is one of only nine people who sponsored me in each of the 14 years I rode, and my sixth highest sponsor in terms of dollars given.
Less than four months ago, I was back in Maine and visited a few of our old buddies for the first time in decades, including Mark’s younger brother Josh. It was interesting seeing how much each of us had changed, and sharing treasured memories of our ridiculous high school antics. They also shared news about the rest of the guys who weren’t around; as you would imagine, Mark’s name came up quite often.
So it was a huge shock to hear from his brother a couple weeks ago that Mark had unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack.
As with my mother’s passing earlier this year, I’m really not sure how to articulate my feelings. Whatever you thought of him, Mark had enough personality for ten men. He was arguably the central figure in our circle, and one of the most important and memorable faces from our adolescence.
I will miss him greatly, and all of the outrageous adventures he launched us on.
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