If you have new photos or stories, please send them to Jim@kevinjgoodwin.com
 
 
 
Bill and Kevin  

  I regret not writing about all the good things in my life as they’ve happened. Not because I forget the moments, but because I wish I could re-read them or relive them now instead of having to work at putting them on paper. I’ve cued up the memories of Kevin in my head a lot since the accident. I play them through as if they were happening right now. I smile. I laugh. They aren’t memories. Memories mean they are gone. Kevin isn’t gone – those of us who knew him well will always have a piece of what he is with us. The best way I can describe the times with Kev are as instant replays of some of the highlights of my life.

  If you ever met Kevin chances are you remember him. You just might not know it. To acquaintances he was known by his dubious nickname and his dynamic hair. To his friends he was known for his great personality and unique style. We all knew him for his sense of humor. Ask any of our friends to talk about some of their best times at Rowan and almost all of them will include Kevin – that’s just the way he was.

  When I first met Kevin five years ago he was quiet and reserved. Shy and mild-mannered. His hair resembled that of a 70’s rock star - rivaling any afro in the country. He didn’t talk much that first week. Within a few weeks Joe Scalese (the first of kgarr’s many roommates) and me were attempting to shave the New York Mets logo into his head for the playoffs. The Mets didn’t do too well – neither did we. The ordeal ended with three bic razors, some shaving cream and an angry, bald catholic kid from the ‘Polish ghetto’. The first of many follicular fiascos for Kevin. I’ll never forget the look on his face. Or that feeling you get when you’re trying not to laugh, but you can’t. We had the window open, I can still feel the breeze. Life was so simple.

*****

   Jim’s grandmother makes these cookies. I think they are made out of molasses. They are pretty good. There’s just one problem: Jim’s grandma mass produces them like baking is going out of style. Needless to say we ate a lot of these things and got sick of them after a while. Me and Kev liked to take the molasses gingerbrick…bread, whatever, cookies and shove them down my roommate’s throat while he was sleeping. Why did we do this? I’ve asked myself that question a lot and the only answer I can ever come up with was that my roommate was always sleeping and Jim’s grandma was always baking.
  So one day Kevin was taking a nap. I found a cookie and decided to shove it down his throat. Kevin had a high fever and an apparent low tolerance for cookies that day - he jumped off his bed and punched me square in the jaw. I punched him back. No I didn’t. I’ve lied to everyone all these years. I was bleeding and if I was lucky got in one good push.

  We didn’t talk to each other for three weeks. In fact we had class together and we used to leave the dorm at the same time and walk different ways and sit on opposite ends of the classroom. We had a group project to do and just like in grammar school the teacher picked the groups. We ended up in the same group and I guess that was the end of our fight. We didn’t have the same luck with the cookies. They kept coming.

*****

   I knew Kevin for 5 years, but it wasn’t until this past summer that I actually got to know him. I was living at home and commuting to school one night a week to do a radio show. We used to go out on “dates” as he sarcastically referred to them to PB’s diner. The waitress knew us by the end of the summer:

”The usual grilled Reuben and burger and beer combo?”

“Heineken, please,” Kevin mumbled.

I would then ask for extra dressing on the side even though she already knew that’s what I wanted.

“So Kev wanna grab some beers and listen to some Springsteen after this?”

“Yeah sure.”

Music is what brought us together. Hell, we got drunk the day Barry White died and listened to Motown all night.

  I was down on Sunday nights to play Dave Matthews on my radio show, but listening to Bruce Springsteen with Kev was just as much a part of Sunday nights. We always listened to the live 75-85 vinyl. We’d listen to “Candy’s Room” or “Adam Raised a Cain” on repeat for hours. I can’t bring myself to listen to that album. Not yet. But I will. One Sunday night this summer.

There’s so much more I want to write, but I don’t have the words. We miss you Kev.