It’s funny how the mind works. The connections it makes. And how idle thoughts take on greater significance in light of subsequent events.
Saturday night, Ann and I stopped by
As we drove home, westbound on Dodge, I made a mental note to contact Rocky to reset our lunch date. A few weeks earlier, Rocky had to cancel at the last minute. We had not gotten together often enough the past few years. Either I was too busy at the office, or he was too busy with directing the church choir. Now, my annual budget was submitted, and he was between Christmas and Easter. Yes, I resolved, I’d contact Rocky this week.
As we prepared turn off Dodge onto University, we saw ahead of us, at Dodge and Wacker, the emergency lights of a half-dozen vehicles. “That looks bad,” I understated.
I didn’t think any more about the accident scene until Tuesday morning, when, during an out-of-town trip, I checked my e-mail. There was a message from Rocky – or so it appeared. However, instead of the usual subject line touting Rocky’s next gig or the “forward” of some Internet joke, the subject line read, “Rocky Rockhold, 1929-2006.” The author, using Rocky’s e-mail address book, was friend Ric Jones, who had the sad task of informing us of Rocky’s death. It was Rocky who was in the accident. He rear-ended another vehicle, and he died in the hospital the following day. He was 75.
Like a great many others, in