David passed away from cancer on September 13, 2015. He left behind two children (Sandra and David) and two grandchildren (Bubby and Jordan). He loved riding his motorcycle, and his caretakers arranged for him to have one last motorcycle ride in a side car before he died, which made him very happy. Dave was my best friend in elementary school, junior high school, and high school. He and I, along with fellow alumnus Danny Hill, did everything together. As we grew from kids into teenagers and into young men, our sense of humor, taste in music, understanding of social graces, fascination with the opposite sex, and view of the world were formed in tandem. Without Dave’s influence, I know I would not be who I am today. Dave was outrageously funny, wise, and confident. I was always envious of his cavalier attitude and his brave persona, because I, like so many others our age, fought awkwardness and shyness while seeking acceptance. But, Dave … well, Dave was Dave. The first day I met him was in fifth grade, and since there were already two other Davids in the class, the teacher decided that, to avoid confusion, one student would be called “David,” one would be called “Dave,” and one would be “Davy” Dave was dubbed “Davy.” “Davy?” he exclaimed. “You have got to be kidding! Like the religious kid with the talking dog? No way – I refuse to be called “Davy!”” I could not stop laughing. And he did indeed refuse to answer to “Davy,” no matter how many times the teacher called him that. I wish I could fill this page with stories about Dave, but so many of them were memories that only he and I (and Danny) shared, so instead I will list random thoughts that hold nostalgic meaning to me:
Wrightstown drinking fountain and the mad crapper. Rolling down hills in trash barrels. William T. Burgess. The Eegees van at the top of the hill next to Magee. Strangling me with a dog collar because I wouldn’t leave when “Hogan’s Heroes” was starting. Day old crab nebula at the donut counter in Food Giant. Drawing on our jeans. Lucky Lindy the librarian. Treasures from trash can picking, like discarded beer signs, McDonald’s uniforms, greeting cards and holiday items, etc. Partying in the Ford Pinto. Seven Falls. Reddington Pass. Soaping car windows on Halloween and getting caught because the owner was sitting in the stinking car at the time. Concert after concert after concert. All-you-can-eat Shakey’s pizza. Lying on the sidewalk and moaning in agony after eating all-you-can-eat Shakey’s pizza. Mrs. Young’s hurricane warnings. The scrambled egg fight on my birthday camping trip. Walking up to Hardee’s, Tastee-Freeze or Jack-in-the-Crack for lunch. Selling Zotz, Jolly Ranchers, and gum during class. Mr. Hatcher’s after-math class “Clock Watchers Club.” Mr. Torrance’s earth science class. Old lady Wingate. “Match Game ‘73” and “Match Game ’74.” Creeping through the rafters at Emily Grey late at night. Blue Sky records at Berkshire Village. Watergate. Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention. National Lampoon magazine. National Lampoon Radio Hour. “Monty Python’s Flying Circus.” “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.” Peyote. Mushrooms. The Fantastic Animation Festival. Syd Barrett and Pink Floyd. “Luscious Linda” and “Runaway Hormones.” Chocolate Milk. His mother’s cat, Ming Joy, knocking over their Christmas tree, every damn year. His mother’s Kiffles with walnuts, rolled in powdered sugar. His mother’s owl collection. His father’s obsession with World War II documentaries. Girls. More girls. Steve Martin’s “Let’s Get Small.” Buying records at the swap meet at Trail Dust Town. Watching David Letterman’s daytime show. M.C. Escher. Hostess Ding Dongs. The Swamp. Park Mall. Year after year of long, boring summer days.
Man, I feel such an empty hole with Dave and Danny no longer here. As Terry Jacks once sang:
“Goodbye to you, my trusted friend.
We've known each other since we were nine or ten.
Together we've climbed hills and trees.
Learned of love and ABCs,
skinned our hearts and skinned our knees.
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.
Chip, that was a wonderful tribute. I remember you, Danny and Dave so well, and all the entertainment you provided for the rest of us at Wrightstown and Magee. I am so sorry that Dave and Danny are no longer here, but I am certain they are together again, making other spirits laugh at their antics.
Gordon (Chip) Crawford
David passed away from cancer on September 13, 2015. He left behind two children (Sandra and David) and two grandchildren (Bubby and Jordan). He loved riding his motorcycle, and his caretakers arranged for him to have one last motorcycle ride in a side car before he died, which made him very happy. Dave was my best friend in elementary school, junior high school, and high school. He and I, along with fellow alumnus Danny Hill, did everything together. As we grew from kids into teenagers and into young men, our sense of humor, taste in music, understanding of social graces, fascination with the opposite sex, and view of the world were formed in tandem. Without Dave’s influence, I know I would not be who I am today. Dave was outrageously funny, wise, and confident. I was always envious of his cavalier attitude and his brave persona, because I, like so many others our age, fought awkwardness and shyness while seeking acceptance. But, Dave … well, Dave was Dave. The first day I met him was in fifth grade, and since there were already two other Davids in the class, the teacher decided that, to avoid confusion, one student would be called “David,” one would be called “Dave,” and one would be “Davy” Dave was dubbed “Davy.” “Davy?” he exclaimed. “You have got to be kidding! Like the religious kid with the talking dog? No way – I refuse to be called “Davy!”” I could not stop laughing. And he did indeed refuse to answer to “Davy,” no matter how many times the teacher called him that. I wish I could fill this page with stories about Dave, but so many of them were memories that only he and I (and Danny) shared, so instead I will list random thoughts that hold nostalgic meaning to me:
Wrightstown drinking fountain and the mad crapper. Rolling down hills in trash barrels. William T. Burgess. The Eegees van at the top of the hill next to Magee. Strangling me with a dog collar because I wouldn’t leave when “Hogan’s Heroes” was starting. Day old crab nebula at the donut counter in Food Giant. Drawing on our jeans. Lucky Lindy the librarian. Treasures from trash can picking, like discarded beer signs, McDonald’s uniforms, greeting cards and holiday items, etc. Partying in the Ford Pinto. Seven Falls. Reddington Pass. Soaping car windows on Halloween and getting caught because the owner was sitting in the stinking car at the time. Concert after concert after concert. All-you-can-eat Shakey’s pizza. Lying on the sidewalk and moaning in agony after eating all-you-can-eat Shakey’s pizza. Mrs. Young’s hurricane warnings. The scrambled egg fight on my birthday camping trip. Walking up to Hardee’s, Tastee-Freeze or Jack-in-the-Crack for lunch. Selling Zotz, Jolly Ranchers, and gum during class. Mr. Hatcher’s after-math class “Clock Watchers Club.” Mr. Torrance’s earth science class. Old lady Wingate. “Match Game ‘73” and “Match Game ’74.” Creeping through the rafters at Emily Grey late at night. Blue Sky records at Berkshire Village. Watergate. Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention. National Lampoon magazine. National Lampoon Radio Hour. “Monty Python’s Flying Circus.” “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.” Peyote. Mushrooms. The Fantastic Animation Festival. Syd Barrett and Pink Floyd. “Luscious Linda” and “Runaway Hormones.” Chocolate Milk. His mother’s cat, Ming Joy, knocking over their Christmas tree, every damn year. His mother’s Kiffles with walnuts, rolled in powdered sugar. His mother’s owl collection. His father’s obsession with World War II documentaries. Girls. More girls. Steve Martin’s “Let’s Get Small.” Buying records at the swap meet at Trail Dust Town. Watching David Letterman’s daytime show. M.C. Escher. Hostess Ding Dongs. The Swamp. Park Mall. Year after year of long, boring summer days.
Man, I feel such an empty hole with Dave and Danny no longer here. As Terry Jacks once sang:
“Goodbye to you, my trusted friend.
We've known each other since we were nine or ten.
Together we've climbed hills and trees.
Learned of love and ABCs,
skinned our hearts and skinned our knees.
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.
But the hills that we climbed
were just seasons out of time.”
Rest in Peace, Dave.
Liz Baker (Wade)
That was a beautiful tribute.
Tricia Martinjak (Dewey)
Chip, that was a wonderful tribute. I remember you, Danny and Dave so well, and all the entertainment you provided for the rest of us at Wrightstown and Magee. I am so sorry that Dave and Danny are no longer here, but I am certain they are together again, making other spirits laugh at their antics.
RIP, Dave.