I had no more than a handful of best friends growing up, and John L. Hanny was arguably the most important. Unfortunately, he died prematurely in an inexplicable car crash in his early twenties. I think about him with some regularity, although I must confess with time the frequency of these reflections is not what they once were. I guess time does heal all wounds, but I am not sure in this case that is a good thing. When I do think of John, it is generally wondering what he would be doing now had he lived, and would we still be in contact with each other? The first thought is certainly a lot more important, as I believe almost any life is better than his fate. And would we still be in contact? I would hope so, but the probability is likely a coin toss; candidly I do not have a lot of contact with my best relationships that were made during my first twenty years.
This is John and I out in front of my childhood home and while I am not 100% certain, I believe we were going to some event related to the wedding of Erik Roberts; the third leg of our friend triangle.
I met John in ninth grade through another new friend, Erik Roberts. I believe John and Erik were new to Kingswood-Oxford and were not a part of my KO Middle School experience. Honestly, the specifics are a bit fuzzy to me on how John and I specifically met. I do recall Erik and I meeting each other in Chemistry class which was taught by a teacher who had a thick southern accent. Her pronunciation of several chemistry terms was pretty hysterical to this immature ninth grade, born and raised New Englander. So for the first month or so, 'Go Fo' (gold foil), Mo's (moles) and many other southern pronunciations generated a month-long 'giggle-fest' which had the unfortunate result of not paying particularly close attention to the material and poor test scores. The one positive was a strong bond with my fellow chemist, Erik Roberts.
There was a gang of very average and 'not the cool kids' that made up my social circle. John and I were squarely in that circle, but Erik not only spent time in our realm, he also did a little dancing in the world of the cool kids. I can not decide if I just do not remember some important moments that galvanized my high school long bond with John, or most likely our friendship slowly grew over some period of time. I do recall early on in our friendship that we would spend many hours at John's house playing on his Apple II computer. That was cool to have one of those and he was the only one I knew that had a computer. We would play the video game Decathlon for hours and hours, relentlessly beating two keys on the keyboard trying to run faster than each other. The 'icing on the cake', (sometimes literally) was an endless stream of food that his grandmother, Mum Mum, and his mother would bring downstairs to his basement. They could not have been nicer and Erik and I grew close to them. Also, their basement was large and finished in a very nice way so it was a good place just to hang out. John's house was definitely a 'go-to' spot and I shudder to think how much time we spent there.
As we got older, we of course became mobile as a result of getting our licenses. However, I think John ended up doing the bulk of the driving. He was given either a Firebird or a Trans Am by his father. I can't remember which kind it was but I do remember that if you called it the wrong one, John would always correct you and let you know that it was the other and the one he had, was clearly the better of the two; I think it was a Firebird. Either way, it definitely elevated our collective and anemic social status. At the very least we thought we were cool. I lived relatively close to the school so I was either taking the bus, riding my bike or walking. John and Erik lived far enough away were driving was their only option so they had cars on campus. My view of the world during this time was mostly from the 'shotgun' position of their cars.
John and I had countless adventures during high school; as I recall some of the better ones, I will add them to this part of the story. One memorable episode occurred during Halloween when we climbed up on my roof with several dozen eggs. We spent about an hour lobbing them at unsuspecting trick-or-treaters. The consternation this caused in front of our house had my father on high alert and neither he nor the targets could figure out where they were coming from. My father even went so far as to call the West Hartford police who cruised by a few times with no success of catching the perpetrators. After we ran out of eggs, we crawled down to a lower roof to get back in the house through my brother's bedroom window only to be busted by my father. He feigned anger, but quite honestly, I think he was happy to have solved the mystery. There were also many evenings of reckless consumption, house parties and just hanging out in the local woods or some parking lot. Fairly typical for that time, but it was good and memorable to us.
All three of us went on to college and we stayed in touch. We would reunite during holidays, summers and even put together a pretty raucous road trip to Daytona Beach where I went down to Franklin & Marshall to meet up with John, and later picked up Erik at Wake Forest. After college, we all moved back to the greater Hartford area where we rekindled our friendship and spent many nights going to our favorite watering holes and marching in a parade of stupid and immature activity. The Metro, Piggy's and The Moose were all favorites often ending in a greasy, but very tasty meal at Steak'n'Eggs. These were very good times and a particularly memorable portion of my youth.
This was a party Erik, John and I went to during a holiday break from college. I think it was some party in Boston but not sure exactly. What I do recall is Erik and I pretending we were both back from a semester at Oxford as Rhode Scholars. Whatever the story was, it was ridiculous and we had more fun entertaining ourselves than anything else.
After some time, I had an itch do something more and different. Erik had a sister who was living in San Diego and I think was moving back to Connecticut. John and I baked up a plan to move out there with Erik who I don't recall being particularly enthusiastic about the plan. However, his participation was an essential element of this scheme since his parents owned the house. Long story short, the plan fell apart and neither of them was going to move to California. For some reason, and I am not sure exactly why I was determined to get out of Connecticut. Maybe it was my way of distinguishing myself in our social circle? Anyhow, I had an 'Uncle' (technically a cousin) who lived in Palo Alto and I decided to call him and invite myself to live there. He and my Aunt were quite gracious and said yes; thank you Stu and Louise! My father was baffled as to why I was moving to California, and maybe he had every right to be as I cannot recall having a specific reason other than 'just cuz'. My brother and I spent ten days driving out west (hopefully more stories to be recalled in another post) and there I was living in California.
I lost touch with Erik some, but John and I spoke on the phone a couple of times. I wanted to let him know how great it was in California and how badly he was missing out; suffice it to say that I may have exaggerated a few stories. I went back to Connecticut over the next few years for events like the holidays, my grandfather's failing health and Erik's wedding. Each return visit resulted in great reunions and lots of fun times. In many ways, it was like I had never left and that is maybe the key reason they both were such great friends. However, geography and time made this leg a bit wobbly on our three-legged friendship stool.
I remember getting the call from my father in my San Francisco apartment to let me know John had been killed in a car crash. This news really caught me off guard and It was hard to believe. The physical distance and the time that had passed between us made it seem like it was not real. I had lost another close friend earlier in my life, but because our friendship was more current and active, the news was immediately devastating.
As I recall, there was some sort of delay for the funeral and it happened about a week after John died. Complicating emotional matters for me was a trip I had previously planned to go to San Diego (ironic as that is where John and I had planned to move) and then a road trip to Ensenada with some friends. This was going to take place over a long weekend before John's funeral, which I recall being on a Tuesday. That was a strange and hard few days where I was supposed to be having fun and engaged in stupidity, but torn by how I was supposed to honor my friend. I ping-ponged between celebrating his life with gusto and just wanting to leave. My travel buddies were not going to be deterred from partying and it was all I could do to extract myself from that trip to get back to San Francisco and catch my flight to Connecticut. By the slimmest of margins, I managed to make it on time for the wake, and then the funeral the following day. Making this bad situation very strange for me was 'parachuting' into my past and being a bit on the outside looking into John and Erik's current lives. Of course, that reaction was completely selfish on my part.
I really do not remember the service itself, but I am sure it was pretty involved and formal as John was Catholic. In High School, he would always order Fillet-o-Fish at McDonald's when we would go out for dinner on Fridays. A practice I think was more out of respect for what his parents wanted for him, and less about his actual faith. What I do clearly remember about these couple of days is being at the gravesite for his burial and every moment that transpired. To this day, I remember that scene in almost every detail, like a picture.
As I recall the story of the accident and what happened to John was something to the effect that he and his girlfriend were driving down to the coast of Connecticut on a clear sunny day. Apparently, with no other interaction from another car, they drove off a two-lane highway, down an embankment and crashed into a tree. John died and his girlfriend lived but blacked out and she had no recollection of what happened. John was always a good driver. The only odd circumstance was they had a kitten in the car, but no one was sure what caused him to go off the road.
This is from John's senior page in our yearbook from Kingswood-Oxford Class of 1983. He was an accomplished guitar player and loved his Pontiac Firebird.
John Hanny was a genuinely good soul and a true friend. He was smart, talented and despite our social circle in high school, he turned out to be quite the lady's man. He was also a very accomplished guitar player who had some good success in a few bands at both his college and later back in Hartford. I blame him for another episode in my life where I thought managing bands and starting a record label was a good idea. OK, that is totally on me but it makes me feel better to blame him. Most importantly, John was a good son and brother and had a lot left to accomplish. I often wonder if we had moved to California, would he still be alive? I would like to think so. When I do think about him, it is as a result of recalling one of our many adventures. Life is definitely not fair and can really suck sometimes! RIP John L. Hanny, RIP! (1966-1993)