They're no longer my Facebook friends, but they will always be in my memories

Few things in life are more frustrating than sitting for what seems like hours in a medical clinic waiting room.

Having a friend with you makes the wait much more bearable.

It was early 2016 and I was in the waiting room at the Freeman clinic on 32nd waiting for a doctor to see me about some discomfort I was feeling that eventually required a stent (and started me on the path to eventual triple bypass surgery in April of that year).

My anxiety needed some kind of distraction and I received it when I saw my old friend and fellow member of the East Newton High School Class of 1974 Rob Crawford and his wife Martha in a corner of the waiting room.

As usual, Rob was smiling, acting like he did not have a care in the world and he immediately began bombarding me with questions about how he was doing.








Rob brought his own kind of medicine into that clinic. You couldn't help but feel better after talking with him.

He did not say much about his reason for being at the clinic and I did not pry.

After he was called in to see the doctor, I talked with his wife, who clearly showed far more concern about the seriousness of Rob's condition and as she told me what he had endured over the preceding years, it was easy to understand why.

Rob was facing daunting medical problems with the same good cheer as he approached every other aspect of his life.

While I was still concerned about my own health, he had given me a fresh perspective and a life lesson on how to deal with adversity.

I thought about that day at the clinic when I learned of Rob's death at age 62 on June 5, 2017.

I thought about it again and felt a strong sense of guilt a few days ago when I removed Rob from my Facebook friends list.

Facebook has a strict limit of 5,000 friends and I was pushing against that limit. About a year ago, I removed a few hundred from the list, most of them inactive accounts, a few being people who had slipped through the cracks and did not appear to be real people (and definitely not friends) and some who are no longer with us.

While the idea of removing people as friends whose friendship you valued does not appear to be a great example of friendship, the act did give me a chance to think about some people whose paths crossed mine and who are no longer with us.

J. D. Pahlow

When Lamar attorney and Golden City resident George Nichols elected not to run for a third term on the Barton County Commission in 1986, Barton County Clerk Bonda Rawlings and the courthouse crew decided to have a combination dinner and roast for him.

As the editor of the Lamar Democrat, I planned to attend, but the courthouse workers AIwere not content to let me just take photos and write about the event.

Bonda asked me if I would be willing to speak at the roast and provide a few examples of what I passed off as wit. (Others would say I was half right.)

I agreed and began collecting stories from the courthouse workers and his fellow commissioners Doug Haile and John Stockdale that I could use for my presentation.

A few days later. I saw the list of speakers and I was terrified.

They were saving me for last.

Normally, that kind of pressure would not bother me, but it looked like I was set up for failure. The speaker right before me was J. D. Pahlow.








You only had to meet J. D. once to realize one thing- the man was funny.

He had a quip for every occasion and when he left a room, he left laughter in his wake.

There was no way I could follow J. D. Pahlow.

Thankfully, I had a secret weapon. In addition to the stories provided to me by his fellow county commissioners, courthouse custodian Bea Mayes related an incident she said would crack up George Nichols.

She could barely tell me the story she was laughing so hard. I jotted down the information and added it to my list. I was ready for the roast.

The room at the Blue Top Restaurant was packed as the courthouse employees said goodbye to George Nichols.

The speakers were well received and, as usual, J. D. Pahlow was at the top of his game, delivering one hilarious one-liner after another.

I was at the top of my game, too.

I told the stories, adding my own take on each of them. Laughter filled the room. George was enjoying himself even though the jokes were at his expense.

I was down to one last story- the one provided to me by Bea Mayes.

I told it just the way she said it, adding the little reference (which I no longer remember) that she said George would love.

The room was almost silent...except for Bea Mayes, who was convulsing with laughter.

I quickly recovered and brought my presentation to an end.

To this day, I have a feeling Bea's joke would have worked if J. D. Pahlow had delivered it.

J. D., who died November 3 was that funny.


Arielle Ideker

Each year, on the last day of school, I offered the same message to my students.

"You may not be in my classroom any more, but you always will be one of my students."

I look forward to seeing what my students will do in later life and learning how their lives progress, whether it be jobs, accomplishments or the time when they have children who were the same age they were when they sat in my classroom.

That classroom was Room 210 at South Middle School and one of my favorite students was Arielle Ideker, who was not only in my communication arts class, but also was in my home room at the beginning of school each day.

During that year, Arielle offered me an eighth grader's perspective each day, as well as many laughs.

The promise that Arielle showed came to an untimely end when she died in an accident December 21.

I thought about those times when I removed Arielle from my friends list.

She may not be a Facebook friend any more, but she will always be one of my students.