Ed 108.633

I lost my friend, Ed, last Friday.  He was one-hundred and eight years, six months, three weeks and three days old.  I met him when he was ninety at this wife’s funeral and we’ve been friends ever since.  When I decided to start publishing a blog, his one hundredth birthday, November 19, 2017, was the release date of my first story.  This is number eight hundred and ninety-five.

After Ruth passed, I published a book called “Pondering Life’s Lessons” and made sure it was ready in time to send Ed a copy for his 105th birthday, since a few stories in it are about him. I paid full price for Amazon to send it directly so it would arrive as quickly as possible. That was in November 2023, and I didn’t want to wait until I saw him again, knowing each visit could be our last.

Whenever I traveled down to Florida, I’d hug him and kiss his cheek or forehead, always mindful it could be the last time we saw each other. We both felt it, and sometimes our eyes would fill with tears. The past couple of summers, I did the same whenever we met. We’d talk about life, and I was amazed at all he remembered and shared. We had our last conversation on May 13, 2026.

I was still playing poker with the boys every other week the year that Ed turned 100.  He had been a member at Ella Sharpe Park Golf Club for decades and the poker boys and I wanted to get him a lifetime pass to the course.  I volunteered to pitch the idea to the golf course pro. It took me several attempts to make the connection because he was always busy.  When I finally did, our exchange went something like this.

Me: “Ed Rockwell is turning 100 in a few weeks. I’ve been friends with him for ten years and play in a poker group with him every other week. The poker boys and I were wondering if you’d be willing to give him a lifetime pass to the course.”

Pro: “Why would I do that?”

Me: “Because he’s turning 100. I’d bet he’s the oldest player here. Maybe ever.”

I pointed at the photos and trophies on display from the local legends.  “Jackson, Michigan has a great golf history.  There’s not one photo or trophy representing anyone who’s reached such a milestone.”

Pro: “If I do it for him, I’ll have to do it for everyone.”

Me: “Sure, everyone who turns 100 and is still playing golf. How old are the guys he plays with?”

Pro: “In their 80s.”

Me: “So if they live another 15–20 years and are still playing, you’ll feel compelled to give them one. Chances are neither you nor they will be here.”

He wasn’t convinced, but he did let me buy a yearly pass for a reduced rate of $500. Those eighty-year-olds are now in their nineties.  I don’t know if they’re still golfing or if he’s still the pro, but Ed played until he was 103. That year, I wrote a blog about playing golf with him, and this is what I said.

Each summer the poker group plays golf together at least once.  This year with the coronavirus lurking about, we played just nine holes. We teed it up at Ed’s home course, Sharp Park, in Jackson.  We had two teams of four, and I was fortunate to be on Ed’s winning team.  We played a modified scramble. Each player hit a drive, the team chose the best shot, and each of us played our own ball in from that spot.  Everyone got one mulligan to use anywhere on the course.  Ed’s not one to brag, but I will.  On the second hole, a parr three, Ed attempted a 20-foot putt from the fringe.  He missed. He used his mulligan and sank his second attempt.  Birdie for us.

A few holes later, he sank another 20 plus footer to save parr, but my favorite shot of the day was Ed’s last.  I was standing with him about twenty yards short of the green.  He turned to me and said, “Back in the day I would chip this up and get close enough to tap it in.  Up and down in two.”  And then I said, “You’re older and wiser now.  Just chip it in!”  So, he did!  Amazing!

There’s an old phrase I first heard in my youth… Steady Eddie.  If you check out the urban dictionary, you’ll read things like “reliable”, “straight forward”, and “a man you can always count on”.  What you see is what you get.  That’s Ed.  He’s not flashy or pretentious. He’s just a man who keeps on keeping on, and I’m very proud that he’s my friend.

That day turned out to be the last time I played golf with him. Not long after, he fell and hurt his hip, and he never played again. What I remember most is that final shot from twenty yards in front of the green. He chipped it right in. I still can’t believe it. And now, it’s just as hard to believe that tomorrow, I’ll be attending his funeral.

TBC