The Hourglass of Life
If each day of life is one grain of sand that gravity drops from the top of life’s birth-issued hourglass to the bottom, the average American male born in 1959 is assigned 24,399 grains. One of my best friends, Samuel Jay Davis III — “Smiler” as we called him — was killed recently by a drunk driver. When Smiler’s final grain dropped, his life ended 3,000 grains short of fair issuance. Smiler was a giver, not a taker, and his passing cheats all of us who knew him.
At the time Smiler was doing what a lot of men love to do, which was running “Dad chores” to help one of his children. Ten days in ICU never came close to saving his horribly broken body. His loss is a crushing tragedy that those who knew and loved him are suddenly forced to deal with. More than 10,000 Americans — one-third of all traffic fatalities — die each year after being hit by drunk drivers. This, of course, is 10,000 too many families senselessly blown to smithereens.
Smiler and I argued about a lot of things, sometimes just because he liked to rattle my chain. That’s what brothers do. We agreed on very little but did agree on mortality and our inevitable demise. Neither one of us was scared of dying, nor did we want to be there when it happened.
For years I have been fond of saying that there are only three great mysteries in life: when you die, how you die, and whether or not you ever enjoyed a romantic liaison above your social class. The joy is gone from the punch line. Whether I retire the quote or use it again somewhere down the road, it will never again be propelled with its original teasing intent.
If you drink and drive, please stop. If you used to but don’t any more, thank you. If some of your friends risk it on the roads, urge them not to. Have a voice and use it.
Smiler leaves behind a loving wife, five great daughters, the man on the left in the photo below, and hundreds of others who will miss him every day until our hourglasses too run out of sand. This particular memory was captured 22 months ago at a charity event we proudly supported. Smiler and I acted upon our shared belief that helping others is the best way to live but a cruelly unfair way to die. Not pictured are a hundred other pals in our organization, the No Bats Baseball Club, and each of those men has shed way too many tears navigating what has been a very difficult time for far too many. He was a titan among us, a man who deserved a heaping extra dose of sand rather than far too little.
Ocean & Smiler, October 2015
Rest in peace, my brother. We will miss you far more than you could possibly believe.
