Memories of Clark Pt. 3

Clark Allen Stacy

Clark made me feel like one of the guys. Though we only spoke to each other occasionally, he made me feel like a friend.

My first real interaction with Clark was at one of the aforementioned fight nights. I'd just transferred into Moody in the heart of winter and it was difficult to get to know people in the middle of the school year.

Honestly, though, I found that a bunch of guys going at it with boxing gloves and little else to be a little crazy. But Clark's driving encouragement brought a unique atmosphere that drew me in. He danced around the fighting pair, cheering them on and making sure that the flowing testosterone didn't lead to a real fight. It felt a little safer with him watching over it all.

Soon the guys were looking for another victim amongst the new guys on the floor, and they found me. I assured them that I didn't know how to box, but they didn't think that was an issue. Clark assured me that the other guy who'd volunteered didn't know how to box either (he was wrong). So I removed my glasses, put on the gloves and stood there while the other guy repeatedly hit me full force in the face. I don't think I really even hit the other guy once, and I totally lost count of how many times he nailed me. I was glad Clark had bought training gloves.

I walked away with a bloody nose and chipped tooth, but I didn't regret the event. It was good to just let go, to feel the comradeship of the guys behind me, and to hear the empathetic groans. It was a painful initiation to a great floor and a time of healing for me —-from more than just the nose.

Throughout the rest of that semester, I looked up to Clark as a peer. I admired the way he interacted with everyone. He made you feel like a friend even when you didn't really know him well. In many ways, he had it together.

Looking back, I still admire how much of it Clark had together. He had his inner struggles, but his outward life was one that reached out to others that faced similar struggles. He never disappeared into the background but was always stepping forward to take leadership, or to just help out. That smile and that voice cut deep into the darkness. Talking to and being around Clark pushed the oppression of a dark winter away.

Perhaps that is why it was so hard to loose all of that when Clark didn't return. His life meant so much to the whole atmosphere of Moody that the lack of his face left a huge void in the mosaic of the crowd, but I remain thankful for that face that still crosses my memories. There, in the memory of the past, Clark still pushes the darkness away, and makes me feel at home. I can picture him organizing fight nights right now that will initiate me into his world again--hopefully without the bloody nose.

Daniel Morgan