My friend Dave Castner is dead. As I age, news like this is more frequent. It’s sad news. It feels like a herd is thinning and I’m waiting on my turn.
I’m drawn to a certain type of men for close friendships. Many of these relationships span three, four, five decades or more. They are a kind of Renaissance man. Some are software engineers and database managers and professors or guys in very technical positions, but they are multi-faceted. Men, with whom I can discuss a complex tech problem or an article I read on quantum theory or troubleshooting my lawn mower or PCV blow by on a small block Ford, or how best to build a set of stairs.
Dave was a Renaissance man. We connected on many levels, maybe fifteen or twenty years ago. We both loved bicycles and old cars and antique motorcycles, pretty much anything mechanical, being outdoors, working with our hands.
He was on his bike, a Harley I’m sure, or maybe an old Indian. A truck failed to yield. That ended Dave.
He was a hard-core union man, a sheetmetal worker, a welder, and totally in line with his personality, he served on the board of directors of a local college.
We had conversations that a man who can tear down an engine and rebuild it should not be viewed as uneducated; quite the opposite. Don’t discount the man who can rebuild your car’s automatic transmission, or hand fabricate your buildings’ HVAC duct work. Dave was one of the best educated guys I ever met. Multi-faceted education was important to Dave. It is to me too.
We shared the rush you feel in driving an engine you’ve torn down to its smallest bits, and putting back together and listening to it roar.
Like me, he was a political moderate, and I was always a bit shocked that this guy, deep died blue-collar, held many progressive views. He was a mick and understood what it meant to have Celtic blood in your veins.
I broke a dozen ribs in a bicycle race crash once. He was the first one to make me laugh about it, and it fucking hurt to laugh.
An avid reader, he read every book and essay I ever wrote, and commented and gave me honest criticism. He messaged me last month and said he’d just read The Berry Pickers. I said, “Oh, you’re the one…” I owed him a hardcover copy.
He called me Lobbster and the last time we talked we were still laughing about the dozen ribs and a question on one of my books
The world just lost a good man. Dave had some rough edges he wore like a badge, and a really good soul.
I’ll miss you, my friend.