Following graduation, Matt deferred college in order to go to Hawaii to live with his grandparents and plunge into the “John Steinbeck experience” of working on the crew of an ocean-going tugboat that hauled pineapples from Lanai to Honolulu. He loved this experience – the gritty hard work with Samoan and Filipino crew members, as well as weekends spent surfing at Sandy Beach and Waikiki.
Matt entered the Univ of New Hampshire in January, taking the normal freshman courses and trying out for the soccer and ski teams. With his bright eyes and quick smile, he embraced college life and a load of new friends. He launched into the summer with a construction job in Portsmouth and a full slate of plans for enjoying New England summer.
Matt was killed in an accident on the construction site on 9 June 1988.
Matt lived a short life – only 20 short years: born in 1968, he died in 1988. But he lived a full life in terms of experience and the imprints he left on so many others. There is a continuing and heart-rending stream of evidence of how Matt touched so many people and how he lives on in the memories of so many today. The headstone at his grave at West Point is always marked by fresh rocks, flowers, and notes. “Do you remember when …?” letters and stories circulate all the time. These words in the JIO 20th Reunion blog add further depth and color to the meaning of these memories. For this, we all are thankful.
Who was Matt Clark?
• He was an athlete, and played soccer and ski-raced.
• He loved music, and played his trumpet in school jazz concerts.
• He lived life with gusto! He created a ‘buzz’ everywhere with his energy.
• Most of all, he loved people, and he lifted the spirits of strangers as much as he was a “friend’s best friend”. He lifted others with his broad smile, bright eyes, and boundless enthusiasm.
• On the other hand, Matt was no angel. His high energy went in all directions, and he spent more than his share of time being called on the carpet in the Principal’s office.
Matt was a free spirit, the life of the party and one classmate who will sadly be missed at our reunion this August. If anyone would like to share a Matt story, please feel free to under the comments section
2 comments:
Well done GM, MR-P...
I'm sure his folks appreciate you all keeping Matt in your thoughts.
Thought I'd come lurk on your blog and am very impressed at your use of the medium.
Wishing the class of 87 all the best,
P. Phillips JIO Class of 82 (Michele's brother)
When Michele asked me to write a note on Matt (she pulled a Claire Standish: “We trust you” on me…), I found myself a bit hesitant. It’s not that I don’t have many memories of my friend but I wasn’t sure if I could find any that his parents would want to read. After much internal debate, I came to the conclusion that there wasn’t much I could write that they didn’t already know about their son. These years have given me an appreciation for warm memories that may not have been necessarily precious at the time. As I sat to write this, I came to realize my memories came as a father, friend, and proxy son.
My oldest daughter, Sam, just finished third grade. She and her sister constantly keep me vigilant to what the world has in store for them. The other day, Sam came and told us that she saw a short word scribbled on the playground that she hadn’t ever seen before. Since she reads all the time, we were a bit surprised. Once she told us this four-letter word, we realized the first of many bubbles had been burst. This got me wondering how old I was when I was first exposed to this underground world of hush-speak. The memory was vivid: I was in third grade and my friend, Matt, fell from balancing on the bicycle rack at West Point Elementary School. A word a bit harsher than “Shoot!” came popping out and made me blush.
Now, is this the kind of story I’d like to hear today about my girls? Of course, not. However, it does make me smile as I think of the first memory I have of my friend doing something so dangerous and “extreme” (as we would later call it). This would become his hallmark and would anchor all of my memories of him.
I heard of Matt’s accident from Justin as I was returning from vacation. We admitted to ourselves that we had always joked that Matt “would never see 30” because of how he threw himself into everything. We never would have guessed it would have happened in something so “normal” as construction. When I think of living life “on the edge”, I can’t help but think fondly of Matt. When I was skiing down Rocky Mountain slopes I shouldn’t have (I’m not that good), I thought of Matt. When I was driving my wife down Storm King Mountain and telling her about this crazy guy who drove down the wrong lane at night just to see how it felt, I thought of Matt. Last week, when I watched my hyper-active, fear-less, six-year-old climb the railing of our five-foot high deck just to see how it felt, I thought of Matt. Actually, I didn’t see this, but heard the aftermath of her crash. It was just a short-lived scream and tears, nothing blush-worthy. Evidently, I have some work to do here.
In 1991, I had the pleasure of being instructed by Matt’s dad, COL Asa Clark, in his American Foreign Policy course. Coincidentally, Rob Proctor was also in this class of eight with me. I can only imagine what it must have meant to COL Clark to have two of his son’s friends under his tutelage. His purpose for us was very clear: he wanted to ensure that none of us became another Ollie North. Sixteen years later, his lessons stay with me. Ironically, just three years after his course, four of us from that class were executing American Foreign Policy in Cuba and preparing for the invasion of Haiti. We had a good laugh just wishing our old “P” could see us then.
Thank you, COL and Mrs. Clark, for sharing Matt with us for the time we had him. Although he hasn’t been with us for a while now, my memories of Matt go back almost thirty years. These memories continue to bring me a smile.
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