Steve

When I heard that Steve died yesterday, I was in total disbelief. I thought it must have been some stupid joke, but couldn’t think of anyone that had such bad taste. People my age don’t have heart attacks and they don’t die. It isn’t supposed to happen.

I met Steve in 5^th grade, when we wandered the halls of Landon’s Lower School together.

Through the years, we became very good friends, sharing many terrific, unforgettable experiences.

Growing up, our group of friends played football nearly every weekend and, because we were always the slowest two on the field, Steve usually covered me. He was a very tough and physical competitor, but quick to crack a smile after the play was over. He helped teach me to try harder and always give my best.

It was this self-motivated toughness that made me draft him for my street hockey team in the winter. Steve surprised everyone by wearing white basketball shorts every day outside in the freezing cold when most people wore heavy layers of sweatpants. I was the goalie, and he played defense in front of me, tossing people out of the way, taking sticks to the shin, and blocking shots with his pale white legs. I was always astounded at his mental toughness, blocking that frigid, hard ball with a smile, like it was nothing. He was extremely loyal and willing to share the burden carried by a friend.

After Landon, Steve went to Denison, in Ohio, and I attended Villanova. One fall, Murat and I drove from Philadelphia to meet up with Hank and visit Steve. It was like high school all over; we played football, ate pizza and met his good friends, Ryan and Tony. It was clear they liked Steve for the same reasons we liked him. He was the dependable force of the group, the one there to settle any dispute. Every argument ended with, “Steve what do you think?” He was the kind of guy that parents love to see their kid hanging out with: pleasant, good-natured, and responsible beyond his years.

Steve and I had very similar taste in music and we saw a couple of great concerts together. Over the years, I remember going with him to see The Allman Brothers, Metallica, and Aerosmith, some of Steve’s favorites and mine. At the Aerosmith concert this extremely intoxicated, elderly woman came up and tried dancing with us to get some of our Goldschlager (which, for some strange reason, we were drinking that day), but Steve and I weren’t dancing, and the only thing she accomplished was to fall repeatedly on her face. I still remember how hard we laughed; Steve’s face got bright red to match his hair. It was a sight anyone who knew him saw many times: a testament to how much he loved to have a good time.

Steve drove Carl and I, in his white, police package Chevy Caprice, to New York for the Millennium. I always thought it was fitting that Steve drove a cop car; he was usually looking after everyone else and selflessly making sure that we were OK, like a friendly, neighborhood police officer who knew your name, but only cared that you were safe. We met up with Murat and Sahil in New York for a raging good time and I know Steve looked after me on that trip and many others, just as I imagine he looked after many other people throughout his life.

But my absolute favorite memory of Steve came at Dewey Beach, Delaware. It was the first time in his life that he ever got drunk. Sitting on the couch, Steve was cracking jokes and generally being the life of the party. Wearing his Absolute redneck t-shirt, he was so proud of himself, because, as he said over and over, that he was finally “like his brothers now.” And this idea is primarily what defined Steve as a person. He was the quintessential family man, completely in love with being part of the large Caggiano clan.

Steve talked about his family incessantly; whether it be cars, watching movies, or classic hunting stories from the Chesapeake, his family was an inextricable part of his life. It didn’t surprise me in the least that Steve was the first of our friends to get married and have children. He was already an uncle before some of us went through puberty.

Some people are born to be football players, teachers, or bankers; Steve was a man bred to be a great dad. I guess it was over a decade ago, when I met Kellie for the first time, that I instantly saw he was madly in love, and knew this was what he had on his mind. He wanted to have a great family of his own. And he did.

Steve was a gentle and kind soul, taken far too soon. I miss him already.