It was an ordinary day. And .... a sad day. Just got back from the service for my friend Barry Kline. I have told you some of this before, but I'll retell it again, if you don't mind. Barry and I grew up together. We met when we were members of the St. James Boys Choir in Lancaster. Had practice every Monday after school, practice Thursday evening with the adult men in the choir, and practice Saturday mornings. We were good! Got to sing in a few really neat Cathedrals throughout the north-east. We were both sopranos when we started. Barry was a year older than me and "graduated" to alto sooner. That meant that he sat on the other side of the choir room with the other alto members. The choir director, Mr. McConnell, was a stern man, as I remember him. We were paid for singing and got a monthly envelope with our "salary" in it at the end of each month. If you misbehaved during the month, you were fined and it was deducted from your salary. Well Barry and I loved to shoot spit balls at each other during practices (except when the adults were there). Some months our salary was next to nothing from all the fines. On Sundays, after the service, we would hide in the graveyard or in the parking lot on Cherry Street so we wouldn't have to go to Sunday School. Someone would usually see us and tell our parents. Wow, the things you remember about your childhood. How come most of them are about being bad? Barry and I spent a few summers together at Camp Rodgers, our church camp, which was located on Shelly Island in the Susquehanna River. Great times learning how to grow up. Then the camp caught fire and burnt to the ground. Only thing left of it was the huge fireplace and chimney of the main building. Barry and I had nothing to do with that!! Camp Rodgers was opened the following year near Ephrata. We spent time together playing ping-pong, fishing, talking to the girls, and trying to figure out how to avoid the daily church service. During junior high and high school I kind of lost track of Barry since he lived in the city and went to a different school. When I got married and needed carpet for the house, Barry was there to help me. His father owned The Weave Shop in Lancaster and he would give me a call when they had a few good remnants that I could have. He even helped install a really neat orange shag in my re-finished basement. I had both of his sons, Matt and Joel, in my graphic arts class in school. In the mid-70s I started a softball team and entered it in the MT Parks and Rec League. Barry was the left fielder for the team. We had the best time playing together and reliving memories from the past. Even won the league trophy one year. In the early 90s I bought a car from him when he was working for M&R Auto. Two days later I was in an accident with the car and it was demolished. Had it towed to M&R and the next day I showed up and bought another one from him. Then Barry and his wife Mary Jo opened "The Tag Shop" in downtown Lancaster near Central Market. Stopped in after they opened and saw a rear wall that had very little on it. Asked him if he would be interested in selling my photographs. And sell them he did. Barry could sell anything to anyone. Some weeks I would sell photos faster than I could make them. I asked him if he knew anywhere I could get large sized prints made so I could frame them for his shop. Yep, his neighbor Dave who owned a print shop would make them for me. Barry told me that Dave had told him he owed me a favor since he had taken a pad of passes from my desk drawer when I had him as a student. Wow, funny how lives entwine. Then he asked if I could make mirrors, stools, and picture frames for him using yardsticks. He kept me busy year round. Always enjoyed my stops at "The Tag Shop". Barry and I would sit and talk about everything. Then I started to print his business cards, receipts, and stickers for his bags. Some times I would swap my services for items in the store. There were over 300 people to greet Mary Jo and her family at the service today. Molly Solbak, a retired minister from St. James and brother of Rob who sang in the choir with Barry and me, officiated at the service. I saw people I hadn't seen for years. And they were all there to share stories about Barry. Barry's dad was there. Preston not only lost Barry, but lost another son, Terry, this year. My parents were Godparents to Terry. One lady stood during the service and told of all the jackets she had purchased from Barry at The Tag Shop. She had 12 in her closet and 6 more at the cleaners. She looked over the crowd and said she bet that most of the women in the group owned jackets that Barry had sold to them. And now, Barry is gone. I'm at a loss for words! It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy. PS - Story in memory of P. Barry Kline. A friend forever! Save a joke for me until I see you again!!
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