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By George (Cliff) Clifford… I remember Bud as an all-around good guy of the Wilton persuasion. I didn’t get to know him until our sophomore year, beginning with our joining the a capella choir and men’s glee club. There was one event that I will always recall with some amusement.
As the time approached for me to be licensed and to own my own wheels (senior year…?), I learned that Bud had recently replaced his old ’38 Merc coupe (not sure of the year) with newer wheels. Curious, I asked him what became of the Merc. He replied that it was sitting in his yard up on blocks.
“Does it run”, I asked (it’s true what they, isn’t it: “You can’t fix stupid…” :-)
“Well, it could use a little work”, he replied.
Uncontrollably driven by some relentless adolescent male chromosome, I asked: “How much?”
We settled on what seemed—at this remote date—to be a fair price. $25.00.
Soon after, borrowing my dad’s car, I motored up Route 33 to find my newly purchased Merc coupe. I did, indeed, find it “on his property” (or someone’s) but sort of in the woods and up on blocks. Much like any self-respecting abandoned vehicle would be.
I took one look, made a U-turn and never returned. One look was enough to discourage the merest thought of resuscitation on my part. Out of pride, I suppose, I never asked Bud to reimburse the $25.
Fifty years later at our 50th reunion, Bud and I acknowledged each other after dinner with a mutual wave and a grin. I was tempted to ask for my 25 bucks back (as a joke, of course), but there were too many people in the way and not enough time to begin a 50-year “catch-up” conversation. So that was that.
Farewell, my friend. I am very saddened by your passing. You were as well-liked as anyone in our class…
March 18, 2011