Last weekend, I was down in Bloomington, IN with my son, Henry, for his two-day New Student Orientation at Indiana University.
He’ll be starting his freshman year at IU in about a month.
Wandering around downtown Bloomington the night before, we met up with one of my former roommates, Matt Traughber. (Matt and I first met 31 years ago at our own freshman orientation.)
Like there was nothing to it, Matt and I picked up our decades-long conversation immediately, and chatterboxed our way through a 5.5-mile run the next morning, and a CrossFit class the following day.
Traughber and I have been friends since that orientation, and have had a thousand laugh-filled adventures together.
For example:
In October 2001, just three weeks after 9/11, we were in New York City to see Ryan Adams play at Irving Plaza, which is a small-ish club in the Union Square neighborhood.
Near the end of the show, Elton John came out and played a couple songs with Ryan and the band, including “Rocket Man.”
We were at the concert as guests of Bucky Baxter (who was playing in Ryan’s band (The Pink Hearts) at the time), so we were able to go backstage after the show and carry on with everyone.
In the green room, Sir Elton walked out one door as we walked in the other.
But, we did finish the bottle of wine he’d just taken a swig from.
At the time, Ryan Adams was massive in the UK. Uncut magazine was on the scene to cover the tour, and that show in particular.
In Uncut’s article, Matt and I were mentioned as “hangers-on” backstage at the Irving Plaza, and included in a couple photographs that accompanied the story.
The next day, we went to a taping of The Late Show with David Letterman, where Ryan and the band performed his song “New York, New York.”
The other guests on that episode were Owen Wilson and Lisa Ling.
Dave’s Top Ten List that night was ‘Top Ten Words’—I specifically recall that “O’Clock” was in the top five, with “Toyotathon” coming in at number one.
Plus, 999 other adventures.
(We count that NYC trip as just a single adventure.)
—
When Henry was deciding where to go to school, it came down to a decision between IUPUI and IU.
He was leaning toward IUPUI, and leaning further toward living off-campus in an apartment with some friends from his high school.
Henry, his mom and I had a lot of great conversations about this decision. Which, ultimately, was his to make.
Along the way, I wrote him a letter about the benefits of dorm life, and specifically the benefits I experienced of not living with people I already knew.
With his permission, I’m sharing it below.
(I should note: I wrote specifically about the individuals I met on the third-floor of McNutt-Bordner as a freshman. Certainly I found incredibly close relationships outside of those walls, too.)
McNutt-Bordner 304 – 1992
Henry,
{REDACTED SMART, LOVING DAD INTRODUCTION}
…that will positively impact you for the rest of your life.
In the fall of 1992, it sure did for me.
If I hadn’t gone to IU and lived in a dorm, I wouldn’t have met—
Sean Brooks, “Brooksie,” from Erie, Pennsylvania, my first roommate. A few weeks before move-in, each student was sent a letter with a name and a phone number—their new roommate. I anxiously dialed the digits. In our first phone conversation, Sean and I asked each other the usual icebreaker questions, including, “What song have your recently discovered that is blowing your mind?” 1-2-3-go, and we simultaneously said, “‘Fool in the Rain’ by Led Zeppelin.” Amazing. We quickly became close friends, almost kin—we’d each arrived at IU without really knowing (or caring to know) another person. We weren’t listening to Bob Dylan yet (although I still remember Sean checking out Dylan’s then-new Good As I Been to You from the library), but in hindsight I can’t help but think of Bob’s lyric about “shedding off one more layer of skin.” Brooks and I were discovering ourselves. We kept an eye on each other’s backs that entire year. We studied together. We partied together, lightly. We ate each meal together, and we were a dynamic guard–forward combo when we’d hit the rec basketball courts with our floormates. I will always and forever be grateful for the random lottery that put us together. Brooksie transferred to Penn State his sophomore year (for that in-state tuition rate), but we remain connected to this day. My life is better for our time together.
Tarick Abdo, from Valparaiso, Indiana, the first Muslim I’d ever met in my life, who became a dear friend and confidant. Abdo was a genuine guy, tender-hearted, big-hearted, and extra-excitable—we loved watching sports, talking shit and laughing our way through the weekend. Abdo was smart; heck, the entire floor was smart—we were officially an “academic floor” by way of our high school GPAs, though that designation probably fueled our efforts to dismantle the pressure that came along with it all. On the basketball court, Tarick would bomb a three with a timeless form, almost always in slow-motion, the ball arching toward the rafters as he jogged backwards, unable to contain his smile as he whispered “nothing…but…net!” We’d be at Assembly Hall and Damon Bailey would find Alan Henderson in the paint for a colossal dunk, and Abdo would do his Bill Raftery voice: “Send it in to the big fella!” Abdo, Brooks and I were all nervous around girls, faking confidence amongst all the bluster, and we helped each other get through that. And of particular note: Tarick and I became such great friends our freshman year, that when Sean said he wasn’t returning, Abdo and I decided to be roommates in the dorm as sophomores. And very importantly, this was how I realized that maybe you shouldn’t live in the same room with your closest friend. We didn’t sync as roommates, and our friendship was never as strong after that.
Ryan Jacobson, from Chicago, Illinois, and the first Jewish person I’d ever met. He and Abdo would have loud-mouthed, sometimes hilarious and sometimes cruel arguments about religious tradition, the Muslims and the Jews, and in my ignorance, I had no idea what they were even yelling about, what their insults even meant. They enlightened me to a history, a conflict, a world that I did not remotely understand.
Dave Marchesani from Teaneck, New Jersey, who came knocking when he heard me playing Pearl Jam’s “Black” in my dorm room; we agreed that it was the greatest song either of us had ever heard, and immediately connected. Marchesani assumed the Spud Webb role in our rec basketball games, with quick hands and always sneaking for a steal (and a bit of contact—earning the nickname “Hackesani.”) He was sensitive and smart; he helped me overcome the feeling I had that I was an imposter in some way, that I didn’t deserve to be at a college this size, because he was burdened with the same feeling about himself.
Bill Kronland, from Chesterton Indiana, who introduced me to The Grateful Dead. It would be just shy of three decades before The Dead would click for me, but when they did, Kronland was the first person I thought of. Bill wore a burlap baja hoodie and talked about Bob Marley; he did that one stoned hippie dance, you know the one, and usually barefoot; naturally, he had a born-in talent when it came to juggling “devil sticks.” Yes, he played hacky-sack. Most often, all of these things happened at once. Bill was the first person to get me to smoke marijuana from a bong. I was with my friend from high school, Rick, who was visiting from Purdue. We were at Bill’s friends’ apartment at the Varsity Villas, in a room that only had black lights. Bill and his friends were playing The Doors so loud. God, there’s nothing worse than The Doors. But especially when they’re being played so loud, in a room with only black lights, while you and your equally inexperienced friend are hanging out with seasoned bong mavens, trying desperately to act like we knew what we were doing. (Don’t try to act like you know what you’re doing—just bail out instead.) I ended up sleeping face-down in the bathtub; Rick cradled the toilet all night. Vomit everywhere. I never smoked marijuana from a bong again.
Mark Swanson, also from Chesterton Indiana, loud and funny, who I finished second to in our dorm-wide Madden 1993 tournament—I was the Chiefs, featuring Christian Okoyé, but he defeated me with the Warren Moon-led Oilers—and whose wedding I attended with the rest of this gang, a couple years after graduation, where we had the time of our lives. (A good enough time that we slept through the fire alarm someone pulled at the hotel around 4AM.) Swanson and I were next door neighbors for two years in McNutt, and then roommates in a five-bedroom apartment at 515 East 14th Street during our junior and senior years. Later on, we each started our own businesses around the same time, and supported each other through that truly unique and often lonely experience.
Chad Sopata, also—yes—from Chesterton Indiana, who immediately became my closest confidant and friend, who inspired me to try new things, from academic pursuits to Boone’s Farm wine, and who bolstered my confidence and made me feel seen and worthy, and who we later lost to the fraternity system. A guide, a sage, a brother. One time we got in a wrestling match and it got just a touch too serious and I regret that to this day. Swanson and Sopata were best friends who became roommates; it didn’t end with them as close as they were when it started.
May I praise Joe Leffel, also, yes, yes, yes, from Chesterton Indiana, a year older than the rest of us, who had a greater impact on my understanding of the world and a greater impact on my point of view socially and politically than anyone else in my life, a generous and loving friend, who remains just that—through concerts and running events and adventures that continue to this day, as well as family tragedy and sadness, and a friend who I will cherish for my entire life. A human with a heart of gold.
Finally, Matt Traughber, from Turkey Run, Indiana, Parke County, who challenged me to be an artist and designer, who nurtured my interest in comics and graphic novels and humor and pop culture, and who remains an irreplaceable and wonderful friend today. We saw The Strokes on their first-ever US tour (we were there to see the opening act), we’ve run Tough Mudders together, and twice sat in a living room with 30 other people to listen to Jeff Tweedy quietly play songs to us. One time we drove to Minneapolis to see The Replacements and drank Four Lokos in the parking lot before the show, because, well, because. He and Joe were ushers in your mom and I’s wedding, and Traughber, Leffel, Swanson and
TarickFed were my roommates—in an apartment—for our junior and senior years.These individuals each inspired me, helped me grow and blossom, and if my life and point of view was a “black and white picture” before—they made it color.
In McNutt-Bordner, I benefitted from the points of view and backgrounds that just weren’t part of my upbringing in Fort Wayne, IN.
You’ll have your own versions of these stories, and hundreds more.
The notes above are just from McNutt-Bordner’s third floor—the people I met in my dorm, my freshman year.
The thing is, there are just as many stories from each and every class, from the people I met in the lecture halls, in the art studios, in the Arboretum, at the outdoor concerts and indoor parties and restaurants and bars and record stores and clubs and bike rides and…all of it.
Almost all of it was endlessly good (or at least endlessly enriching) and changed me, for the better, forever.
The same will be true for you.
There will be a lot of good experiences, and some that are disappointing.
You’ll grow from them all.
{REDACTED WISE, LOVING CONCLUSION}
Love,
Dad
I mentioned earlier that I got to hang out with Traughber a few days ago while I was down in Bloomington for orientation.
He and Leffel each live in Bloomington to this day.
I wanna note, the only reason I didn’t also hang out with Joe Leffel last weekend was that he was out of town on vacation.
He was out east with Mark Swanson, and Chad Sopata, and their families.
That’s this group, that’s these relationships for you.
——
After Bloomington, Henry and I lit out for Seattle, WA, and Olympic and Mt. Rainier National Parks—at his request.
A couple nights ago, while in Seattle, we went to see Neil Young in concert—at my request.
Neil didn’t sing “One of These Days” at last night’s show, but I can’t help thinking of it right now.
It’s a song that’s as good (and as true) as it gets:
This full-band version from the Ryman Auditorium isn’t available in its entirety on YouTube, but please let these two minutes wash over you:
“One of These Days” is from Neil’s impeccable album, Harvest Moon.
Harvest Moon was released in the fall of 1992.
During that entire school year, it was never not ringing out in the hallways on the third floor of McNutt-Bordner.
One of these days
I’m gonna sit down and write a long letter
to all the good friends I've known.
I’m gonna try
to thank them all for the good times together
though so apart we’ve grown.
One of these days
I’m gonna sit down and write a long letter
to all the good friends I’ve known.
One of these days,
one of these days,
one of these days
and it won't be long, it won’t be long.
I’m gonna try
to thank that old country fiddler
and all those rough boys
who play that rock ‘n’ roll.
I never tried to burn any bridges
though I know I let some good things go.
One of these days
I’m gonna sit down and write a long letter
to all the good friends I’ve known.
One of these days,
one of these days,
one of these days
and it won't be long, it won’t be long.
From down in L.A.
all the way to Nashville,
New York City
to my Canadian prairie home.
My friends are scattered
like leaves from an old maple.
Some are weak.
Some are strong.
One of these days
I’m gonna sit down and write a long letter
to all the good friends I’ve known.
One of these days,
one of these days,
one of these days
and it won't be long, it won’t be long.
I'm at Hop River, just off a special tour on the canal boat, my attention pulled by a mug of pilsner, the women's world cup, and your latest Substack. You win. How thoughtful to share with your son…in writing. It becomes a document, a prized piece in your son's archive. I hope he embraces the idea of stepping confidently into the unknown. Your words show the value of doing so.
I might add, that he truly recognizes the uniqueness of the gift of having the opportunity to make that choice. He can choose an experience that will bring unique people into his life - random folks from random places. He can make that choice because someone has provided that option, just as that option was provided to you. It wasn't there for me, I often wonder, especially in my many Bloomington visits, what course my life may have taken had I had that opportunity. In this land of millions, it is unique. It makes that choice even more valuable. It makes that choice potentially monumental. One not to be made casually…
Nice inclusion of ‘one of these days’.
That song has really aged well. - so much more to put in the letter now ! Thanks for your writing - from the heart is reaches the heart- come on down to Lafayette Louisiana. I think of Bucky a lot. So many accordions and fiddles !! Thanks for the memories. I always regretted not making the NYC trip. But you cannot win em all