To An Athlete Dying Young

We always here about things like this happening in another town in a different county or in a different state altogether; events that have no bearing to our lives whatsoever. We walk into another school while on a basketball trip and see a glass case perched on a wall close to the entrance which has an asortment of different items arranged around a picture set in the middle. The pictures differ from town to town, sometimes it may be just a normal school picture of a student with small heirlooms hanging around the image, other times it may be a student's athletic picture and his or her varsity letter nearby. There always seems to be a small passage included that can be read, describing the person's life and passions. In every case though, the glass case holds the same meaning, a memorandum of a life taken too early.I'll be the first one to admit that I cannot fully put Turner Price's life into perspective. I've only really known him for about three years, starting on the football field after school at practice my senior year and his freshman year. Once a week I had the pleasure to be guarded by him on either those painfully hot August/September days or those blistering cold October/November days. Every Wednesday would be when both the varsity and JV practiced special teams. I was on the punt team occupying my usual position of receiver, and he was lined up opposite me looking to try and slow my pursuit. Usually this is the time when the nasty upperclassmen would take advantage of the slower and weaker underclassmen, but I never tried to embarass him. Sometimes I'd take it easy and let him get in a good block here and there, and somehow my acting was decent enough for the coache's to notice, because I can remember many times when we would come back to our respective huddles and he would get great praise and I would get critisized. It didn't matter to me, I could tell that it made his day and he would gain more confidence each and every week when he was probably barely 5'5" and maybe 120 lbs. I barely knew the kid, but I could tell that he was someone that never gave up and always gave his all no matter the circumstances. I'm not sure how many years it's been since the last time a tragedy has touched down upon this town of Battle Mountain, NV. What I'm really not sure of his how long it's been since a tragedy touched down onto this town involving so many young people. There have been deaths before, most noticeably Matt Stoddard not too long ago and before then Kevin Clark which happened about 7 years ago. Before then I remember a time when I was in 4th grade and a young girl was killed in an accident during the winter. I can recall a classmate of my older cousin's passing on, and of course the infamous Colby Becker and Kyle Ray murders. For me, and all of my friends, there is one glaring difference between those examples and the tragedy we found ourselves a part of: we knew the people involved. We know them, we have hung out with them, we've played sports together, we've slept over at their houses. In my case, Turner was my brother's friend growing up, and someone who I didn't meet until football my senior year. We didn't really get to become friends until about a year before his death when we met up at the lake for a weekend. After then, our friendship continued to grow over that first summer. I gave him tips to use in football, in basketball, heck I told him he should wear my old number. Yes, we've all known people who have died before, whether it be a grandparent or someone else's relative or whomever, but I don't think a lot of us have ever experienced something quite like this, a friend, someone who is basically the same age give or take a few years, passing on.Everyone knows the cliche that's out there about how the youth think they are so indestructable, that nothing ever bad will happen to us and the beliefs that we will all live to be a hundred years old. Where was the danger in the precedings on Wednesday, August 6th of 2008? It was a group of friends who were heading out to a big swimming hole. I've taken that drive loads of time, it's a place where almost every kid who has lived in this town has visited. We may as well call ourselves relatively lucky.Right now and for the next few days, maybe weeks, probably whenever we think back to Turner, everyone that knew him will wonder basically the same question, why? Why him? Why did he have to die? Why did his tire suddenly explode? Why did God take him away? Why did he decide to drive out there in the first place? No matter how many times asked, we all get the same fruitless response summed up best as "I don't know" because nobody knows why events like this have to happen. For those who don't know the story, Turner was driving his jeep out of town to an old swimming hole with three of his friends, followed by a couple other vehicles. It was basically just another trip, but on his way out there his left front tire exploded, and Turner was not able to control his vehicle as it swerved left then violently right as he tried to gain control before swinging back left off the road and then rolling a good distance into the desert. The other three passengers escaped with little to no injuries, but Turner's head smashed the driver's side window when the vehicle started to roll. That was basically all that happened to him, and it was enough.A few months ago a top high school running back from California was murdered outside his house and here's a transcript of the events that followed, written by Bill Simmons from espn. com. "When Jas came up 10 months shy, his senseless murder received national attention because of his football ability and a fascinating wrinkle that his mother, Anita, happened to be serving the country overseas in Iraq. The Associated Press filed an extensive story that landed in nearly every newspaper and on nearly every Web site. CNN filmed an interview with Anita Shaw for Anderson Cooper's show. The Los Angeles Times wrote an initial story and a few days of follow-ups. Every L.A. network led its newscast with the story. There was a candlelight vigil after Jas' death that attracted a phalanx of cameras."Not taking anything away from the person in question from the story, I had a feeling that we wouldn't have too many news vans rolling up to our town. We got a nice story in our local newspaper and a few towns from outside the area published a story as well. The Reno Gazette-Journal ran a story to my surprise as well. We had a candlelight vigil in the park located right in front of his house where a lot of us got the courage to get up on top of a park bench and shared stories commemorating Turner's life. That is just about the only justice that Turner will get for his life, four newspapers running a story on him. Outside these walls of Battle Mountain, NV, Turner will become just another picture encompassed within a glass case with his varsity letter holding a football, basketball, and baseball pin and bar representing his years served on the high school sport's teams. Other schools probably caught wind of this, but as the years pass, say five, six years from now, three random kids might be wandering the halls before a basketball game and see the case resting peacefully on the wall. Like I said before, it will have something inscribed somewhere inside. No matter how many years pass, hopefully we all remember Turner Price. I was blessed to have known him for the short period inwhich I did, and he proved to be a great friend and an even greater person. We all will need to move on eventually, but even so, we all should never forget.I recently drove by Turner's old house and looked up into his old window. I couldn't see anything other than the reflectness of the black night sky, but images started to flood back into my mind of the few times that we shared up in that room. The countless sports tournaments we had on his X-Box, accidentally frying his computer trying to download music, trying to be as quiet as we could when secretely drinking beer, to all the memories outside of his room that we had, from the many games of fugitive where one person in a vehicle acts as a cop and everyone else tries to run to different locations throughout town, the random road trips we took, the arguing over girls, the few times we went to the lake, and many other memories that I was able to share in the year that I really knew him. The worst part about all of it is is that nobody else will be able to make any more great memories with such a great guy.

To An Athlete Dying Young
by A. E. Housman
THE time you won your town the race We chaired you through the market-place; Man and boy stood cheering by, And home we brought you shoulder-high. To-day, the road all runners come, Shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at your threshold down, Townsman of a stiller town. Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay, And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut, And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears: Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out, Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. So set, before its echoes fade, The fleet foot on the sill of shade, And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. And round that early-laurelled head Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead, And find unwithered on its curls The garland briefer than a girl's.