Voices From the Past

Writing Walnut Street uncovered memories, thoughts, and voices I hadn’t anticipated.

A box on the top shelf of my office closet revealed decades-old mini cassette tapes and a Sony microcassette recorder. Some of the tapes were marked with the names of people I had interviewed. On others the ink had smudged, leaving me with no idea what I would hear until I pressed play.

I randomly picked a tape from the box, pressed play, and heard a familiar voice.

Dave was a good friend of my brother Michael, and my youngest brother, Mark. He grew up in the Waldo area in Kansas City, like the rest of us. I didn’t know Dave when we were growing up. I met him after Mark was murdered and became good friends with him when Michael became ill.

I haven’t seen or talked to Dave in years, but I recognized his voice right away. Almost instantly, I put a face to the voice. Hearing him made me smile.

When Dave talked about Mark, his voice took on a sarcastic but sweet quality. I pictured him talking out of the side of his mouth, his nostrils flaring when he imitated Mark.

Dave had red, curly hair, a fair complexion, and an Irish look about him. He had a stocky build, probably six feet tall. What I remember most was the way he told a story. He had a gift for making even the simplest story funny.

When Dave talked about my brothers, Michael and Mark, I could hear a difference in his tone. With Mark, there was sarcasm and humor. When he imitated Mark, using Mark’s own words, I could almost hear Mark’s voice coming through him.

When he talked about Michael, his voice softened. I heard admiration. Dave, more than fourteen years younger than Michael, genuinely enjoyed being his friend. He took pride in their friendship.

I got half way through the hour-long tape when I stopped where Dave told the story of Mark stealing Dad’s company car and driving it over to his house.

Wait. What?

I rewound the tape to make sure I’d heard what I’d heard.

Damn.

The 20-plus-year-old recorder wouldn’t rewind. I tried over and over, but still no luck. It simply had died and gone to Jesus.

I found a used Sony mini-microcassette recorder on eBay for thirty bucks.

For now, the voices will have to wait until it arrives.

So will you, dear readers.

Decades later the voices were still there.