Gary from Berkeley

One summer day my parents packed up my siblings and me, and we headed for North Carolina; a vacation destination we had so often selected in the past. However, this time was different. Rather than renting a motel room, my dad informed us that we would be sleeping in a tent. And while I can’t speak for my siblings, I for one was looking forward to it, and considered it an adventure.

To this day I cannot remember our exact location, but I tend to think the particular recreational area was in Bryson City. At any rate, we found our way to wherever we found our way to, and managed (with some effort) to erect our tent. Having completed our mission, my father and I pulled several lawn chairs out of the trunk and set them up in the general vicinity.

As the sun cast its waning rays on our humble campsite, my mother suggested we build a fire, and roast marshmallows; (which my brothers and I proceeded to do).

It was about this time we saw him.

A rather thin, sandy-haired young man with a green canvass knapsack on his back. As the twenty-some year old fella approached, he smiled and spoke, (to no one in particular),

“Well hello! How ya doing?”

My dad dropped another log on the fire, looked up and responded.

“We’re doing good, young man. I’m Mr. McDonald. What’s your name?”

And thus an extended conversation began between the two.

By now the thin, sandy-haired young man had a name. Gary Carlson. And we learned that he was a University of California, Berkeley engineering student hiking the Appalachian Trail. 

My father spoke again.

“Gary, it’s getting late, and surely you don’t plan to hike in the dark. Why don’t you set up your cot next to our tent?”

It seemed our newfound friend didn’t need much convincing, and in the space of a couple of minutes he unfolded the cot, and spread a sleeping bag along its length. I will always remember our all too brief encounter with the college student. By the time our conversation with the young man drew to a close that evening, the stars, (and the mosquitoes) were out, and it was approaching midnight.

Any memory of the next morning, and whether we had the opportunity to bid Gary ‘adieu’ has, by now, slipped from my mental grasp. However, over the intervening half century I have never forgotten him, and have often remembered him in my prayers.

By now my father and mother have passed from the scene, and I am approaching my seventh decade of life. I can only wonder whether that thin, sandy-haired Berkeley student finished his ancient Appalachian trek, whether he married and had children, whether he procured the career of his dreams, and whether his life has been happy, impactful and fulfilled. Whether indeed he is still with us.

As one who may never know his ultimate fate, as an author I suppose I will have to write my own story line.

 by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 38. Copyright pending

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