That day is one of those in my life that is always just below the surface of my memory, and easily brought to the top. It was a somber day, as Don said; I came out of my first period class into a hallway of crying and weeping, girls on the floor, my athlete peers with tears running down their cheeks. When I found out what had happened, I felt like I'd been hit with a hammer: my whole body just went numb. It was a beautiful, crisp, sunny Mojave Desert winter day, and in my memory, it is as gray as any stormy day I've ever lived through.

In '04, we were in Minnesota, and took a day trip to Clearlake, Iowa and visited the Surf Ballroom. The feeling we had while there was perhaps best described as subdued, or somehow reverent. If you get the chance to do that, I'd highly recommend it. We then drove out to the field where the crash occurred, but neither of us had the heart to walk the half mile through the corn to the site. There is supposed to be a memorial out there, but the farmer did not provide open access to it; if you wanted to walk and find it, they wouldn't stop you, but they didn't make it readily accessible.

Thanks for the memories, Gents.