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The Last Time I Saw Mr. Positive

Notebook Recollections

The last time I saw Carl Bentson, he was laying on his back on his front steps. Eyes closed, glassy, kitty–wampus. His head on the lowest step.

Carl‘s best friend, Karen Koeppe, called me down to his house.

“I think Carl‘s gone! 911 and the police are here now.”

I zipped down.

Karen had taken Carl to his 19th chemo session at Regions.

“It went well,” Karen said. “Carl had two sweet rolls after his treatment.”

Karen drove him back to his St. Clair house and watched him walk up his front steps and put his key in the slot.

“All of a sudden, Carl slumped to the top step, keeled over backwards and slid down the stairs.”

The paramedics did their best. Electro-shock, airway support, chest compression. IV. Adrenaline.

“We lost our angel on earth,” Karen said to me as she put a red and brown car blanket over him.

I will admit, I cried at that moment.

“He was heaven sent, but heaven put out a recall,” Karen said.

How could this be? Carl gone? Mr. Positive bit the dust? Sure, he had the bad esophageal cancer but, Carl himself said he was going to live another 20 to 30 years.

I had lunch with him two weeks previous. As he ordered a piece of pumpkin pie with extra whipped cream, he said before you go in the box, you’ve got to

enjoy life.

I patted Carl on his shoulder and teared up again. Mr. Positive cheerleader and lightning bug of West 7th.

Back on the sidewalk, Karen said maybe she’d have Carl‘s memorial at the Chezh hall with nicer weather. Spring. Dave Thune‘s band could play and Pat Mancini‘s band and my brother‘s band.

Karen said “I will do Carl‘s obit with his friend, Bill Quinn. He’ll go to the same cemetery as his grandma, Vashti.”

Then there were the two adult tricycles, three lawn mowers and two snowblowers.

“School,” Karen said. “Carl‘s beloved Bridgeview would welcome his machines.”

West 7th’s artist extraordinaire, Stewart Loughrey had done Carl’s portrait in Waldeman’s two months previous. John Yust had me bring Carl and pick him up an hour and a half later.

Oh my good Lord! Carl is gone.

We will never hear his snowblower or lawn mowers ever again. Never see his year-round holiday lights or see the likes of him again.

We’re all frigged now!

Or maybe not.

He had prepared us to be better citizens. Better human beings who watched out for each other, worried about each other.

Friend, Bret Byefield says Carl will never be forgotten. Never be replaced. He left us with his invitation to be a better friend and neighbor.

Carl‘s last snowman was put up by his neighbors the day after he passed.

The last time I saw Carl Bentson he was lying on his front steps. The lights were out. The machines were still. But his goodness and grace will never leave us.

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