I found out last night that my friend Mike O’Donnell died the other day. I worked with him at the Gardens Ice House. It was his 38th birthday just this past weekend, and a bunch of people put messages to him on his Facebook page. It was quite a contrast to see those were followed directly by even more people shouting their final messages to him.
He was truly a good guy and someone I really considered a friend. We talked a lot, read the same books, knew a lot of the same people going back years, and enjoyed hockey. He gave me a Stephen King book, “The Dome,” which is about 1000 pages and was anxious for me to finish so we could talk about it (I regret to say that I haven’t started yet but I will soon). He’d scorekeep my games, tell me how boring they were. A few weeks ago he caught a guy lying about his identity during a game, and I came over and tossed the guy. He showed George McPhee a ballad I had written about him, then called to tell me that George liked it.
Mike kept life relatively simple. While driving him home a couple months ago, I asked him what he’s been up to. “Working and having fun,” he said. We were talking on the phone about benefits at work. I asked him if he was contributing to his 401k. He said no. Turns out, that was a good decision.
The second to last time I saw him, he got finished scorekeeping, put his backpack on, smiled and waved to me, then walked away as if he were going somewhere. For some reason, it struck me even then, subconsciously, that maybe he was. I saw him once again a few days later when he showed up for work after one of my games. Unfortunately, one of the last conversations I had in person with him was the time of his next games to scorekeep. We joked around on Facebook a couple times since when I found out that a lifelong friend of mine also knew him – from high school – and were still friends.
I’ll never forget him, and I’ll miss him. Rest in peace, Big Mike.