Hall of Fame conversations with an old St. Charles friend

We had a nice talk, Stryker and I, on the way back from the St. Charles East High School Athletics Hall of Fame induction last Saturday.

Our destination was the Daily Herald's Arlington Heights office, where as high school sports editor I'd be helping assemble the coverage of a busy winter Saturday's worth of prep sports events.

Quite naturally, during the ride Stryker and I started to compare notes on how everybody looked some 30 years after all those high school memories were made. We agreed to disagree on a couple of specific assessments, but the resounding bottom line was a big cumulative thumbs-up.

Stryker Reed, my dear friend and former swimming teammate, was one of the inductees. Joining him in this year's class were soccer standout Anne Poulin, soccer/basketball ace Ryan Lindgren and another phenomenal swimmer and friend of ours, David Fix.

The inclusion of two swimmers in a single class tilted the attendance heavily toward the chlorinated set, which was nice from our perspective. Stryker graduated in 1983, Fix in 1986. So a great cross section of 1980s St. Charles swimming history was on hand, and it felt to me like we were in the presence of royalty:

• Dave Bart, head coach of those terrific mid-80s teams, and still assisting the great Joe Cabel with the Saints.

• Bob Teichart, who coached the program to its first set of state championships and put St. Charles on the swimming map.

• Kent Pearson, who excelled at coaching distance swimmers and is still playing a key role in both club and high school swimming in St. Charles.

• Rob Rooney, a onetime teammate of ours at East who's now been churning out elite swimmers at St. Charles North.

And a huge set of St. Charles alums were on hand to show their support and admiration for Stryker and David. I heard more than one person refer to it as The St. Charles Swimming Family, which is precisely how it felt.

Central to that vibe was Fix, who to me sums up neatly in one person why St. Charles was so dominant in boys swimming in the 1980s. In my senior year, 1983, he didn't make the state meet team, but to anybody paying any attention at all, it was obvious he'd eventually be one of the greats.

In his case, there was this quiet confidence accompanied by a fierce work ethic. I remember that David didn't seem outwardly bothered by not scoring points in the state meet in his freshman year, and I think it was because he knew, even then, that his time would come.

Indeed. The very next year, he made the finals in the 100 fly, but that was just a warm-up act building toward a senior year which included victories in the 100 butterfly and 500 freestyle, two events close together in the meet lineup. Very few individuals even attempt such a double, much less excel at it. Fix made the finals of at least one individual event in each of his last three years, during which St. Charles was the dominant force in Illinois swimming, winning the state meets by many dozens of points each time.

It was with deepest regrets that I could not join the post-induction fun with the whole gang. It's clear from the social media chatter that everybody had fun at the local watering hole, sharing stories and memories.

I'm sure Stryker enjoyed it - in fact, he told me so. It's a neat trick he's engineered, this ability to be many places at once. Unfortunately, it is only possible if you are 'there' in spirit only.

Stryker Reed was killed in an automobile accident near the end of his sophomore year at Clemson University. He was 19.

That sad fact was made much less so as a result of his induction. Accepting on Stryker's behalf were his mom, Mary O'Brien, and sister, Kelly.

Kelly noted that the evening was special for her because her own son, now a high schooler himself, had never met Stryker. So the event had helped bring her big brother to life in a new, vivid way for young Kian.

I was reminded by talking with own pal Mike Edmondson that although we both knew Stryker very well, our pictures were not truly complete. Mike, a tri-captain for the swim team along with Stryker and myself in 1982-83, revealed to me a few previously unknown nuggets about Stryker, and I was able to do likewise for Mike.

In a specific case, I was able to refresh Mike about an instance of foolish youthful behavior that nearly changed the narrative rather dramatically for all three of the eventual 1982-83 team captains. Thankfully, we can laugh about it now.

I was reminded of the futility of trying to sum up a person in a single conversation when Craig Brueske, a terrific writer covering high school sports for the Daily Herald's Tri-Cities editions, contacted me for what turned out to be his excellent column in advance of the event. The words did not come easily, I think because I knew they would fail to capture what kind of person Stryker Reed really was.

And the words may fail me here as well, but there is one true story that I would like to relate because it ought to bring a smile, and Stryker would have liked that. I should state beforehand that the veracity of this episode has been confirmed through an independent source (Stryker's mom).

Circa 1978, Stryker's mom was chaperoning a trip of St. Charles swimmers to an age group meet in Sterling, Ill., in the family's camper.

In between sessions of the meet, Stryker and I were killing some time at the campground, traipsing around in the woods, just out of sight. Mary stayed back at the camper, reading a book in the shade.

On the banks of a dry wash just downhill from the camper, Stryker and I were pretending to be soldiers on patrol, and the juice from some red mulberries proved to be a nice facsimile for the blood incurred in our heroic battle.

We both had the idea at the same time - let's fool Stryker's mom into thinking one of us is badly hurt. If successful, we knew the deception would be doubly delicious, as Mary had long been a nurse.

A suitable stick was chosen. The crimson juices of many mulberries were rubbed in the area around Stryker's right eye and on the end of the stick.

We staged a loud scream, then came charging up the hill, with Stryker holding the stick directly in front of his eye, as if he'd been impaled by it.

I must say, I thrived in the role of supporting actor here - helping support Stryker up the hill, one of his arms slung over my shoulder, a fair amount of 'blood' on me, too, for overall effect. And while Stryker moaned, it was up to me to get across the basic story, about how he'd slipped while climbing a tree and omigod how far are we from a hospital?

Mary shrieked, took a close look and sprung into action, running for the first-aid kid.

When she returned with it moments later to try to at least stop the bleeding, she was greeted by a perplexing sight - her son, pulling the stick from his eye, dipping his finger into the orbital puree, then dabbing his tongue with it and declaring, 'Actually, it's not bad. A little tart, maybe.' And then he winked at her.

This set off of a unique mixture of anger, joy and relief, all at the same time, and Mary proceeded to shout some strong words, the kind I didn't even know she knew.

It quickly became funny, even to Mary, which truly was the intent.

(Note to potential copycat 12-year-old boys out there: Mulberry juice does not rinse off easily. Stryker went the rest of the meet with people asking him who'd blackened his eye.)

Anybody who knew Stryker well has dozens of stories in this same vein. He was mischievous, clever, fun, unpredictable. But he was also extremely caring. He was the toughest swimmer I ever met. And of course, above all, to me he was a great friend.

Still is, actually. On our recent car ride, I turned the music down a bit, the better to 'hear' him. The Pixies, one of many bands we agree on. They didn't start making music until after Stryker's demise, but like many elements of popular culture, politics, the raising of families and of course, swimming, we have discussed them at length.

In this case, Stryker disagreed, and I figured, what the heck, let the Hall of Famer have his way.

And so the volume went up - way up.

It sounded like victory.

I'm hearing you, buddy. Loud and clear.

agabriel@dailyherald.com