On what would have been my friend Pat Spensley’s 71st birthday, I include this special Substack posting from an article originally published in the Summer 2009 edition of THE MIAMIAN (alumni magazine of Miami University, Oxford, Ohio).

Miamian Summer '09 - One more thing...

“SUCH FRIENDS”

By Mark Massé '74

He was an overgrown Spanky who led a gang of Miami University rascals for four years before his tragic death in a traffic accident two months before graduation in 1974. Now, 35 years later, his memory remains a touchstone for all who knew the rotund one we called "Spa," his nickname a self-chosen acronym of Spensley, Patrick Allen. We who were lucky enough to be with this charismatic fellow rarely discuss our Miami years without sharing tales of Spa and the joy he brought to our lives. When we gather for reunions, concerts, golf games, or sporting events, his spirit and our enduring kinship continue to inspire us.

"What I remember most is his ability to attract people," recalls Clevelander John Egan '74, one of the Stanton Hall "studs" who congregated in Spa's third-floor dorm room for hours on end back in 1970-71.

Throughout freshman year, Spa's room was our lounge. He had a portable color TV perched on a trunk that served as entertainment center. But we didn't just hang out, we argued over sports (our Ohio State Buckeyes vs. his beloved Michigan Wolverines), music (Grand Funk Railroad or the Moody Blues), and politics (as our resident Archie Bunker, Spa vigorously debated a host of issues from Vietnam to feminism, and he would later serve on Miami's Student Senate). A graduate of Culver Military Academy who spoke fluent French and played a mean trumpet, Spa preferred socializing to scholarship, goofing off to grades.

He loved to have fun, and so did the rest of his merry band — card games (hearts or poker), Monopoly tournaments, Frisbee matches in the halls, and three-on-three basketball games (with a tennis ball) in the cramped dorm room.

On any given day at almost any hour, laughter would erupt from Spa's room, his trademark deep-bellied chuckle resonating off those bland cinder block walls. How he loved to laugh, whether it was in the classroom, the dining hall, or uptown, where Spa and his rascals gathered at the Purity or the C.I. (College Inn) for endless games of pinball and pitchers of 3.2 beer. A generous soul, Spa often paid for the brew, the late-night trips to the "Sangy" truck outside the dorm, or a toasted roll at the Res.

An auburn-haired, freckle-faced Irishman of ample girth, Spa was surprisingly athletic. He played on intramural football, basketball, and volleyball teams for Stanton Hall and Logan Lodge during his sophomore through senior years. He also played golf regularly at Hueston Woods, usually cutting classes, of course. A loyal fan of Miami sports, Spa rarely missed a home football or basketball game, and he befriended several key players, including Bob Hitchens and Phil Lumpkin during the early 1970s. He could be heard giving these star jocks grief the day after a game if they didn't measure up. And they would listen, laugh, and acknowledge the grinning leprechaun. None of his friends could believe how he got away with such shenanigans. But such was Spa's talent for endearing himself to people.

It is impossible to tell the full story of our friend Spa. His life was more than fun and frolic, and he had his share of sadness and loss. Those of us who were his pals knew he was no mere Falstaff. We often sought him out for advice and counsel. He was a solid guy from a large, loving family in Manchester, Mich. Tragically, many of us would meet his mother, father, and clan of brothers for the first time on that sad sunny day in April 1974 when we bid our dear friend farewell, a life cut short by an awful accident on Route 73, some 20 minutes from campus. Now decades later, we are left with his larger-than-life memory and the recurring mysteries of why and what if.

How could we ever forget Spa when he nicknamed so many of us — Bear, Stump, Peter Perfect, Sheik? Why should we outgrow his memory when his friendship supported us on our road to adulthood? And perhaps the one question that lingers long after the others have passed: What is it about a single life that touches countless others and is still treasured some 35 years later? Perhaps the answer is found in a line from the great Irish poet W.B. Yeats: "My glory was I had such friends."

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Mark Massé '74 (www.markmasse.com) is a tenured professor of journalism at Ball State University. A published writer for more than 30 years, Mark is the author of Inspired to Serve: Today's Faith Activists and the novel Delamore's Dreams. He recently finished a new novel, Whatever Comes.

Massé Musings

"SUCH FRIENDS"