A Tribute from the Heart
How It All Began
I met Al at Tahoe Forest Hospital when he was replacing my friend Janina as the courier. At first, he seemed shy, a little reserved, and very quiet. I teased him constantly, and eventually, he started teasing me right back. I’ll always remember him joking, “Willie, you have a lot of work—you better get on it.” We sat together at a Christmas party at the Hilton and talked for quite a while, but we truly grew close when I transferred to Incline Village Hospital. Being in a new place made me nervous, especially being away from my friends in Truckee, so it was always a joy when Al would walk in—sometimes like a bull in a china shop. I would laugh and say, “Geez Al, do you think you can be a little louder?” and we would both laugh until our faces turned red.
Moments I’ll Always Remember
Al was always up to something. On paydays, he would tease me about forgetting my paycheck, only to surprise me later with a “Gotcha.” He told me stories about his weekend adventures—skiing in the winter, his family, girls he thought were cute, and his Toe Jammer games. He always said I needed to get out more, and somehow, I could never say no to him—he knew I had a soft spot. It was the little things too—joking about my car being on its “last leg,” giving me rides home, making me finish listening to songs before I got out, or honking just to make me jump. He always made time to talk, to smile, to wave. People said he was shy… but I knew better. He brought laughter and life wherever he went.
A Lasting Goodbye
Al will always have a special place in my heart—he was like my kid. I always reminded him to be careful, but he lived life with passion, like a character in a movie. Truthfully, he taught me more than I ever taught him. Our last conversation was on Friday, August 21. He told me about getting a chocolate lab puppy and traveling to pick it up. I told him to be careful, and he smiled, saying maybe a dog would settle him down. We just looked at each other and smiled. I had a dream about him recently—he walked into the lab, ringing the chimes, and sat by the door. I was crying, and he said, “Willie, knock that off—you’re freaking me out,” and smiled. It felt so real. Now, whenever I hear the chimes by my window, I think of him—with wonderful memories, peace, and gratitude. My life is better because I knew him. He will be deeply missed, always remembered, and forever in my heart.
When I’m 50
Written as a high school assignment in 1999, this piece offers a glimpse into dreams, passions, and the moments that shape a life. Through simple words and vivid memories, it captures the importance of holding on to what truly matters. More than just an assignment, it reflects a deep love for skiing, family, and the experiences that leave a lasting mark. Today, it stands as a reminder of a life lived with passion, purpose, and unforgettable moments.
What I Hope to Keep
There are many things I would like to still own when I am 50—my boat, my turntables, my bike. The list feels endless, but there is one special thing that stands out in my mind. It is a drawing of me skiing that hangs on the wall in my room. It stands out because of the memories it holds. I remember receiving it from my grandma on one of my birthdays. I had no idea what the big rectangular present could be. When I opened it, I saw a drawing made from a photograph of me skiin. It looked just like the picture, but with even more detail—and it was nearly twenty times the size. I was amazed that someone could take such a small image and recreate it so perfectly by hand. It was the best gift I could have ever asked for.
The Race I’ll Never Forget
Another memory tied to that drawing is the race where the photo was taken. It was the slalom race at the 1999 J3 Junior Olympics for alpine skiing—my first year racing nationally, in 8th grade. I never thought I would even make it that far. I remember starting around 90th place, standing in the gate with so many thoughts running through my mind. I had to clear everything and just focus on having a good run. Halfway down the course, I caught an edge and flew out. I felt disappointed in that moment, but I quickly realized how lucky I was just to be there. That experience stayed with me—not just the fall, but the opportunity, the effort, and the journey.
The Memories That Last
When I look at that drawing, I don’t just see a moment—I see a part of my life. Skiing was a huge part of who I was, and I want to always remember that. I want to remember my high school ski team winning state my freshman year. I want to remember the nights at Buck Hill, running gates over and over. I want to remember qualifying for Junior Olympics and becoming first alternate. And most of all, I want to remember my dad being there—on every trip, every race, every journey. There are many things I would like to still own when I am 50, but this drawing means more than anything else. Every time I look at it, it brings back so many memories. And when I’m 50, I hope it still does.