CHRIS PROPERT
I met David in 1981 as we both entered the University of Virginia’s graduate program in philosophy. Although “met” may be somewhat misleading since it could be taken to imply a certain level of formality—introductions, handshakes, and the like. In fact, no such formalities existed. The truth is we both just showed up in Charlottesville that warm September day and seemed to recognize in each other a like-minded spirit, and then, sort of...fell into friendship. Even though we shared few philosophical interests (I came to philosophy as a former art student seeking clarity on the meaning and purpose of art, while David was more interested in the origins of Western philosophy) we shared many other interests, including a keen appreciation of music, a love of freestyle frisbee and epic games of darts, and general good fellowship. And while I’m sad that David and I haven’t seen each other for 35 years, I’m delighted to share some fond memories of our times together.
Like the freezing cold day we decided to drive up Afton Mountain...just because. Typically, David was underdressed for the weather, and when we reached the top of the mountain and got out of his car for a brief walk up a short trail, I remember David hunching his shoulders and turning his collar up against the wind, and I thought to myself that he looked just like a young Bob Dylan—with straight hair of course.
And the spirited discussion we had one night in his apartment about the best way to get one’s point across in an argument. (We were meta before meta was cool.) I argued it was best to use exact, precise language, while David and his English grad-student neighbor argued that using metaphor was more effective (although I don’t recall them ever actually using a metaphor in advancing their argument). Predictably, it was a stalemate.
Then there was the pitch black evening when David and I were driving to a party in my old Volkswagen Karmann Ghia. I had just put a new stereo cassette system in the car and had turned the volume up to show it off, and I was introducing David to one of my favorite jazz fusion albums, Weather Report’s Black Market. As fate would have it, just as we began to slowly cross some railroad tracks, the tune “Barbary Coast” came on, which begins, almost unbelievably, with a super realistic recording of a very large, very close and very loud speeding train blasting its whistle as it bore down on the listener—and David almost jumped out of the car. (I’m certain his exact words were, “Jesus Christ!”) Possibly the best unintended practical joke ever.
And who could forget the time the Philosophy Department held its annual spring golf outing at the Swannanoa Golf and Country Club on Afton Mountain. We had driven up in David’s car, and when we got there, David thought it would be nice to have some music, so he opened both car doors wide and started blasting Steely Dan’s “Bodhisattva.” Unfortunately, the mood was quickly interrupted when Professor Peter Heath rudely barked in his best English accent, “Will you please turn off that Muzak!” Sheepishly, David did.
Alas, in 1983, when I decided to switch disciplines and give law school a try, David and I gradually fell out of touch. Apart from my attendance at his 1984 Halloween party and his brief appearance at a New Year’s Day open house that my wife and I hosted, circa 1990, David and I hadn’t spent time together or even corresponded until late 2022 when I emailed him after a series of events brought him to mind. And so it goes that with David’s imminent retirement and my retirement in 2020, we two former classmates will finally have the time to get together and catch up on the past several decades of our lives; to throw some darts, drink some beers and argue about whatever we please. Hopefully, just two senior citizens falling back into friendship.