Bob Summa was more than a friend

When the outstanding men’s choral group H.S. Liederkranz sang “Vive L’Amour’’ during a concert at Thomaston Opera House Saturday night, I turned to daughter Sharon and whispered “We used to sing that. I haven’t heard it in decades.’’ “Who?’’ “Summa and I, when we were in high school.’’

Indeed we did and the irony is palpable because Torrington’s Bob Summa, one of the finest men and dearest friends I ever had, died two days later, in Florida. He had battled a bad heart for some 40 years but finally, at

age 82, it was time to go to heaven, having fought the interminable good fight. In late years, he was operating with only one quarter of his heart.

Like any close friend, I was keeping tabs on Summa from up here. In Sunday’s column I mentioned his name in connection with a gift he had given me in the long ago, and added the line, “No man ever had a better or more loyal friend.’’ I don’t know why I felt the need to express that; maybe because for weeks I’ve known he was facing grim reality every single day.

After Abraham Lincoln drew his last breath, one of the cabinet members, standing sorrowfully at his bedside said, “Now he belongs to the ages.’’ That’s how I feel about Summa. He was such a good man and all who knew him are impoverished by his passing; but how important it was that he lived.

In high school, everyone liked Summa and he liked them. He was a guy who had no time for petty grudges or jealousies; too much fun to be had, girls to chase, friends to make, mischief to instigate, laughter to generate, schoolwork to tend to – Summa was a star student – and after-school job to do.

Both of us worked for Manager Gene Holton at the First National Store in the south end and later on East Elm Street where the U.S. Post Office is now located. One afternoon at the latter location, Summa and I had been assigned to the despised job of sorting soda bottles in a room located at the end of a long concrete corridor in the basement. Summa began to run at the far end of the corridor pushing a large empty paper-ware box. I happened to be standing at the other end, watching. Suddenly, at full gallop, my friend Summa simply disappeared. The bottom front of the box had hit an unseen concrete ridge that ran across the hallway, and Summa, caught unawares, plunged headlong into the box.

Fifty years and more later, we were still laughing about it, and I’m laughing now through my sorrow, as I remember the look on his face as he climbed out of the box.

I could write forever of our high school escapades. When that period in our lives ended he went to college to become a pharmacist and I went into the Air Force but our friendship never wavered.

Through the years we kept in touch. Bob was president of Charlotte Hungerford Hospital in 1988 when my dear wife, who had cancer, died there. He was indescribably kind and helpful.

We played golf together fairly often and it was always funny and enjoyable. Every year Bob and wife Maryanne invited THS Classmate Bishop Peter Rosazza and me, and sometimes another guest or two, to dinner at their house.

We talked about our kids and grandkids, UConn basketball, the church, the world and of course, the old days, still fresh and lively in our hearts.

I wish we could sit around that elegant table and eat Maryanne’s matchless Italian dishes, enjoy the conversation and each other, just one more time. I ache for that, but realize we must be content with memories because Bob is gone and now he belongs to the ages.