To the Editor:

What did he have anyway? That’s what you have to wonder about a guy like David Warner. Mr. Everything. Coolest guy in the class.

We were the Class of 1962 at Guilderland Central High School. David was our king, as in, he was king of the Senior Prom and his girlfriend, Carol Roemer, was the queen. It was a vote, but he was pretty much king by acclimation.

With someone like David, it wasn’t so much what he did. It was what he was. What he was, was cool. David was just cool by his very presence.

When he walked down the hall between classes at GCHS, he carried his books in his right hand up next to his ear like he was throwing a football. Next to him, looking up admiringly, was his girl.

Throwing a football, by the way, was something he did, as quarterback of our team. The team turned around in his senior year, under a new coach, and he told me that all he did was hand the ball off to Billy Van Heusen. Whatever. With him as QB1, we won the conference.

As a cool guy, he didn’t overly flash his smartness. He just was world-class smart. When the school announced four National Merit Finalists, David was quietly one of them. Elite. In the class, he was fourth.

But he wasn’t your classic “brain” at all. He answered when called upon is all, and did the work. His girl told me how she remembered being in a new science class and seeing the papers passed out. She, a good student, got a “50.” David? A quiet “100,” maybe “95.” He was that kind of smart. Comfortable. Easy.

When the time came to vote for Most Popular in the class, writing in any name other than David was just a waste of ink. He won pretty much by acclimation, along with that girl. He was, of course, president of the Key Club, which made him more than just popular. Later, he was the emcee at our class 50th reunion.

He formed a singing group in high school, the Dave Warner Trio. He played the guitar and sang and, by the way, had just a beautiful voice. For a time, Tom Dawes from the group The Cyrcle (“Red Rubber Ball, written by Paul Simon) was in his group. Dave also sang in the GCHS choir. They performed Handel’s Messiah at Christmas our senior year. To die for. 

David had a gift with words and sold an article to the magazine “Ranger Rick,” which makes him a professional writer. He told me, memorably, that when he downplayed his writing a bartender once told him, “Once you’ve been a writer, you’re always a writer. It’s like a boxer.”

A group of us boys, as a ritual of growing up and leaving high school, all went skinny dipping in French’s Hollow one summer night. We were like the kind of friends in “Stand by Me.” David, memorably, said as he was plunging into the cold water, “The only reason I’m doing this is so I could say I did it.”

Notice of his passing came like everything else I remember from David, short and perfect. A note from his lady. “David passed quietly this morning. With my head on his shoulder and his hand on my arm.”

David. Forever smart. Forever QB1. Now he’s in heaven with many other great, cool ones. David fits right in. Friendly, kind, and doing the right thing. Coolness personified. Godspeed, dear friend.

Jim Meade

Milanville, Pennsylvania

Editor’s note: Jim Meade’s most recent book, currently in press with SelectBooks in New York, is a guide to artificial intelligence for writers and publishers.