Memories light the corners of my dorm...

I just dug into a boxful of college cards and letters. While I don't plan to wallow in nostalgia, these artifacts are fun to look at as a point of comparison. (You'll be seeing them on slow news days.)

Today, a memorial tribute to my late friend Scott.

In 1974, the post office was the hub of residence hall activity, at least for those who didn't have boyfriends in their rooms. You see, we didn't have things like "email" and "texting," so this is where we looked for and made our connections.

One day late in fall semester, I found a midget-sized Tootsie Roll in my maibox. At that point in my life, the Freudian message was lost on me. All I knew was that some friendly someone was going out of his way to get my attention. The Tootsie Rolling continued every day for a week. Call me a sap, but I've saved all those Tootsie Roll wrappers. I'm glad I did, because the Tootsie Roll has become iconic for me. It cemented my identification with all the romantics in the world.

Here are a couple of the wrappers. But there are lots more, and some SweetTarts and Chuckles, too.















One day Scott upped the ante with this witty and sweet invitation (click to enlarge):















I was smitten. Scott was cute and funny and he had a car with a push-button transmission. Also, he was a card sender.














We dated a bunch of times in the few months until he graduated in March. Then he went back to his old girlfriend in his hometown, and I got a new boyfriend. We still corresponded, and a Tootsie Roll a week arrived in the U.S. mail, usually tucked into a one-by-two inch manila envelope with an affectionate, but noncommittal update on how things were going.

Scott came to see me one Saturday in April. We took a long walk, shared a tender kiss goodbye. I never saw him again. He died in a train accident just a few days later.

I learned so much from Scott. I learned that small, kind gestures mean everything. I learned how to flirt. I learned a little bit about hunting. And when he died, I learned how fragile our lives are. And although I didn't want to, I learned to let go.

A post script: Scott's sister Cheryl also lived in the dorm, and she and I became friends. We reconnected last Christmas and are planning to grab a beer sometime this summer when I'm in town to reminisce and cry a little and think about one lovable goofball of a guy.