Only the Good Die Young: My Memories of Dave Kerr
Editor’s Note: Chuck Gargan grew up in Avalon with his brother, Guy, the prominent sports reporter for The Press of Atlantic City. The Gargan family, along with the Cunningham family, founded the (then) Avalon Herald in the mid-1960s. Chuck was a lifelong friend of David Kerr. At Middle Township High School, Chuck was the quarterback while Kerr was his running back on the football field. At the request of Seven Mile Times, 20 years ago Chuck sat down to reflect on his childhood friend who died of cancer in 1981 at the age of 28, and shared his thoughts with us. Since the Kerr Memorial Lifeguard Race takes place this month, we thought it was timely to remember David J. Kerr once again through the eyes of his good friend, Chuck Gargan.
The Classic Dave Kerr photo that hangs in the ABP Beach House was taken by Tom Kinnemand, who spent more than 30 years amazingly documenting Cape May County events with his camera. This photo was snapped on Aug. 13, 1980, at the Tri-Resorts Races. Kerr (in the Stern) and Dan O’Malley won the doubles that night in 14:55. They would go on to win Avalon’s first South Jersey doubles championship five nights later. They also won the Dutch Hoffmans that summer.
Every time that I hear that song, “Only the Good Die Young,” my mind snaps to one name, one face – Dave Kerr. I do however, take exception with one line: “… it’s better to laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints ’cause sinners are much more fun.” And as proof, I offer David James Kerr III. He proves that saints can be lots of fun! It’s true that Dave’s life was not long in terms of years, but it was rich in fulfillment and respect from anyone who had the privilege to encounter the presence and essence of Dave. He never failed to bring warmth and soul.
What is it that we memorialize in people? It should be a quality that’s enduring in order to create a legacy. For Dave Kerr, I believe that it was consistency of character. He had genuine humility and a keen sense of manner that could disarm any new contact or potential conflict. He was an inwardly ferocious competitor, while outwardly he was always under control. He was the guy who handed the ball to the referee … he wasted no time on end-zone celebrations. He was all-team, and all-fun. Dave Kerr was what I’d call a true, honest person.
I met Dave on the playground of the old Avalon School (formerly on 26th Street). It was the first day of school in fourth grade, September 1962. He was the new kid, but his smile and energy transcended any discomfort any of us may have felt. From that day, Dave and I stood shoulder-to-shoulder through our years in Avalon and most of high school. We then lost touch, but only for a little while.
If truth be told, if Dave’s friends were chosen on the basis of socio-economic basis, we probably wouldn’t have been friends. You see, Dave was a “rich kid” – a label that didn’t fit him. In fact, unless you visited Dave at his home, you’d never know that he was from a privileged background, and that remained a constant to the very end.
There are so many stories that I could tell about Dave Kerr. It’s so hard to choose. I realize now that Dave was an advocate for the less fortunate. I remember one time when I was sadly engaged in beating up on one of our weaker classmates. Dave stopped the fight, pulled me off, and made it clear that this kind of behavior would threaten our friendship if I didn’t “wise up.” I did. I knew that Dave was right.
Avalon was a very different place in 1962 from today. There were less than 200 year-round residents, and that included many poor families and quite a collection of societal misfits. The people who lived there had a sense of toughness which may have been in part a result of the air-raid sirens brought on by the Cuban Missile Crisis. Dave Kerr saw it all and endeared himself to everyone. He took some people under his wing and saw to it that they weren’t without the essentials for living. I even benefited from his generosity when he would sneak food for me from his family’s fully stocked refrigerator or cupboard. If Dave were alive today, there’s no question in my mind that he’d be involved in philanthropic ventures. That’s just the kind of person that he was.
Middle Township High School inherited a gem when Dave Kerr showed for the first day of class in September 1966. He wasn’t the most gifted athlete, but he was probably the most determined. And it was a quiet determination. Dave possessed an incredible work ethic. And he was the proverbial first-to-show-up-and-last-to-leave athlete. Our friendship grew even deeper in high school. We played football and baseball together. I was the quarterback, Dave was the running back. And we always drove around the county in his Mustang. Since we were really the only guys from Avalon at school, we practiced on our own. Dave was a stickler for preparation. We worked on our handoffs and patterns everywhere … even in the middle of Dune Drive.
We talked often … about sports, girls, our dreams, and what it meant to be alive. During the summer, our favorite place to hang out was on the railing of the boardwalk in front of the 29th Street Pier. What fun we had. Neither Dave nor I was very good at flirting … what a pair we were!
Dave was unashamedly a person of faith. He talked about finding strength there. He credited his grandparents for leading him in this direction, but not by coercion. I still find it ironic that he went to church on his own and loved it, while I was made to go to church by my parents and hated it. I’d often see him walk to the small Methodist Church around 32nd Street and First Avenue, which is now a private home, from the Kerr “Mansion” that they built at 40th Street and the beach.
I believe that how a person conducts himself while engaged in athletic endeavors says a lot about one’s character. Perhaps the most telling measure of sportsmanship happened when Dave and I were on opposing teams – but not by choice.
My family moved to Ocean City before my senior year. I made the football team at OCHS as a kicker and defensive back. Before our game vs. Middle, my ex-teammates – who I thought were my friends – were screaming obscenities at me while predicting my impending doom. Play after play, they came at me. Double teams, late hits, you name it. Late in the first half there was a running play. The field opened up and suddenly No. 24 – that was Dave’s number – was running the ball right at me. Dave and I met helmet-to-helmet and both fell to the turf. He got up, smiled like only Dave could, patted me on the head and said, “Great hit, Chuckie!” Dave was always the gentleman. He wasn’t like the others.
We lost touch after that year, each going our own way. But from a distance I couldn’t help but notice that Dave was making quite a name for himself as a lifeguard. I still remember when he was first eligible to become a lifeguard. He excitedly told me that he passed the tryouts and proudly announced that he’d “really meet some girls now.” But that never happened. I followed Dave’s beach patrol exploits through newspaper accounts. Then, I felt compelled to make contact with him again. It was refreshing … nothing had changed between us, but that had more to do with him than me. Dave was working in his family’s real estate business at the time, but he often told me that he was his happiest when he was in or on the water, and doing it for his hometown of Avalon. I believed him.
I saw many of Dave’s lifeguard races. I marveled at the power and the precision that personified the relationship that he had with his rowing partner, Dan O’Malley. They were something to see.
Several days of migraine headaches sent Dave to the doctor. He called me from his office one day and said that he couldn’t take the pain anymore. I didn’t think much more of it than feeling bad for him and the pain that he was enduring. In our next conversation, he said that they were running some tests. Then came the call when he asked me to visit him at his mom’s house on 45th Street.
We hugged and laughed, but I sensed tension. “I have something that I have to tell you Chuck,” he said. “I have a tumor on my brain. The doctor says that they can’t operate, that it’s bad news, but I’m not buying it.”
I don’t remember being able to respond, but I do recall the numbness that squeezed me until my knees buckled. Dave was sick. And he was like a brother to me.
I really fell apart a couple of visits later when the gravity of the situation really began to sink in on me. But this was when Dave’s courage shone brightest. He helped me up off the floor, wiped away my tears and told me, “Everything will be alright, so let’s have some fun.”
We went out for a couple of beers and hung out, but the laughs weren’t as hearty. It didn’t take me long to realize what he was doing. He was helping me, helping all those around him cope with his illness. He was more concerned with those around him than he was with himself. It was important to him that we all live normally during a very difficult time. But that was Dave. He had a fiancée and didn’t retreat from his plans to marry. He was planning and looking ahead. He was looking forward to the years to come.
I’m sure that Dave had some private, difficult moments, but he never admitted them to me. Dave lost his hair, got a little puffy, but never lost his spirit. He was still bench pressing 300 pounds just weeks before his death. He told me, “I’ve always wanted to see Canada; I think that I’m going to go.” Sadly, he didn’t make it out of New York State. He had to turn around and come home. The end was near.
Dave’s mom called me a couple of days later and said, “Chuckie, Dave passed away a little bit ago, it was very peaceful. He was smiling.”
Even now I feel as though a significant part of my life was stolen from me. But, of course, I was always the selfish one. Somehow, I think that Dave and I would have made “good men.” Dave would have seen to it. Now, I just hope that I’m a good man in his honor. He proved to me that “only the good die young.”