The last time I saw David Migliorini was at the Stoneham High School Class of ’84 tenth-year reunion. I graduated in 1983, but was dating a classmate of David’s and had accompanied her to the event. David and I hadn’t seen much of one another since high school. It didn’t matter. Friendship has the power to dissolve years, make them feel like weeks, even minutes.
When I heard of David’s passing on August 29th, I thought, as I’m sure many did, there was no chance to say goodbye. Then I thought of one of the many things David and I had in common back in our youth: we both kept photo albums overflowing with pictures of our misguided adolescent experiences. (If memory serves, David called his albums “Beer Books.”) I went to my bookcase and took a turn down Memory Lane.
I flipped through the shiny Mylar pages expecting to find a few scattered shots of my old friend. What I found, however, were countless images of David’s smiling face. There he was at a party in my parents’ basement. Another shot showed him in the cafeteria at Stoneham High. There were a few stills of us posing with our dates before the Twirp Twirl Dance. I found a nice action shot of David jumping on the beds at the Koala Inn on the night of the Maggot Prom – an invention of our very own, created so that cheap, single guys could celebrate Prom night without having to buy tickets or rent a tuxedo. And in a later volume, there were pictures from that tenth reunion.
David and Rosie the lunch lady, SHS cafeteria 1983 (Ron Ponti in background)
There was sadness, but I found myself smiling in spite of the loss. All those ‘80s fashions: hospital pants, half shirts, bandanas, Nikes, bad suits, bad hair. We wore them with pride. In my head I heard the music we bonded over: new wave, punk, The Clash. Mostly though, I heard David’s infectious laugh and imagined it had grown warmer over the years.
L to R: Mike Veno, John Marquard, David and me
display our tickets to the Maggot Prom (1983)
David was one of those rare individuals who not only transcended the preconceived separateness that can keep one group from socializing with another, but encouraged others to do so as well. As a result, our two graduating classes formed an unusual kinship that, in many ways, continues over 25 years later. Several enduring friendships of mine can be traced back to those days, back to when I first met David.
L to R: Robert Guida, Me and David at SHS class of '84 tenth reunion 1994
On the night of David’s wake, I observed the many photographs displayed throughout Finnegan’s Funeral Home. It did my heart good to see that his smile had never changed, and I knew his laugh had indeed grown warmer, and that he was well loved as both a husband and father.
When an artist leaves us, the beauty they created in life, whether in a song, a story, or a painting, remains forever as a reminder of how they touched our lives. I have my pictures; every one of them a song, a story, a watercolor.
I had not seen David in over fifteen years. I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye, but part of him is always with me, in memories, in lasting friendships, in photographs.
