Remembering Joseph C. Hendrzak
On the 35th Anniversary of His Death
August 5th, 2011
(Web research: Correct Joe's "Saints Day" to August 4th, 1976)
On the 35th Anniversary of His Death
August 5th, 2011
(Web research: Correct Joe's "Saints Day" to August 4th, 1976)
Joe and I were college freshman at Lehigh. My first recollection was of this freshman at Dravo House who was wiping the floor with everyone in chess.
How he ended up with my motley group of friends, I'll never know. He wasn't in the Marching '97. He wasn't in Inter-Varsity Christian fellowship. We certainly were in classes together and – at the beginning of our sophomore years, we were in adjacent upperclassmen dorms in Centennial I near Rathbone Hall, the dining service.
I remember our extended breakfasts in Rathbone. Both of us would get there when they opened the line at 7:00 AM and, on those days were we didn't have an 8:00 AM class, we'd sit and drink coffee and talk.
He had the greatest (and most foul) sense of humor of just about anyone I ever met.
He was in Army ROTC and we used to sit with a real peacenik student. After again being castigated for belonging to the military, Joe looked at our friend and said, "You know. You're right. I could never shoot someone." The guy gave a big grin. "I'd have to use a bayonet," he finished.
Another time, when the peacenik student said that Joe would probably follow any orders he was given up to and including bombing a church, Joe said, "Of COURSE we bomb the churches! That's where all the people hide!"
Joe and I were both involved in the Lehigh University Volunteers. He coordinated student volunteers at Sts. Cyril and Methodius elementary school while I worked at Wiley House (now KidsPeace).
The kids at Wiley House got into a chess craze. Joe had a rating of 1776 (an easy to remember and very high number) so he volunteered to come over and play simultaneous chess against all the kids in the unit. He had two stipulations: they had to use a standard black and red chessboard and black and white pieces.
When he got there, the kids had every imaginable type of chess set. He still managed to go around, board to board, and beat them all. I remember walking around the room helping to keep order and seeing him puzzle over his position against a kid who had an orange and red chessboard and dark green translucent and light green translucent chess pieces.
I remember him pointing out one twelve-year-old and telling me how good the kid was. I found out later that Joe bought him a chess set and paid for his membership for a year in whatever chess club Joe belonged to.
Joe was a Chemistry major and graduated with his Bachelor of Science degree and a Lieutenant's commission in the Army. He was engaged to be married.
That summer, while I worked at camp, Joe stayed in Bethlehem. He was an avid runner and one afternoon, I believe it was thirty-five years ago today, he went running with his fiance on his normal route: from Lehigh to the Minsi Trails Bridge, down the steps to the canal path, over to the New Street bridge, then back to Lehigh.
It was a very hot day and his fiance had to stop at the stairs of the Minsi Trails Bridge. He said he'd come get her with the car after the run.
He never came back. She went down the canal path and found him dead in the canal: he had apparently (possibly due to an undiagnosed condition) passed out, fallen into the canal and drowned in maybe six to eight inches of water.
It's one of the most arbitrary things I've ever experienced in life: he passed out and fell into the canal instead of on to the canal path.
And it was the difference between life and death.
How he ended up with my motley group of friends, I'll never know. He wasn't in the Marching '97. He wasn't in Inter-Varsity Christian fellowship. We certainly were in classes together and – at the beginning of our sophomore years, we were in adjacent upperclassmen dorms in Centennial I near Rathbone Hall, the dining service.
I remember our extended breakfasts in Rathbone. Both of us would get there when they opened the line at 7:00 AM and, on those days were we didn't have an 8:00 AM class, we'd sit and drink coffee and talk.
He had the greatest (and most foul) sense of humor of just about anyone I ever met.
He was in Army ROTC and we used to sit with a real peacenik student. After again being castigated for belonging to the military, Joe looked at our friend and said, "You know. You're right. I could never shoot someone." The guy gave a big grin. "I'd have to use a bayonet," he finished.
Another time, when the peacenik student said that Joe would probably follow any orders he was given up to and including bombing a church, Joe said, "Of COURSE we bomb the churches! That's where all the people hide!"
Joe and I were both involved in the Lehigh University Volunteers. He coordinated student volunteers at Sts. Cyril and Methodius elementary school while I worked at Wiley House (now KidsPeace).
The kids at Wiley House got into a chess craze. Joe had a rating of 1776 (an easy to remember and very high number) so he volunteered to come over and play simultaneous chess against all the kids in the unit. He had two stipulations: they had to use a standard black and red chessboard and black and white pieces.
When he got there, the kids had every imaginable type of chess set. He still managed to go around, board to board, and beat them all. I remember walking around the room helping to keep order and seeing him puzzle over his position against a kid who had an orange and red chessboard and dark green translucent and light green translucent chess pieces.
I remember him pointing out one twelve-year-old and telling me how good the kid was. I found out later that Joe bought him a chess set and paid for his membership for a year in whatever chess club Joe belonged to.
Joe was a Chemistry major and graduated with his Bachelor of Science degree and a Lieutenant's commission in the Army. He was engaged to be married.
That summer, while I worked at camp, Joe stayed in Bethlehem. He was an avid runner and one afternoon, I believe it was thirty-five years ago today, he went running with his fiance on his normal route: from Lehigh to the Minsi Trails Bridge, down the steps to the canal path, over to the New Street bridge, then back to Lehigh.
It was a very hot day and his fiance had to stop at the stairs of the Minsi Trails Bridge. He said he'd come get her with the car after the run.
He never came back. She went down the canal path and found him dead in the canal: he had apparently (possibly due to an undiagnosed condition) passed out, fallen into the canal and drowned in maybe six to eight inches of water.
It's one of the most arbitrary things I've ever experienced in life: he passed out and fell into the canal instead of on to the canal path.
And it was the difference between life and death.
I did not find out about this until some three weeks later when I got home from camp and called his house from my home in Seaford, Long Island.
It's always been hard for me (if not impossible) to reconcile myself to such a tragic, inexplicable end to such a wonderful, talented and loving person with his whole life ahead of him.
It's always been hard for me (if not impossible) to reconcile myself to such a tragic, inexplicable end to such a wonderful, talented and loving person with his whole life ahead of him.
And then I remember that stuff like that happens all the time, every day, all over the world.
Our lives really do hang by threads all of the time, whether we realize it or not.
Ryan White, the young man who died after a long battle with AIDs and bigotry was eulogized by his pastor at his memorial.
I can't find the exact quote, but the pastor basically said, "We prayed for a miracle not realizing, until now, that Ryan WAS the miracle."
And while Joe certainly had a short but happy life full of accomplishment and service to others and family and friends rather than one of struggle against illness and hate, I believe Joe's life was a miracle as well.
Maybe all life is a miracle.
Our lives really do hang by threads all of the time, whether we realize it or not.
Ryan White, the young man who died after a long battle with AIDs and bigotry was eulogized by his pastor at his memorial.
I can't find the exact quote, but the pastor basically said, "We prayed for a miracle not realizing, until now, that Ryan WAS the miracle."
And while Joe certainly had a short but happy life full of accomplishment and service to others and family and friends rather than one of struggle against illness and hate, I believe Joe's life was a miracle as well.
Maybe all life is a miracle.
