“Hi. You’ve reached Chris. I can’t answer the phone right now but if you leave your name and number I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”
Chris’ voice never fails to impress me with its deep, velvety pitch that somehow demands your entire attention without actually being imposing. But today the trivial message in his voicemail is particularly powerful.
Chris Lindley is one of the best friends I’ve ever had and one of the most fascinating individuals I have ever known. Years ago he was also known as one of the best basketball players in the country. The future was bright as his versatile, athletic style of play brought comparisons to legends like Malone and McAdoo and many specialists predicted that he would be tough to match up against not only in college but on the next level as well. A graduate of Raytown South, he was courted by the best coaches in America, so you can imagine how excited everyone in Jayhawk country was when he committed to play for Roy Williams at Kansas.
I’ll never forget the first time when I actually played with him in Robinson Gymnasium on campus. Despite his massive 6’9” frame, Chris was darting between the goals with shocking speed and coordination. He had point guard skills in that big body and could change direction rapidly or fire ridiculous, circus passes from impossible angles. His shooting touch was surprisingly soft and accurate even from way beyond the arc. Every once in awhile, without really trying hard, he would charge to the basket and unleash a seismic, rim-shattering dunk.
But the most interesting thing is that he was doing all this on one leg. Years later, Chris told me that it took him a week of recovery for every hour spent playing in the gym. The pain was maddening and his leg was bloodied, scraped and bruised…at that very spot where the prosthesis meets the flesh. I’m not going to go into details because he hated this story himself, but in one horrible, tragic moment, just months before his KU career was to start, Chris found himself under the wheels of a freight train. His very survival was a miracle, but unfortunately his right leg had to be amputated. Just like that, suddenly and unconditionally, Chris’s basketball career was over before it even had a chance to start and the dreams of NBA’s wealth and glory were uncompromisingly destroyed. Who would have blamed him if he had shown some weakness, if he had allowed himself to drown in self-pity and depression? For Chris, though that was never an option. In fact, it was hard to see him without a one-of-a-kind smile on his face while his kindness, nobility, and intellect became legendary in Lawrence. My first conversation with him took place 15 years ago and lasted four hours. His erudition was overwhelming. We talked about everything – European cinema, politics, art, history, and of course basketball. From that moment on we felt an almost brotherly connection that wasn’t going to be broken. Chris has always been a soccer fanatic with encyclopedic knowledge of the history, strategy and nuances of the game. We’ve spent hours analyzing different schemes, matches and players and would occasionally go together to the Wizards games at Arrowhead stadium.
Chris tried to play college ball on the prosthetic leg and he probably could have continued but his own standards were too high. He gave it away without whining and complaining and simply moved on. In the last few years Chris worked for a social agency readily sharing his kindness with those who needed it the most. Not long ago he found a homeless, trembling dog on the street, called it Maggie and took it home. From that moment on they were inseparable. Soon, they became a timeless visual that has stamped the streets of Lawrence forever: the gentle giant followed everywhere by little Maggie, whose family tree hides more breeds than the museum of natural history.
One of Chris’ dreams has always been to watch a soccer match live on Wembley Stadium in London. He also asked me to teach him the Cyrillic alphabet and wanted me to take him to East Europe one day and show him all these things I kept telling him about in our endless conversations. He was the first one to help me appreciate and understand Thanksgiving, a holiday that I long had resisted with every fiber of my culturally shocked, foreign mentality. He told me that on Thanksgiving I should be thankful for the little things that had made me happy in the last year and once even asked me to write them down on a piece of paper. “Make a list, man”, he said. “Otherwise, you’ll notice them only after they are gone forever”. Looking back, I’ve traveled the world and have seen so many places and people, but rarely have I met more inquisitive, open minded and tolerant man than Chris. And even though we’ve seemingly discussed everything, from Schopenhauer to Lebron, I still long today for at least one more conversation. May be this is why I called him. I am not completely sure. What I do know is that if I could get a hold of him, I’d probably try to explain how grateful I am. “Chris”, I’d say, “ You were right and I am indeed very, very thankful for the little things. I’m thankful for our friendship and for getting to hear your voice again today, exactly one year after your death. Your words arrived in the receiver with the speed of sound and along with them arrived the memories. I am thankful to your mother for not erasing the voicemail. I am very thankful for your amazing girlfriend Angie. I gave her a call today because I thought she might be lonely right about now and I was afraid she wouldn’t be able to find one single little thing to be thankful for on this sad day. Perhaps you wanted to have kids one day, or exchange rings and enjoy the little things together but just a day after Saint Valentine’s Angie called crying and said that you simply didn’t wake up. You left quietly in your sleep, just 34 years old.” The coroner said that the death was caused by an enlarged heart, a condition typical for elite athletes and tall people.
Chris Lindley’s heart was too big. Really, Doc! How about telling us something we didn’t already know?
I am thankful for the little things…for Chris leaving this world without pain; for the fact that Wembley Stadium doesn’t have a roof and he can now watch every game from the best seat in the house; for Maggie the dog still waiting for him to come home; for Angie telling me just minutes ago that it doesn’t feel like he has left at all; for his big picture hanging on the wall at 23rd Street Brewery; for the memories; for the tears and the smiles and for those rare, magical moments when the two arrive together. Just like a little awhile ago, my friend, when I ran into your voice and even though death is supposed to be irreversible you somehow managed to convince me that you simply can’t come to the phone right now, but hey, if I am to leave my name and number you will return my call as soon as possible. Well, consider you’ve already done it, buddy, because I know exactly what you would have told me: to be thankful for every little thing that makes me happy because the whole of our lives is held together by the summation of the little things. Sometimes we notice them only after they are gone forever.
Rest in Peace, my dear friend!