I remember the first time I met Delmar Crim. I was walking quickly to the library. I noticed I was advancing on a man of short stature, with a light blue shirt and white hair. I don’t like to pass people on the street, so I tried to slow down, but in the same fateful moment, he too decreased his pace. He sensed my presence and glanced jerkily over his shoulder once, twice. Glance. Glance. Finally, he turned. He asked if I was a freshman. I asked if he was a professor. He said “No. I’m Delmar,” and revealed his Bon Appetit post. I told him my name, and together we lamented the poor quality of that morning’s brunch. He said that he and his staff were working on improvements, and I replied: “Oh, good! I’m glad to hear you guys are… are…” I couldn’t think of the word. I stood there, stammering for a moment, until he quietly offered “Reacting?” I nearly wept for joy. “Reacting! Yes, that’s exactly the word I was looking for!” We shared a smile, said our goodbyes, and he rushed off ahead.

Later, I found myself wondering. How did he know exactly which word I was going to use? He had finished my sentence perfectly. If given another two seconds, I probably would have given up on my missing word, and settled for “I’m glad to hear you guys are… uh… fixing things.” But…reacting! That truly conveyed my feelings. And somehow Delmar Crim knew this. He threw me the word “reacting” the way he would throw a drowning person a life preserver. No… Delmar Crim wouldn’t only throw a life preserver. He would throw himself into a stormy, shark-ridden ocean and personally swim the drowning person to safety. I’m sure of it. Delmar Crim is the type of guy who would hold the door open for me, or fashion a makeshift splint for my pet bird’s broken leg out of an old protractor.

If Delmar Crim and I ever spent some time together, he wouldn’t bring me to the Marketplace for some half-assed cucumber maki. We would go to a real Japanese restaurant, with real sushi. I would try to order something reasonably priced, but he would insist on buying me the teriyaki lobster. And then after, we would play Star Fox ’64 together in my living room, and he would do all the voices (except Slippy Toad… I always do Slippy Toad). Before he leaves, he would give me his cell phone number, and the next day, when I call it, he doesn’t pick up, but he has a really cute message, or at least I think so. It’s not the kind of thing you can really appreciate unless you know the kind of person he is. The message isn’t particularly funny, but the way he says “I’ll call you back as soon as I get this, is that okay?” is just so endearing. Someday, if you ever get to know Delmar Crim the way I wish I could get to know Delmar Crim, you’ll know exactly what I mean.