A friend is like a star that twinkles and glows
Or maybe like the ocean that gently flows
A friend is like gold that you should treasure
A friend is someone you can trust

                                       -      - Ashley Campbell

Monongah High alumni history is inundated with lifelong friendships.

The one between Bob Kasper and John Olesky is one of them.

It began when we first saw each other in first grade at Sts. Peter and Paul Catholic School in Monongah. We were allies against the nuns, intimidating in their habits and attitude.

It continued through Monongah High, and our teenage shenanigans that included the police and the Fairmont Field Club swimming pool at 3 a.m., skinnydipping in the river with stolen watermelons and roaming all over Marion County during the summer with The Gang That Terrorized Marion County, a misleading moniker. We were mischievous; never mean.

During those days, Bob was known as “Satch,” because he always wore a cap, just like the character played by Huntz Hall. We didn’t notice that Huntz’ character was Sach, without a “t,” because spelling wasn’t important when you were handling out nicknames like Bruno, Judge, Jake and Satch to The Gang.

It was still there in college when we were teammates on the Fairmont State golf team, and even after I transferred to WVU while Bob stayed at Fairmont State with Lawrence “Sonny” Godby as both of them eyed a career as Navy air pilots.

Sonny passed his physical; Bob’s partial dental plate didn’t. So Bob went in the Army to Germany and Sonny went to Vietnam as a Marine pilot, serving two tours of duty and retiring as a lieutenant colonel before he passed away.

By 1955, I was a sports writer at the Charleston Daily Mail. Bob was an apprentice in a Ford Motor program in Detroit. Bob/Satch mailed a Christmas about “old times, old friends” and it struck a chord. I mailed Bob/Satch a less striking one about friendship. We added the year and the names of family members each year. Like old-time family Bibles, it became a record of marriages, births, deaths.

Those two cards still switch homes in Michigan and Ohio today, 61 years later.

We wept together when my wife, Monnie, passed away and when Bob’s wife, Pat, passed away.

I had a 43-year career as a newspaper editor. Bob went from apprentice to sitting at the bargaining table for Ford Motor across from United Auto Workers negotiators.

We had reunions when both of us vacationed in Florida with our wives. 

Each summer I visited Bob’s summer home on the shores of Grand Lake in Michigan. We play golf and re-live our Monongah High days, talk about our grandchildren and children.

Every autumn Bob visits Tallmadge, Ohio, where Paula and I live. We play golf and re-live our Monongah High days, talk about our grandchildren and children and go to a WVU game in Mountaineer Field together.

Last Saturday, Bob and I wore out our lungs and bodies cheering my alma mater to a come-from-behind, 17-16 victory over Kansas State. WVU trailed the entire game, but Bob and I joined 61,700 fans – the largest in two decades, and the loudest – in the excitement of the thrilling victory.

One year, one of us won’t receive that Christmas card. Till then, we’ll enjoy old times, old friends.