Loud, Brash and a Shot of Jack

A few years ago my friend, Rainey (“Jimmy”) Crawford, died suddenly at the age of 41. He had an asthma attack in his front yard, following the best round of golf that he’d ever played in his life.

It’s always jarring when someone dies suddenly – especially a young person. However, Rainey’s death impacted me greatly for reasons beyond this one.

Rainey and I went to Morehouse together. But we weren’t friends then. We didn’t know one another well. In fact, I’d generally avoided him. He was a brash, loud, drinkin’, smokin’, partying, pretty boy. Smooth-talking and well-dressed with a winning smile to top it all off; from afar, whatever Rainey wanted seemed to come easily to him. As I describe him, I realize that he may have been the prototypical Morehouse Man. However, while I was far from squeaky clean myself, I was much more low-key (usually) – so I generally kept my distance.

Things changed as I approached graduation from college. I was being recruited by Monsanto Company in St. Louis, where Rainey was already working. He called to encourage me to take the job, help me negotiate my salary and sell me on his hometown. When I made the move, he welcomed me enthusiastically. In the days before cell phones were commonplace, I don’t think that I was in town for more than two hours before Rainey showed up at my apartment and dragged me downtown to meet some colleagues from work. That was followed immediately by an introduction to the night clubs in East St. Louis, where some drinkin’ and partying suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

In the coming months, Rainey showed me around town and the office, introduced me to his friends, encouraged me to learn to play golf and took me to share meals at his parents’ home on several occasions. Oh, and we did plenty more drinkin’ and partying.

While my boys from college never quite understood where this new addition to the crew had come from, this aggressive and rowdy guy had shown me a driven, competitive, smart, family-focused, hospitable, even reliable side of his personality. I was learning that “brash” could be synonymous with “enthusiastic” and that “smooth-talking” matched closely with “charismatic.” Even the smokin’ and partying translated closely to a Love of Life!

One late night (or was it early morning), Rainey decided to crash on my couch rather than risk an unsafe drive across town. Before the sun came up I was awakened to the sound of gasping and coughing. As I stumbled into the next room it became clear that Rainey was trying to tell me something and was having trouble breathing. He told me to call his father. Mr. Crawford told me to get his son to a hospital immediately. Fortunately there was a hospital a few blocks away, so I helped Rainey to the car and sped off to the emergency room and an hour later he was breathing normally.

While quite frightening for both of us, there’s nothing like a near death experience to bond a friendship.

When I left St. Louis we remained in touch. I remember how honored he was to be asked to be in my wedding and that he gave us our very favorite wedding present – a Sega Genesis game system. (He always killed me in Madden football – loud talking me the whole time!) Rainey had become someone with whom I could share confidences and unfiltered dreams without fear of condemnation or ridicule – probably because he seemed to have no secrets of his own and his schemes for making money were usually as raw as my own. I admired his entrepreneurial spirit and spent countless hours with him discussing his next great idea or mine.

I remember taking my parents to visit the business that he started in Atlanta with his partner E-Mo – the storied Frozen Paradise on Old National Highway. I couldn’t have been more proud of this accomplishment and wanted to duplicate it myself one day.

Several years later, when I had finished business school and changed jobs a couple more times, I was doing well at Bank of America when a new opportunity came along to work in the Clinton Administration as a White House Fellow. I had worked hard for the privilege and was excited about the change. Generally encouraging, Rainey’s emphatic reaction was, “Why do you want to leave the VAULT?! We’re just starting to get somewhere, baby! We need you at the VAULT!” I took no offense at this point of view. Rainey was someone who would tell you what he was thinking in the moment, and then give it further consideration over time. My response was, “It’s good talking to you, man. I gotta hop.”

Nearly a year later, Rainey called me to talk about buying a bridge in Illinois somewhere. Literally. A few weeks earlier we had had a disagreement on a Florida golf course, so I was not in a receptive mood, and I was running late for a meeting in the west wing of the White House. Furthermore, this was a deal that we had discussed several times previously. It never made any sense to me. How does one purchase a municipal bridge? There was no description, no data and no timeline – only talk. After listening impatiently for a few minutes I said, “Man I can’t believe I’m listening to this. I gotta go. Peace.”

That was the last time that I spoke to my friend.

Eight years after that conversation I got a call informing me that he had passed. I was already traveling and changed my plans to make the trip to St. Louis. I was shocked, saddened and … apprehensive.

Once off the plane, I bumped into Gary Clayton, another Morehouse friend, in town for the services. I think we rented a car and rode together straight to the funeral home. While I’m sure that Gary and I chatted on the way, my mind was adrift with many questions: How could I have let so much time go by without attempting to repair the rift? Had I been a good friend? How would his family feel that I had been out of touch for so long?

I saw several old friends and mentors on that trip. His family welcomed me warmly. But there was, of course, no joy. One such friend, Sherri Brown, greeted me with “I knew you’d be here! Jimmy was so proud of you. Iron sharpens iron, and you guys sure went at it, but he pushed you and you pushed him. It’s great that you are here.” Her comments alone nearly brought me to tears. It was a very quiet and reflective trip.

Just ahead of my own 40th birthday, I was, for the first time, jolted into facing my own mortality. But more than that, Sherri’s comments made me ask myself an unexpected question: “What would Jimmy be pushing me about today?”

I recall being upgraded to first class as I boarded the plane back to Atlanta and struck by the brightness of the sun on that Saturday afternoon as the plane taxied away from the gate. I looked out from a window seat and tried to answer that question. It was time to make Red Clay Capital something more than a website and get focused on getting a deal done. It was also time to pick the golf clubs up again. So for my 40th birthday my brother, my father and I spent a few days at Doral in Miami. Rainey would have approved of these moves.

I’ve also made it a point to work a little harder and play a little harder, to listen more carefully to the dreams of others, to emphasize celebrating the big and little things with my family and friends… and to be a little louder and a little brasher.

The night before the funeral E-Mo reminded us that Jimmy would joke about death from time-to-time, saying that he didn’t want any tears shed when he died. He just wanted us all to have a shot of Jack and keep it movin’. That night we honored his request.

I think that I’ll pour myself another tonight. Here’s to a Love of Life. Thanks Rainey! Iron sharpens iron.