I googled Bryan’s name recently and learned that he passed away last March, in Washington, D.C. where he’d lived and practiced medicine since 1977. I’m saddened again by the passing of yet another of my friends from RHS, although I can’t recall ever meeting up with him once he left Minnesota after graduating from the UM with John A. Hansen and me in June, 1965.
In fact, I can’t recall ever doing much of anything with Bryan while we were students at RHS. That only came after we were students at the UM and then it was mostly through John Hansen that I became acquainted with him, since both were pre-med students.
He lived with his parents during his early undergraduate years but even when he’d moved on campus (more below) he would frequently throw parties at his parents’ home overlooking the Hiawatha Golf Course on 43rd St. His mother, the redoubtable Marion, was a force to reckon with. Flamboyance doesn’t begin to describe her adequately, with her long, bright metallic blue capes that you could spot a mile away. [And ofttimes that early warning was a good thing, a very good thing for you.] His father practiced occupational medicine in the Twin Cities.
But it was our senior year as undergrads at the UM when our paths crossed each other in, well, various ways. For Bryan and another pre-med student rented the 2nd floor apartment of a dilapidated duplex located on the wild, wild West Bank, somewhere near where the Willey Hall Law School building now sits. And John Hansen myself and yet another pre-med student rented the ground floor apartment of that duplex. This duplex had no basement atall, its floors just sagged on some brick foundation. And its ground floor apartment was heated by one space heater, with the bathroom so far away from it that by the middle of the winter the black plastic molding on the wall right above the bathroom floor would have like 4-6 inches of, well, frosted ice where the water vapor from showers had condensed!
That Bryan and I lived in this dilapidated, sagging duplex our senior year provides a colorful story, which I’ve enjoyed telling people, but never to Bryan himself. In consequence, you only get my version of it.
It was what was then called Study Day of the Spring quarter at the UM, the day with no classes but before final exams began. And it was a pleasant spring day and I’d walked out of this duplex to post a letter in a mailbox down the street. When I did I chanced to see Bryan and his roommate, Dick, each sitting on old wooden chairs and leaning back against the southern wall of the duplex. Both had the same P-chem textbook in their hands and were trying to cramp a few more P-chem formulae into their heads whilst catching a few rays.
Well, Bryan owned a red MGB convertible car, those pretty small little English sports cars, a gift from his dad. And it was parked on the barren ground of the empty lot that was just south of the duplex. He even had the convertible top down at this time, so just as a lark and wanting to burn off a little excess nervous energy I had from my finals studying, I decided I would, again just for the hell of it, run up to Brayan’s red MGB and jump over it. I’ve always been a bit of a jumpin’ fool, as the photo of me on my RHS page jumping over a mailbox in northern WI well illustrates.
Inline Image Not Displayed
I happened to look back at Bryan and Dick after I had easily cleared the MGB and it was clear from their reaction that they both thought that I had been showing off, had thrown down the gauntlet, as they used to say, issued a challenge.
Indeed, they both rose from their chairs and first Dick and then Bryan took a run at the MGB and they both cleared it as well. And I could see from the sneers each was sporting that they thought they’d settled a score, put me in my place, again as they used to say.
So I thought, what the hell, maybe I should give these guys a real lesson in ‘high-long jumping’, as long as I was at it.
For just a little away from Bryan’s 1964 red MGB convertible sat my 1953 Buick Sedan.
Inline Image Not Displayed
Not my car, just a photo off the Web.
And so I decided that I’d try jumping over my car there and try it over the hood, close to the windshield since that ornament at the front looked imposing! Something to stay way the hell clear of.
I took a good running start and easily cleared my 1953 Buick, which a simple AI-assisted google suggest was likely 48-52 inches off the ground and a flat 6 feet wide, including the near and far fenders, which you necessarily would have to clear as well.
And again as I looked back at Bryan and Dick after I had easily cleared my Buick it was clear from their reaction that they both thought that I had been showing off, which this time maybe, just maybe I had been. That I’d thrown down the gauntlet, as they used to say, issued a challenge, which this time maybe, just maybe I had.
Indeed, they both rose again from their chairs. First Dick took a running start at the Buick but a good 15 feet away he veered off and slowed down as he passed by the front of my car.
Maybe because Dick was quite a bit shorter than Bryan, perhaps Bryan thought that he could succeed where Dick had not. For he took off at a good pace and only at the very end did he quickly but wisely decide to abort the jump and wound up with his upper body slammed onto and draped over the hood, with hands extended far over it.
Maybe to just make sure the lesson had been learnt, but maybe because I’ve always been so competitive, I jumped over my Buick two more times, each time clearing it by more than the previous jump.
So I’ve lost another friend from RHS. As I did with the passing of Dick Lindgren, Frank Kleckner, Roger Mahre, Brad Harder, John Hansen, and Chuck Duede. What I have, what I’m left with, are these stories—these wonderfully bright, sparkling stories—that remind me just how lucky I was to have them as friends.
Gestur, thank you for the well written comments on Bryan.
I knew Bryan from grade school on up. My deepest sympathy to his family and friends. He was an itelligent boy and grew to be a doctor of the highest regard. His younger years weren't easy, but he weathered them. He was not only a friend, but a neighbor of two of my best friends. I was therefore included in gatherings I would have otherwise missed.
Gestur Brent Davidson
I googled Bryan’s name recently and learned that he passed away last March, in Washington, D.C. where he’d lived and practiced medicine since 1977. I’m saddened again by the passing of yet another of my friends from RHS, although I can’t recall ever meeting up with him once he left Minnesota after graduating from the UM with John A. Hansen and me in June, 1965.
In fact, I can’t recall ever doing much of anything with Bryan while we were students at RHS. That only came after we were students at the UM and then it was mostly through John Hansen that I became acquainted with him, since both were pre-med students.
He lived with his parents during his early undergraduate years but even when he’d moved on campus (more below) he would frequently throw parties at his parents’ home overlooking the Hiawatha Golf Course on 43rd St. His mother, the redoubtable Marion, was a force to reckon with. Flamboyance doesn’t begin to describe her adequately, with her long, bright metallic blue capes that you could spot a mile away. [And ofttimes that early warning was a good thing, a very good thing for you.] His father practiced occupational medicine in the Twin Cities.
But it was our senior year as undergrads at the UM when our paths crossed each other in, well, various ways. For Bryan and another pre-med student rented the 2nd floor apartment of a dilapidated duplex located on the wild, wild West Bank, somewhere near where the Willey Hall Law School building now sits. And John Hansen myself and yet another pre-med student rented the ground floor apartment of that duplex. This duplex had no basement atall, its floors just sagged on some brick foundation. And its ground floor apartment was heated by one space heater, with the bathroom so far away from it that by the middle of the winter the black plastic molding on the wall right above the bathroom floor would have like 4-6 inches of, well, frosted ice where the water vapor from showers had condensed!
That Bryan and I lived in this dilapidated, sagging duplex our senior year provides a colorful story, which I’ve enjoyed telling people, but never to Bryan himself. In consequence, you only get my version of it.
It was what was then called Study Day of the Spring quarter at the UM, the day with no classes but before final exams began. And it was a pleasant spring day and I’d walked out of this duplex to post a letter in a mailbox down the street. When I did I chanced to see Bryan and his roommate, Dick, each sitting on old wooden chairs and leaning back against the southern wall of the duplex. Both had the same P-chem textbook in their hands and were trying to cramp a few more P-chem formulae into their heads whilst catching a few rays.
Well, Bryan owned a red MGB convertible car, those pretty small little English sports cars, a gift from his dad. And it was parked on the barren ground of the empty lot that was just south of the duplex. He even had the convertible top down at this time, so just as a lark and wanting to burn off a little excess nervous energy I had from my finals studying, I decided I would, again just for the hell of it, run up to Brayan’s red MGB and jump over it. I’ve always been a bit of a jumpin’ fool, as the photo of me on my RHS page jumping over a mailbox in northern WI well illustrates.
Inline Image Not Displayed
I happened to look back at Bryan and Dick after I had easily cleared the MGB and it was clear from their reaction that they both thought that I had been showing off, had thrown down the gauntlet, as they used to say, issued a challenge.
Indeed, they both rose from their chairs and first Dick and then Bryan took a run at the MGB and they both cleared it as well. And I could see from the sneers each was sporting that they thought they’d settled a score, put me in my place, again as they used to say.
So I thought, what the hell, maybe I should give these guys a real lesson in ‘high-long jumping’, as long as I was at it.
For just a little away from Bryan’s 1964 red MGB convertible sat my 1953 Buick Sedan.
Inline Image Not Displayed
Not my car, just a photo off the Web.
And so I decided that I’d try jumping over my car there and try it over the hood, close to the windshield since that ornament at the front looked imposing! Something to stay way the hell clear of.
I took a good running start and easily cleared my 1953 Buick, which a simple AI-assisted google suggest was likely 48-52 inches off the ground and a flat 6 feet wide, including the near and far fenders, which you necessarily would have to clear as well.
And again as I looked back at Bryan and Dick after I had easily cleared my Buick it was clear from their reaction that they both thought that I had been showing off, which this time maybe, just maybe I had been. That I’d thrown down the gauntlet, as they used to say, issued a challenge, which this time maybe, just maybe I had.
Indeed, they both rose again from their chairs. First Dick took a running start at the Buick but a good 15 feet away he veered off and slowed down as he passed by the front of my car.
Maybe because Dick was quite a bit shorter than Bryan, perhaps Bryan thought that he could succeed where Dick had not. For he took off at a good pace and only at the very end did he quickly but wisely decide to abort the jump and wound up with his upper body slammed onto and draped over the hood, with hands extended far over it.
Maybe to just make sure the lesson had been learnt, but maybe because I’ve always been so competitive, I jumped over my Buick two more times, each time clearing it by more than the previous jump.
So I’ve lost another friend from RHS. As I did with the passing of Dick Lindgren, Frank Kleckner, Roger Mahre, Brad Harder, John Hansen, and Chuck Duede. What I have, what I’m left with, are these stories—these wonderfully bright, sparkling stories—that remind me just how lucky I was to have them as friends.
His obituary can be found here:
https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/washingtonpost/name/bryan-arling-obituary?id=57955822
Linda Akerson (Towne)
Gestur, thank you for the well written comments on Bryan.
I knew Bryan from grade school on up. My deepest sympathy to his family and friends. He was an itelligent boy and grew to be a doctor of the highest regard. His younger years weren't easy, but he weathered them. He was not only a friend, but a neighbor of two of my best friends. I was therefore included in gatherings I would have otherwise missed.
Rest in piece Bryan, no longer feeling "pushed".
Linda Akerson Towne