I don't want to paint it black There's a black ribbon in the middle of one of Ben's fraternity's composites. It's one of the older ones from the early '90's, and the ribbon covers the coat of arms. There's a smaller black ribbon on one of the brothers' head shots slightly to the right of the big ribbon. Jon Zemke St. Michael Speaking It's in the fraternity's brotherhood room above the leather couches on the gray walls across the room from the pool table. "What's with the black ribbon on your composite?" I asked him, before I shot the break. "I wasn't quite sure until a few days ago," Ben said. "I thought a few of the brothers had accidentally broken the glass and the ribbon was tape to protect the composite. Then I looked a little closer and asked around. It means a brother died. The little ribbon on the individual photo signifies which one." "Did you know him?" "No ... He was in and out of the house well before I graduated from high school. He looks a lot like any of the other brothers in most of the other composites, wearing a black sports coat and red tie with dark short hair." "I guess by the year he would be 28 or 29 now. I wonder how he died? Did he have a wife and kids?" "His wife is expecting and his house is on a lake next to his marina. A month ago his dog fell through the ice so he slid out on his belly to save it. The police arrived too late to save him from drowning. The older brothers who knew him put the ribbons up. I didn't know the guy. I really have no idea what kind of a brother he was, but I still feel bad that he died so young." "It really isn't expected of you. I mean he graduated about the same time you were a freshmen in high school." "Yeah, I know. But during college I've seen six friends face death, and only one has looked back," Ben said, shooting the two ball hard into the corner pocket. "Six? Aren't you being a little melodramatic?" "Yeah, please stop me when it sounds like I'm telling war stories. But in four years, five friends have died, and one has come closer than he would have liked." "Damn, six is a lot. Well - let's say most people have had a friend pass away before they reach the legal drinking age, but six? How well did you know these people?" "I remember Chris Giacherio a week or two before he died at a house party. He was tall and lanky like any other male Pioneer graduate, but he had those long sideburns that went all the way to his shaven chin. We laughed and compared beer bellies that night. The last time I saw him he was walking a few girls home down Sylvan Street early in that morning. His funeral was so crowded you couldn't see the walls because they were lined with his friends." "Sorry, man..." "I met Courtney Cantor once, but everybody else I was living with in my fraternity house knew her well. There were rooms filled with brothers, quiet, staring in disbelief or shock. Some cried and some were just mad and frustrated. They couldn't believe it." "All right. You don't have to do this, you know." "It feels better to talk about it. The end of my freshman year a friend of mine at Michigan State, someone I played football and basketball with who I always looked up to, took his own life. There wasn't any visible reason or a funeral. I remember being very upset with the world that week. A month later a friend of mine from elementary school I hadn't seen in years hung himself. We used to play football and basketball during recess. We hated each other in fourth grade and were best friends in fifth. His family had a private funeral." "Who was the fifth?" "Leta lost out to leukemia just before her junior year in college. She was one of those kids labeled a freak in high school, because she dyed her hair orange and was a little different. She was a great writer - a result of working on her writing every day. I read her obituary and talked a few friends into driving me to the funeral. When I got there it was empty. It turned out I misread the article. Her funeral was a day earlier." "So, Ben ... who was the sixth?" "Corey. Corey is the best news I've had in a while. He's one of the finest brothers in our house. He helped save our fraternity when we were close to losing our charter by bringing in a phenomenal pledge class. "So what happened to him?" "This fall he was diagnosed with testicular cancer. He faced it like a man though. He didn't cry, bitch or blame the rest of the world. He beat it. He had a job to do and he did it. The strange thing was, the tall kid with the curly black hair and glasses from Jersey, who didn't know what a crescent wrench was when I helped him move in last year, was already one of the best brothers in the house. His struggle only confirmed what everybody already knew. He's more than a brother in our bond. He's still, and will always remain, one of my good friends." "Where's his picture?" "Over there on last year's composite, top row, center, right next to the president's picture. It's the one without the black ribbon." -E-mail Jon Zemke at jzemke@ umich.edu. All comers welcome. Originally on page 10B in the 1-27-2000 issue of the Daily.