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WILKES-BARRE — It doesn’t seem that long ago we were watching him on the mat, twisting, turning and usually pinning his opponent.

On Friday, they buried Tommy Morris.

Old Tom Morris wasn’t that old at all — in fact, he was my age. We went to high school together and then college. We laughed together over the years, marveling at Tommy’s skills as a magician, his dulcet tones as a crooner and his infectious smile and laugh.

Tommy was a successful psychologist — Dr. Thomas Morris, he was called. He made quite a mark in his profession, helping many people over the years.

But that’s not the Tommy Morris I will remember. I will always remember him as a true high school buddy — a kid I wasn’t ever really that close to, but who I liked from the first day I met him and over the years learned to love who he was and the person he became.

In the fall of 1967, we were thrust into the throes of the Wyoming Valley West merger — a consolidation of nine West Side municipalities into one “monster” of a school district. As you might expect, with 692 in our senior class, it was chaotic, to say the least.

We tried to adjust as best we could, but as most senior high school years go, ours — the WVW Class of 1968 — was a blur. We were sitting in classrooms with kids we had never seen before and we really didn’t know how to act. We smiled, we cringed, we suspected, we hoped — we tried. By the time June 6, 1968, (graduation), rolled around, most of us were happy to get the hell out of there and move on to the next level.

There are few things I clearly remember from that senior year, but three people are etched in my mind forever.

First, Robert Shivy. In a class of 692, I would dare to say just about everybody remembers Bob Shivy. He was and still is a remarkable guy. He has a mind like a computer and he will spit out phone numbers, addresses, parents’ names, where-they-are-nows, towns and updates on almost all 692 WVW ‘68 classmates. Shivy never ceases to amaze me and our classmates.

Then there is Richie Pries. I will never forget the assembly we had in the auditorium of the former Kingston High School, now the WVW Middle School. We crammed our 692 selves into the room, sitting with those kids we knew from our hometowns as we waited to see what this assembly was all about.

As we listened to a few of the administrators speak, a few classmates were chosen to take part in the program. Enter Richie Pries.

Out walks this lanky kid from Kingston and he starts to walk across the stage imitating an ostrich. At first we sat there in amazement, but then everybody — and I mean everybody — burst into laughter. It was hysterical. I would venture to say that Richie’s ostrich walk was the single most unifying event for our newly merged class.

From that point on, we seemed to be more willing, even eager, to approach kids from other towns and strike up a conversation. We realized we were all human and we were in this merger thing together.

The third memory I have is of Tommy Morris — the late Tommy Morris. Tommy was a stud athlete. He was one of the best wrestlers WVW has ever seen. He went on to have an outstanding career at Wilkes College. At WVW in 1968, Tommy was very recognizable — a Big Man On Campus type, without the usual accompanying attitude. Tommy was as nice a guy you could ever meet.

One day early on, probably in September, I was walking through the halls when I came upon Tommy. He said hello to me and introduced himself. I knew who he was. We chatted a little bit, trading some stories — about his wrestling and my basketball.

The point is, Tommy wanted to know something about me. I think he also wanted me to know that we were classmates now, no longer rivals from Plymouth and Kingston. We were together, all 692 of us, and we should do all we could to make it work. I think a few days later, I actually asked a girl from Kingston on a date.

Looking back on that conversation, I wish we all could have approached each other the way Tommy Morris approached me. As they played “Sea of Love” in church Friday — Tommy and his wife Felicia’s favorite song — I thought of that first day I met Tommy Morris and of our many conversations over the years.

And I cried because I knew I would never have another conversation with him.

Bill O’Boyle
https://www.timesleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/web1_Oboyle_Bill-2-1-1.jpg.optimal.jpgBill O’Boyle

Tommy Morris
https://www.timesleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/web1_Morris.jpg.optimal.jpgTommy Morris

By Bill O’Boyle

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Reach Bill O’Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle, or email at [email protected].