His full name was Charles Frederick Lindsay. To everyone that knew him, he was simply “Charlie.”

 

Understand fully that Charlie wasn’t just a nickname or the abbreviated version of his formal name. It was a single word that let everyone know who you were talking about; much like Prince, or Michael or Cher.

 

Granted, his circle wasn’t nearly as large as those mentioned above. The cash dollar value he had to his name wasn’t nearly the same. Yet he could top any of those individuals and so many others in the most important of areas. The impact he had on those who were blessed to have encountered him was not only the same, but arguably much larger.

 

To this day, I don’t know if I’ve ever encountered or been friends with an individual as unique as Charlie. It was a good unique; a unique kind of unique. And it drew people to him like moths to a flame. His social circle and those he called friends were in the thousands and despite what Prince, Michael and Cher could show on their W-2, the wealth of friends Charlie Lindsey had put him in a much higher income bracket.

 

Understand, this blog isn’t so much about Bridgeport, myself or in ways, even about Charlie. It’s a lesson in how you own who you are, be proud of all that you encompass and in the process change the world by making your portion of it better. Charlie just did that last part better than anyone else.

 

I was, and will always be, honored to say I was a friend of Charlie Lindsay. And part of what made that friendship unique for me was that today, at 47, I revered a man who was 89 years of age when he passed away earlier this week. He was 42 years my senior, he graduated in 1946 from Roosevelt-Wilson and was a classmate of another good friend of mine that you may know – Wayne “Smiley” Jamison.

 

It was Charlie that let me know that Jamison was quite the accomplished musician as a student. In fact, Charlie said he never saw a better drummer back in the day than his friend Wayne.

 

To understand Charlie’s impact is to understand who he was – what he was. Prior to my first year of high school, my brother Tim – who was a year ahead of me in school – briefed me on all the teachers I needed to watch out for, what to do in certain situations and threw in that I needed to let him introduce me to Charlie.

 

“Who’s Charlie?”

 

I would find out. Charlie was the custodian at Liberty High School and a retired firefighter. That was his official job title back in 1983 when I met him. He was also the unofficial all-time school mascot, counselor to students and staff alike, prankster, and as mentioned already a friend to all.

 

Shortly after arriving, I became part of the Charlie Lindsay group. It was sort of like a cult without any of that oddity baggage that comes with most. Charlie had just a few things you needed to understand to be in his group; once you were a friend you were a friend for life and if he had something to say, he would tell you. And the one thing I noted as much as anything is that if you were in his presence then you respected women – period.

 

There was nothing that could upset Charlie outside of someone doing something or saying something disrespectful to a female. Perhaps that was due to the love he had for his late wife Maxine, who passed away my sophomore year and the love he had for his daughter Patricia Kinkade, whom he referred to as “Patty.”

Any long conversation with Charlie – and most were – would eventually include a mention of his late wife and the pride he had for his daughter. It didn’t matter if you were a youngster or his own age, you knew how much he loved those two. In fact, the only thing I can possibly imagine delaying Charlie Lindsay’s entrance into Heaven is that he had to let Saint Peter know about his wife and his daughter and just a few seconds simply wouldn’t cut it.

 

Charlie was as much a part of my high school days as my best friends. In many ways, I kind of wish he would have walked across the stage with myself and my classmates on graduation day. The fondness for Charlie, who seemed to be everywhere during those three years, was deep.

 

Ask Dave Marshall. Ask Randy Spellman. Ask Doug Sprouse. Ask Amelia Reep. Ask Mike Carey. Ask anyone that crossed his path. They’ll tell you the same during their time at Liberty.

 

The beauty with Charlie is that when you left Liberty, you didn’t leave the grace of his friendship.

 

For me, after graduation, I began what is my current career in journalism at the Exponent Telegram. Charlie just happened to be friends with a Liberty teacher, the late Jim Mearns. Jim Mearns, as many of you may recall, was also the long-time sports editor at the newspaper who covered West Virginia University. Through Mr. Mearns, Charlie got credentialed and served as Jim Mearns’ assistant in Morgantown – gathering quotes, getting statistics and doing anything else that was needed.

 

Part of my early job duties would be to drive Charlie and Jim, along with the late photographer Edwin Propst, to games in Morgantown. My duty was to get them there on time and get out of there on time.

 

The trips were priceless. Mr. Mearns would often sleep on the way up and back. Ed Propst would complain jokingly about my driving or anything just to get everyone wound up. And Charlie, well, he talked from the time we got into the car until we got out and did the same homebound.

 

Over the course of the next few years from the late 1980s and into the early 1990s, I watched Charlie at those games. He literally became the most popular and well-known person in the entire press box. Whether it was the late Jack Fleming and Charlie talking or the student intern handing out the old Xeroxed statistics at that time, they all knew Charlie and he knew them.

 

Not surprisingly, Charlie Lindsay was suddenly king of the WVU press box. Eventually, that same kingdom extended into the Coliseum whether it was men’s or women’s basketball or even gymnastics. Don Nehlen, Gale Catlett, Mike Carey (who was a prep student during Charlie’s Liberty time and later a LHS coach) and so many others called out Charlie by name. For Heaven’s sake, he actually traveled with the gymnastics team.

 

Before his friend Jim Mearns passed away and even for years after that, Charlie Lindsay was granted full access – usually with a media pass – to any and all sporting events he pleased at West Virginia University. Someone please tell men how many folks they know outside of a major booster with millions of dollars can say that?

 

Charlie was also a travel partner for me in my younger day. He loved to watch Mike Carey’s Salem basketball teams and when I went on the road, he would go with me. Whether it was Davis & Elkins, Glenville State or even the local gymnasium at Salem, Charlie’s arrival was a small scale version of the Pope showing up. Someone, even at remote outposts not only knew him, but greeted him like a soldier returning home from war.

 

It was always like that. It was like that when I met him, and it continued on for decades later. I remember him showing up for a gathering the night before my 20 year class reunion. I called Charlie to let him know we would be meeting at the Red Caboose. Charlie was a little frail at this point so I had my doubts he would make an appearance, but he showed up. And he stole the evening in the best way possible.

 

The gang was together again. Because Charlie was there, the entire gang was together.

 

I still remember my last lengthy conversation I had with Charlie. It was, I believe, in June of 2013. He had suffered a stroke and was at United Hospital Center. When I arrived to visit, I went to the nurse’s station to make sure he was awake. They assured me he was, but that his daughter would be out for a while and they let me know he may not remember me.

 

He did. I pulled up a chair and we picked up where we left off. He talked. I talked. For someone that had a severe stroke, he knew plenty and wanted to know plenty.

 

For whatever time I was there, all was right in the world. As I left, Charlie looked deep into my eyes and thanked me for the visit and I told him I loved him. He told me he loved me too and he hugged me – and wept. I went out in the hall and wept too.

 

Although he lived three more years, Charlie may have known the remainder of his life was going to be much different than the one that saw him travel and go places and be treated like the rock star he was. Much of that new life I know would be okay with him because he would be spending it either with his daughter or with her making sure he was okay. He was in good hands.

 

My friend and a friend to so many, Charlie Lindsay, will be laid to rest today. And he pulled off a pretty unique trick. You see, Charlie’s soul was completed by the friendships he made and the lives he impacted. Those friendships were his greatest worldly possessions, and they were massive.

 

When his soul left this earth, the wealthiest man I've ever known – a retired Clarksburg fire fighter and a retired Custodian from Liberty High School – did what they say can’t be done. He took that wealth and his greatest worldly possessions with him.

 

Enjoy eternity my friend. You have all the time you need to share that wealth.

 

Click HERE to read his obituary.

 

Editor's Note: Top picture is of Charlie Lindsay. Second  photo shows Charlie, center, in the 1980s' at the senior prom for then Liberty High School senior and current Bridgeport resident Rose Audia Rossana with her boyfriend at the time who is her husband today Doug. In third photo, Charlie gets a graduate kiss from one of his kids, while he's shown talking with a young Mike Carey inside Liberty's cafeteria during the 1986-87 school year.