Steve Woodward
Dear Rebecca, Susan and Sandi and families,
My mother, Mary Woodward, called me this morning with the sad news of David's passing. She had received word from lifelong friend Mrs. Jo Good.
David was one of my closest childhood friends; in fact, he was certainly the only childhood friend of mine who transcended the passing of time from grade school, to junior high to high school.
Our paths crossed, I would guess, around age 10 (we are separated in age by a mere two months), at Cherrydale Baptist Church. My parents, Ken and Mary Woodward, had attended Cherrydale for quite a number of years by then, and, like so many in the congregation, had become friends with the children of Pastor Al Jackson, including David's mother.
David and I did not live in the same town or county, so we never actually were classmates outside of Sunday School classes. But we were always pals. I can remember many occasions when I was invited for a "sleep-over" at the Morris home in Arlington, joining the family for dinner and watching TV afterward. There were no video games or iPhones to provide distractions from family time.
And I can vividly remember David's father, Leon, driving us on Saturday mornings to a church activity in his Dodge sedan, usually while wearing a plain, white tee shirt. David's father was a man of few words. We did all of the talking in the car.
David and I attended Cherrydale's vacation bible schools and summer camps together for a number of years, and we shared in common an interest in the fortunes of the Washington Redskins football team, as did David's grandfather, Pastor Jackson.
We followed all kinds of sports. I am fairly certain that David was with me when we attended a Washington Bullets basketball game in the late 1970s, during which my pants caught a sharp edge protruding from a barrier in the arena, the now-demolished Capital Centre. The edge ripped open my pants down one leg. Luckily, I think I had a coat to use as a cover-up!
Time marched along. We fell out of touch during our college years and as we entered adulthood. There was no Facebook or Twitter or email to keep keep lines of communication open.
My last recollection of seeing and chatting with David was in March 1996, more than 20 years ago, when my sister and I threw a surprise party to celebrate our parents' 40th wedding anniversary. We gathered everyone in a ballroom at the Lansdowne resort near Leesburg. Many old Cherrydale friends celebrated with us that evening. Some, sadly, likely for the last time.
Though our adult lives drew us in different directions, David Morris always will live in my memory as one of my dearest friends, and I hope we will meet again in the sweet by and by, on that beautiful shore.
With a heavy heart,
Steve Woodward
