His last fight with pneumonia forced him in and out of hospitals, having the ironic benefit that we enjoyed considerable time together, talking about life, sports, and the like. Many of you who have lived in town longer than I no doubt remember him from his bowling alley or as energetic referee and umpire.

Don regaled me with tales of joyous encounters with athletes, young and old. More than once, a nurse or other health practitioner remembered him from some sporting event of their youth, and they would share laughs and fond memories.

I came to know Don through my wife, Kim, whom he loved. My son and his granddaughter are close friends, as are Kim and his daughters. He videotaped my cable show, at Kim’s behest, and would tell me jokingly that he didn’t understand half of it.

My time in Hays has been some of the most challenging of my life, much of it chronicled in the local press. My real challenge, though, has been private, a decided lack of true friendship outside school. Some of the debaters I coached will be lifelong friends, whose relationships I cherish.

I was close to a few students and friendly with several of the faculty, but never really connected with anyone else. I understand completely that baring my soul to a local audience, many of whom despise me with vehemence that I still cannot fathom, is risky business. So be it.

I write for my friend Don. And I suppose, for myself.

Grief can be overwhelming, engulfing us in sea of conflicting emotions that will devour us if we let it. For me, Don Smith was redemptive. He helped redeem Hays for me, and he helped me redeem a little bit of myself that I was losing.

Don was the sort of person I envisioned populated this part of the country, full of wisdom and indomitable spirit forged in the experiences of living life hard. His unyielding compassion and good will were not superficial affect feigned so as not to offend, but deeply felt ethical principles.

He humbled me daily with his capacity for empathy, his refusal to give in to his struggles, and his constant wit and good humor, even when he could hardly breathe. He treated every person who walked into his hospital room with grace and graciousness.

I also came to understand that Hays and the surrounding communities were likely populated with similar individuals, proud and strong people I will never know. As I said, Don redeemed Hays for me, and nothing written by my nemeses will disabuse me of this belief.

During the various cavalcades of hate mail directed at me in various media, Don always had my back. He threatened to call some of the very worst offenders, but his kindly disposition disallowed it. He never let me say anything bad about myself, even in the worst of my self-doubt.

Don is also a cautionary tale. He regretted every moment of his self-inflicted illnesses. He rued the day he started smoking, lamenting his inability to refuse the intense peer pressure of his youth and desperately hoping that his fate could send a message to others considering a similarly perilous choice.

Earlier in his most recent battle for life, Don responded well to a very expensive drug that was not indicated for his condition. The turnaround was amazing. His insurance company decided the medicine was too expensive and his condition deteriorated further.

We have an opportunity during the current administration to do something about our broken, avaricious healthcare system that places profit above life. We have a duty to honor the memories of our loved ones who needlessly left this world by shaking our pathological faith in free market medicine.

My heart goes out to Don’s family during these terrible times. They have lost a father, a grandfather, a brother-in-law, a father-in-law, who made a difference in their lives every day. I do not believe we are given only what we can handle, but I do believe in them and know they will persevere.

You made me a better person, Don, and I thank you. I will miss you deeply and honor you always. I love you, my friend.