The Spider by Jack Chavoor Every minute counts, you know? October 1978 We were in a parking lot, maybe at church. I was surprised to see him. It wasn t that Dick didn t go to United Church; among his peers, Dick Agbabian was United Armenian Congregational Church. Dick was funny, spiritual, athletic, engaging, and a talented actor. He was four years younger than I. We were quite similar in a lot of ways except he was better at everything. For example, I played football; Dick played football, baseball and basketball, and had a room full of trophies. Later, when I was at Azusa Pacific College for a year, I made the English professor wish they had a drama department when I read the part of Caliban, the drunk monster in The Tempest, in class. When Dick got to Azusa, he starred in Our Town, and a few others. He was more manic, more quick-witted, more everything. I loved him. Talking to him joking around or serious you could feel the positive energy flying around. Hey man, how d Notre Dame do last week? They beat Michigan State. That Montana is all right. All right? Are you nuts? You ve lost it, Chavoor.
Yeah, ok. He s pretty good. Try great. How about Dallas? What s up with them? Five and two. And don t say Staubach s just pretty good. Ok. They re not going back to the Superbowl though. Who s going? The Vikings of course. Those geriatric dudes? They got one more in em. You re nuts, man. But we gotta be serious for a second. I m serious. They can No man. I mean, like, I m going under the knife. What? What for? It s no big, he said, pointing at his neck. But I wouldn t look at his neck. Didn t want to see that small lump on his neck. Uh-huh. Simple procedure. Simple procedure? They re just gonna take it off, he said, smiling and shrugging.
But they re gonna, you know, put me out. So, shoot a prayer to the Big Guy. You got it. Yeah, so. Yeah, man, I will. I wondered if he wanted me to pray with him right there but I m not good at raising the issue although I will pray if asked. We were quiet for a while. It s like this, man, Dick said staring off to his left. I was driving home one day on the 405, whizzing along, there. I saw this spider. A spider? Yeah, man. It was like hanging off the rear view mirror. He laughed, his warm, lovable, drawing you in laugh. Like a politician, but a sincere, honest, real one. I joined in with him. Wait now, a spider was hanging out in your car? Yeah, and I m like, wow. What the heck? I m looking at it, ok?
I m like this spider's gotta go. So I m reaching for it? Ok. Got one hand on the wheel and the other reaching for the spider. I was like so focused on the spider I forgot I was driving the car. What? Just for a second. Crazy. Almost bought it. Come on. Really. Almost crashed the car. Dang. And all the rest of the way I m thinking. I almost bought it over a stupid spider. Wow. Yeah. It s like that time, I said. What time? We were playing football and me, Fred and Johnny were blocking for you. You telling a football story? You re off your rocker, Chavoor. When was this? When we used to play at Braille Park.
You stepped back in the pocket and kept waiting and waiting. So? You almost got clobbered. You threw the ball away.then John said what were you doing? And you go I was watching you guys block. It was like art or something. Hah. But it s like you re looking at something and then. Yeah. Almost got taken down. Yeah. Pretty bad, man. Yeah, no kidding. Makes me think, you know? Really. We were quiet. Every minute counts, you know? Dick said softy. Yeah man, I know. I know you do, Bro. I m gonna pray, don t worry. Everything s cool. All right. Take care.
I wanted to hug him but we did some kind of soul hand shake he had made up instead. It s been 32 years now. I don t know if I ll get this part straight, except for the outcome. The story was set and reset, told and retold, corrected and re-corrected so many times after the first day, week, month and year. Here s how it has been sitting in my head for all these years: Dick went into the hospital for a procedure that could have been done in a doctor s office with a local anesthesia. But he went to a hospital and they put him out and he had a cardiac arrest while he was out and the anesthesiologist was not there. He was outside the OR on the phone, consulting with his attorney about his pending divorce. Time was lost; damage was done. That s the blend of reports that we were getting at the time. Dick didn t wake up when he was supposed to and didn t for hours, maybe days, and when he did wake up, Dick Agbabian as we all knew him was gone. There was a lawsuit and we heard that the anesthesiologist skipped the country. With the money from the settlement, Dick got the care that he needed. For thirty years someone has fed him and taken care of all his other immediate needs. Some people who visit him say they feel that he responds to their words or touch by moving his head or by some other means, the eyes maybe or a noise. That wasn t my impression when I went to visit him. I told him how the Fightin Irish were doing, and the Cowboys and I tried to make conversation. But teachers know when someone is listening and when they re not, and we even know when someone is there but not there at all. The song from Tommy would not leave my head. Tommy can you hear me? Can you feel me near you? Tommy can you see me? Can I help to cheer you? I felt idiotic and foolish. The pain and loss his mother and sister were experiencing and the horror that this was going to be Dick who up to that day had been like Tigger incarnate for the rest of his life was more than I could grasp or take. I only visited him twice. Not visiting was almost just as difficult though. On my second visit Dick s mom commented something to the effect that everyone came around in the beginning and then they just stopped. This weighed heavily on me for a long time, even with my four hours driving time for an excuse. I thought her comments were honest but unfair. All of us who were well kept traveling, kept
moving to the next station in life, and the next and the next. We did what we were supposed to do; what Dick would have done if things were reversed. I have a picture that our friend, Al Shahinian, took when he Dick, Fred Hurst and I rented a sail boat. We are on the boat, seated. I m holding on to something near the mast. Dick and Fred are to my left looking much more at ease. The water is a perfect blue and very calm. The clouds and the land are a long way behind us. We had a great day. Ok, it was a little stressful for me because I had no idea what they were doing or talking about. But I was very proud that day to have done something I never would have even thought of doing, and I was proud to have the kind of friends who would think of new things and do them. I keep that picture in the bookcase and look at it almost every day. Every minute counts. One man becomes a teacher, another a business man, the guy taking the picture runs an art gallery. And the guy in a flannel shirt, a blue bandana, and a fu-manchu mustache, much bigger and stronger looking than his two former lineman, flanked on either side of him is having a perfectly fine day with his friends, but ends up checking into a hospital and losing just about everything we value in life. I didn t pray when I said I would. I should have and I don t know why I didn t. Wait a minute, I do know. It s because there didn t seem to be anything to be alarmed about. They knock you out, and then they wake you up. A day or so later you feel normal and everything is back on track. I might have thought that praying would make it more serious. Not praying would keep it routine. But who knows what I was thinking? There were, I m sure, others who did pray. And the answer, that day, on that occasion seems to be that sometimes there s a spider hanging from the rearview mirror in the form of a pending divorce, a phone call, poor judgment, just a minute or so out in the hall and everything crashes down and something routine becomes something catastrophic. It happens sometimes. Other times it doesn t happen. So, what then? Pay attention. Don t be distracted. Shoot a prayer to the Big Guy for yourself and for others to pay attention. Savor every minute that things are going right; every minute counts.