Opinion > September 13, 2007

By John Meroney | Guest columnist

Are there some men who really live their lives, as Ernest Hemingway once put it, “all the way up” – or is that merely a romantic ideal?

Drew Squires, ‘94, the young alumnus who passed away in April after waging a valiant battle with Lou Gehrig’s disease – otherwise known as ALS – showed that such aspirations could be brilliantly realized.

In the movie Brian’s Song, Coach George Halas says of Brian Piccolo, another Demon Deacon whose life ended all too soon, “When they think of him, it’s not how he died that they remember – but how he lived. How he did live!” Drew carved out a path that would have made Piccolo proud: Counsel in the U.S. Senate, law clerk for the N.C. Supreme Court, practicing attorney, Hollywood comedy writer (albeit briefly) – Drew was also a husband, father and fortunately for me, a friend. We met in 1992 and worked together as campus journalists. Our friendship took us on a rousing journey, from the magnolias of Reynolda to the palm trees of Los Angeles. We even made it to the Playboy Mansion where we visited with Hef. Don’t worry, Chaplains Christman and Auman – we only talked about the articles.

It was in Tribble Hall that Drew found his mentor, the legendary politics professor David Broyles. From him, Drew learned about Shakespeare, Lincoln and the American founders. Drew mastered politics – and gained a healthy skepticism for politicians. Broyles taught for more than 30 years and as this great teacher of noble Greeks and Romans once observed, “Drew Squires is one of the finest students I’ve ever had.”

Drew was a trenchant writer, always faithful to a good newspaperman’s code – comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. Working in Washington, Drew didn’t see many profiles in courage. But he remained inspired, passionate about fighting for the “lost causes – the only ones worth fighting for.” He believed, as Jefferson Smith in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington says, “there’s no place out there for graft, or greed, or lies, or compromise with human liberties.”

Let me reassure you, Wake Forest gentlemen, that it’s possible to marry the girl of your dreams. As a groomsman in Drew’s wedding, I witnessed him do it. His bride, a captivating redhead from Charlotte, was the love of his life. Elizabeth Squires will probably never forget the anguish she and Drew felt the day he received his doctor’s report, standing in the rain outside Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center. But in time, my sense is that another image may become more powerful.

As Drew learned that his life was going to be tougher than he ever imagined, he fell deeper in love.

From diagnosis until the very end was barely more than a year. Through that awful illness, Drew never lost heart. But early on, before the onset of ALS, Drew realized the importance of these lines by Frederick Buechner: “The decisions you think are most important turn out not to matter so much after all. But whether you mail the letter, the way you say goodbye or decide not to say it, the afternoon you cancel everything and drive out to the beach to watch the tide come in – these are apt to be the moments when souls are won or lost, including quite possibly your own.” That was Drew’s approach to life, terminal illness or not.

One of Drew’s closest friends told me, “He changed my life and helped me grow, he probably saved my life on several occasions. He loved me unconditionally, which is not an easy thing. He had such a caring heart to love.”

Brad Collins, another alumnus and now a professor at the Citadel, said he never would have realized his destiny as a teacher had it not been for Drew encouraging him. He impacted so many lives – Drew was George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life.

Though separated in life by some three decades, Drew had Gehrig’s spirit about him. “I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth” and “I might have been given a bad break – but I’ve got an awful lot to live for” were sentiments Drew expressed as well. When Gehrig passed away, there were no eulogies. “We need none,” said the minister. “Because you all knew him.” The same could be said of my fellow Demon Deacon.

Churchill wrote that all the virtues flow from courage. By that measure, Drew was a very virtuous man.

He wasn’t a summertime soldier or a sunshine patriot. He fought the good fight. He finished the race. And he kept the faith. Samuel Wait would be honored that his school produced such a graduate.

On the phone and in e-mail, Drew and I would often exchange movie lines. The Big Lebowski and Old School were among his favorites. Another was The Shawshank Redemption, which now seems especially poignant. “Those of us who knew him best talk about him often,” Red said. “I swear, the stuff he pulled. Sometimes, it makes me sad, though. Andy being gone. I have to remind myself that some birds aren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. When they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice. But the place you live is that much more drab and empty that they are gone. I guess I just miss my friend ...”

“I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.”

John Meroney is an alumnus of the class of 1994 residing in Los Angeles.