Barry Berg

Skip and I renewed our friendship in the early 70's.  By then everyone was calling him Charlie, and did until his death, but I always called him Skip.    We kept in touch rarely over the years, which is to say that we were geographically separated, and far too busy with our own lives and I regret his passing.  I didn't find out about  his death until about 4 months after, to even pay my last respects, so I will try to do so here.  

Skip and I used to do some pretty boneheaded stunts, that was about right for a couple of teenagers.  We shot off model rockets in the swamp behind his house, tried to fool around with remote control stuff which usually ended in disaster.  Still he had a profound impact on my life.  He got me started on reading the James Bond novels, long before the first movie "Dr. No" ever came out in the sixties.  He flipped me from interest in drag racing, to road racing, which lead me to the Sports Car Club of America, and working my first race when I was not quite 17 (but I lied and told them I was 18 and they were desperate for corner workers so no one checked my id)   Why I mention this will be more apparent later.  After graduation I didn't see skip until Spring quarter of our Freshman year when we found ourselves in the same Pol Sci Lecture with about 300 other students.  It was our last class of the day, and he would often give me a ride home in his Hillman Lynx (yes he got me going on British Cars as well) to the mutual cries of Lynx Stinks! as we blasted down 26th Street bobbing and weaving in 3:30 PM pre-rush hour traffic attempting to make the run from campus to SLP in 15 minutes or less!   That we didn't kill ourselves was more luck than skill.  

These things had a profound effect on my life, and Skip was the source.  He had a quirky but incredible sense of humor and always made me roar.  I remember, at the time he always said he was pre-veterinary, his sister used to swipe his English Leather after shave which always pissed him off.  Finally he filled the bottle with apple cider, and left it on his dresser.  One afternoon shortly after this while Skip and I were hanging out,  she came out to their living room with the bottle of the stuff saying what is this? Skip told her it was a sample of horse urine, that he was supposed to analyze for class.  She dropped the bottle, and it took us a good 10 minutes of side splitting laughter before he could compose himself and tell her it was only cider.

I remember when Skip left college and joined the Peace Corps in '63 or '64.  He was stationed in the middle of Africa in a liitle village about 35 miles from the nearest small town, working on a project to get clean water to the villagers.  He bought an old rat of a British Motorcycle, to get around on.  That bike ended up defining his life as well, as you can read in his employer's tribute to him. Skip's sense of humor and turn of phrase always cracked me up, I would read his letters from Africa, and then someplace in there he would quip, and I often laughed till the tears came.  I ran into Skip again in the early 70's when I decided to buy a motorcycle myself.  I called up a dealership that was near work, and got a salesman named Charlie.  I went over at lunch too look at the bike, and imagine the surprise when it was my old friend Skip.  I bought the bike on the spot and then we went to Bridgeman's next door for lunch.  We saw each other off and on, and always had a good time.  Then he moved out of Minnesota, to Colorado I believe, and we lost touch again.  Many things would make me think of him though, and often whith a chuckle.

For example, Skip's father served as the gun turret captain on the Battleship Missouri during WWII and we used to haul out his dad's picture book and look at the photos, including the signing of the Japanese Surrender on her deck.  Skip would point out where his dad was sitting when the surrender was signed.  Later when I visited the battleship now moored at Pearl Harbor, I stood at the placard where the ceremony occured, remembered Skip's pride in his Dad, got my bearings and climbed to the place his Dad sat during that ceremony.

A few years ago, I got an email from Skip out of the blue, and unexpected.  It seems he was Googling his name, and he ran across the tribute I wrote about him on my website.  After a couple of emails, I called him, and we had a good catchup talk.  I told him about the Misouri and how I climbed over a rail marked to not enter just to get to his Dad's spot.  He liked that.  Not many people can say they set a person down a road, but Skip you surely set a path for me.  I will always remember your insolent humor, and will think of you with the best memories and a smile.