When people look back on college, they often remember the classes they took, the degrees they earned, or the careers those years helped launch. I remember those things too. But when I think about my years at Iowa State University—from the fall of 1977 until the spring of 1981—my mind doesn’t first go to textbooks or exams.
It goes to people.
If someone had asked a nineteen-year-old freshman walking into Larch Hall what he expected to find at Iowa State, I probably would have talked about engineering classes, football games, late-night studying, and preparing for a career. I certainly wasn’t thinking that I was about to meet people who would still be among my closest friends nearly fifty years later.
Life has a funny way of giving us gifts we never see coming.
Some of the first friends I made were Jayson and Ted. There was always something going on with those two, and that made a brand-new college student from Wisconsin feel like he belonged. Jayson eventually became my roommate during my sophomore year, and countless conversations, late nights, laughs, and ordinary moments slowly built a friendship that has lasted a lifetime.
As the months passed, my circle grew. Phil. Kevin. Tony. Bret.
They all lived on the floor, and before long we had become one of those groups that simply seemed to do everything together. College has a way of creating friendships quickly. You eat together, study together, complain about professors together, celebrate victories together, and somehow turn ordinary Tuesday evenings into lifelong memories.
None of us knew at the time that we were building something far more important than a social circle. We were building a lifelong brotherhood.
When Phil and I became roommates during my junior and senior years, our friendship naturally deepened. Sharing a dorm room means seeing someone at their best and sometimes at their worst. You learn patience. You learn loyalty. You learn that true friendship isn’t built around perfection—it’s built around showing up for each other.
As life unfolded, our circle expanded beyond just the guys.
Through Ted, I came to know his girlfriend and now wonderful wife, Leanne. Through Phil, I met Beth. After graduation, I eventually met Kevin’s wife, Val, and later, Tony married Laurie, whose warmth and kindness fit perfectly into our ever-growing extended family of friends. Bret was not in my inner circle at school, but he and his wife, Karen, are now part of the gang at our reunions.
One of the unexpected blessings of growing older is watching friendships grow instead of fade. It isn’t just that my friends remained part of my life. Their spouses became dear friends as well. Before long, our conversations weren’t only about ourselves anymore. They became about our families, our children, and eventually our grandchildren.
Time has a way of changing the subjects of our conversations while somehow never changing the friendships themselves. Of course, our Iowa State years looked a lot like every college experience should. There were parties. Road trips. Football games. Late-night pizza.
Laughing until our sides hurt over stories that probably weren’t nearly as funny as we thought they were. There were practical jokes, inside jokes, and stories that somehow get retold every single time we gather—even though everyone already knows exactly how each one ends. If someone were secretly recording our reunions, they would probably hear many of the same stories every single year.
And somehow, every year, we laugh just as hard.
Those shared memories are part of what binds us together. They remind us of simpler days when the biggest concern was passing tomorrow’s exam, figuring out how to stretch a college budget one more week, or who had the biggest phone bill for the month (Phil!)
But life, as it always does, eventually became more complicated. After graduation, we scattered. I left first because I was the oldest. Careers began. Marriages happened. Children arrived. Mortgages replaced dorm rooms. Business trips replaced spring breaks. Calendars became crowded. The years moved faster than any of us expected.
Like so many friendships, ours naturally experienced seasons where life simply got in the way. There was a period during my own life when I wasn’t nearly as connected to the group as I would have liked. I was working through some personal struggles and challenges that I’ve written about elsewhere in this book. Sometimes life requires us to step back while we simply try to find our footing again.
One of the beautiful things about true friendship is that it doesn’t keep score. No one demanded explanations. No one questioned my absence. No one closed the door. When I was ready to reconnect, they were still there. That simple fact says more about their character than I could ever adequately express. Real friends don’t disappear because life gets messy. They simply leave the porch light on.
As the years continued to pass, we celebrated each other’s milestones. Weddings. Anniversaries. Children graduating. Grandchildren being born. Career successes. Retirements.
We also walked beside one another through life’s disappointments and heartaches. Illnesses, losses, unexpected detours, and the countless challenges that eventually visit every family. That is what lifelong friendship looks like. It celebrates without envy. It grieves without hesitation. It listens without judgment. It simply remains.
One of the moments that meant the most to me came when Pam and I were married. As I looked around and saw so many of these Iowa State friends there once again, I realized something that had quietly been happening for decades.
These weren’t just old college buddies anymore. They had become family. They had witnessed almost every chapter of my adult life. They had known me as a nineteen-year-old engineering student who was trying to figure out where he fit in.
They had watched me become a husband. A father. A grandfather. A professional. A retiree. A writer. They knew the joyful chapters. They knew the difficult ones too. And through all of it, they never stopped being my friends.
More recently, our group gathered again—this time in Florida at Phil and Beth’s beautiful home. Their generosity in opening their house to all of us was just another reminder of the kind of people they have always been.
Our reunions have developed their own familiar rhythm. The first evening usually involves enthusiastic storytelling, plenty of laughter, and perhaps just a little more alcohol than our younger doctors would recommend. Somewhere during the night, forty years seem to disappear. We become college students again. The stories get bigger. The memories become funnier. Everyone remembers the details just a little differently. And somehow, everyone is right. Then the next morning arrives. The coffee replaces the drinks. The conversations become quieter. We talk about our children. Our grandchildren. Health. Retirement. Faith. Dreams for the years ahead. Parents we’ve lost. Blessings we’ve received.
The conversations have changed because we’ve changed. We’ve all grown older. Hopefully wiser. Certainly more grateful. What strikes me most isn’t how much we’ve changed. It’s how comfortable we’ve become simply enjoying each other’s company. There is no need to impress anyone anymore. No one is competing. No one is trying to prove anything. We simply enjoy being together. That may be one of life’s greatest blessings.
As I reflect on nearly fifty years of friendship, I realize how incredibly rare this is. Many people have friends for a season. Some have friends for a decade. Very few are blessed with friendships that stretch across almost half a century. I don’t take that for granted.
I think about Jayson. Ted and Leanne. Phil and Beth. Kevin and Val. Tony and Laurie. Bret and Karen. Each one has added something unique to my life. Each one has shaped me in ways they probably don’t even realize. Each one has shown me what loyalty, kindness, forgiveness, laughter, and enduring friendship truly look like.
If I could go back and tell that nervous freshman walking into Iowa State in 1977 one thing, it wouldn’t be about engineering. It wouldn’t be about grades. It wouldn’t even be about career success.
I would simply tell him this: “Pay attention to the people around you. Some of them are going to walk beside you for the rest of your life.”
Nearly fifty years later, that is exactly what happened. To my Iowa State family, thank you. Thank you for every laugh. Every story. Every phone call. Every reunion. Every wedding. Every encouraging word. Every season you stood beside me, even when life became difficult. You have made my life richer than you will ever know.
The diploma hanging on my wall reminds me that I graduated from Iowa State University. But it is all of you who remind me that the greatest thing I ever received there wasn’t an education. It was a lifetime of friendship. And for that, I will always be grateful.
