Stealing Time

In the fall of 1977—40 years ago now, when we were freshmen at Georgetown—four of us climbed up to steal the hands off the clock on the tower of Healy Hall, 150 feet or so above the quad.

I’m not sure why the adventure came back to mind recently. Or maybe I am. Over the past few months I’ve seen notices of the deaths of classmates, both high school and college. We’re of an age, all of us from those days, that mortality is sad, yes, but not exactly tragic anymore. On the actuarial tables, it’s only a little unexpected. A little unforeseen. Heart attacks do kill people in their late fifties. Cancer stalks us. Degenerative diseases begin to manifest.