Remembering a BC alumnus

I thought that I had escaped.

My family lives in the Midwest, far from either New York or Washington. My wife’s family lives in New England, but few have strayed far from Boston. The handful who had migrated to New York City quickly communicated that they were safe.

There was no reason to expect bad news, so I didn’t experience any particular trepidation when my phone rang on Thursday afternoon. Almost immediately I recognized a familiar voice, a favorite student who is now a state’s attorney in Baltimore. “I though you’d want to know,” he said, “Dan McNeal is missing. He was talking to his dad and then the line went dead.”

In a flash, my thoughts were transported back a decade in time. Dan had been a student in the School of Management with an interest in finance, I’d been an assistant professor in the communication department and Director of the Fulton Debating Society. Our paths would never have crossed except for that fact that we shared a common interest in speech and debate.

We had forged a bond during years of preparation, traveling across the country to intercollegiate competitions and sharing bad meals at every imaginable fast food restaurant. Perhaps more significantly, we had spent hundreds of hours arguing about politics. I thought Dan was so far right that he made Ronald Reagan look like a liberal; he jokingly referred to me as “Comrade Dale.”

Dan was not the best student, nor the most successful competitor. Quite the contrary, he was keenly aware of his own limitations. A bad score on a test could produce a funk that lasted for a week. A poor performance at a tournament would inevitably lead to a long conversation about quitting the team.

Although he was capable of being deeply discouraged, Dan was also capable of reaching extraordinary heights. He could always convince himself that our football team would surely win this week’s big game. Then he would paint his face maroon and gold and cheer until he was hoarse. If BC won, he was known to celebrate just a little too hard.

Dan was special because of the passion with which he lived his life. While he might not have been blessed with the gift of longevity, he surely experienced each of his years to the fullest.

We had spoken only occasionally since his graduation. His first year out he arrived at my door to personally deliver a volume containing some of President Reagan’s speeches. Several years later he visited when he came back campus to attend a home football game. Just this past spring, I’d returned to my office to find a voice mail message announcing that he was in town and asking if I was free for lunch. By the time I’d returned the call, he was in a business meeting.

Much to my delight, Dan arrived at my door later that afternoon. “Nice office,” he said, sweeping his arm expansively. “When I left you were the debate coach. Now you’re the department head. The big boss!” I laughed and retorted that “no one ever confused being chair and being in charge.”

Now it was my turn. I pointed to his white shirt, his blue tie and his gray suit. “You must be doing okay,” I said. “To dress this well you must be the one making the big bucks.” He deftly deflected my teasing: “Not well enough to make an alumni contribution!”

And then we talked about the old days, the Fultonians of his era and some of the places we’d visited. After 20 minutes he abruptly looked as his watch and announced that he was late for a meeting in Brookline. He hurried out of my office, but not before he gave me a business card and invited me to have lunch next time I was in New York. After all, he said with a twinkle in his eye, “We haven’t had a chance to talk about Bill Clinton!”

Suddenly I wondered what I’d done with his card. Almost as quickly I realized that it was probably still in my wallet. A quick search produced a tattered slip of paper that read as follows: Daniel McNeal, Vice President, Equity Research, Sandler O’Neil & Partners, L.P., Two World Trade Center, 104th Floor.

Dale Herbeck is the chairman of and a professor in the communications department.