I appreciate the fact that you, the readers of this website, occasionally allow me a point of personal privilege. I ask for that privilege here.

Early Tuesday morning, I learned that a man I’ve known for over 60 years had passed away. Jack Mitchell was perhaps my closest and longest-standing friend.

We first met when Jack’s family moved into the house across the street from mine. We hit it off right away. We both loved sports, though Jack was the far better athlete.

Many of our childhood days were spent on Colorado Avenue in the Forest Manor neighborhood, playing wiffle ball in a vacant lot next to his family’s home. We made up our own rules and had a great time doing it.

We listened to Cincinnati Reds games on the radio as we played and became hooked on a baseball board game called Strat-O-Matic. It used real baseball statistics to simulate games, letting us pretend to be Major League managers. We made lineups, called plays, and lost ourselves in the game.

Though we attended different schools—Jack went to the local public school and I went to Catholic school—we still saw each other nearly every day. We were only about 11 or 12 years of age when we first met.

Later, we both attended Arlington High School and remained friends after graduation. Jack was drafted into the Army during the Vietnam War, though he never should have been. A motorcycle accident had severely injured his shoulder. It took months for the Army to realize he wasn’t fit for service, and by then he had endured all of basic training before receiving a medical discharge.

Jack married Cyndi, and together they had three children: Tanya, Jack, and Chris. I had the joy of watching each of them grow up. That meant a lot to me.

Jack and Cyndi welcomed me into their home, and over time I became an unofficial member of the family. I was always grateful for that warmth and acceptance.

What the Mitchell family didn’t know was that during the early and mid-1980s, I was going through one of the hardest times of my life. I had to leave the profession I loved and start over in my early 30s—a daunting challenge. I was also dealing with the emotional fallout of a long-term relationship that had ended.

Their home became my refuge. Jack, Cyndi, Tanya, Jack, and Chris gave me a space where I could escape my struggles, even if just for a little while. I don’t think any of them realized how much their kindness helped me get through that time. But it meant everything.

Though Jack and Cyndi eventually divorced, I saw firsthand how they handled the challenges of parenthood. They always tried their best. Jack loved his children deeply. He wasn’t perfect—none of us are—but he always made the effort to be the best father he could be.

As I sit and remember Jack on this warm Tuesday morning, I think about how we grew up together, how we could talk about anything—and I do mean anything. We came of age during the 1960s, a turbulent time, but we leaned on each other as we navigated school, girls, and growing up. Jack was always the one more popular with the girls.

In recent years, I knew Jack was in pain. We spoke briefly on the phone a few months ago, and it was clear he wasn’t well. I didn’t visit—partly because I knew he would see me, whether he felt up to it or not. Now, I wish I had gone. I wish I had that one last visit.

Jack Mitchell was a regular guy, a loyal friend, and a devoted father. He wasn’t perfect, but he was honest, sincere, and always tried to do the right thing.

There won’t be any monuments or grand tributes. Jack was an ordinary American doing his best every day to be a good person. And that, in itself, is something to honor.

As he wished, there won’t be a formal ceremony. His remains will be cremated, and Tanya and his son Jack will scatter his ashes in his beloved Cincinnati. They’ll have a meal at Frisch’s Big Boy, one of their dad’s favorite places.

Every time I watch a Cincinnati Reds game, I’ll think of the trips we took to see the team in person—even back to the days of Crosley Field. We made great memories on those trips.

It brings me peace to know Jack is now free from pain and reunited with his parents and his brother Tom.

Thanks for the memories, Jack. I will never forget you.