A little over three years ago, I received a phone call from a person identifying himself as a reader of this column. Longtime readers of this column will remember the “early years” of it being more controversial, somewhat by design but also driven by my own personal demons I have worked to conquer. The reader, Scott Rytlewski, was no stranger to stirring the pot and, in that sense, we were kindred spirits.

Eventually Scott challenged me to “put up or shut up” and instead of sitting in front of a computer screen spouting off about what is wrong with the world, I should get off my butt and do something about it. That “something” was a run for office with Scott as my campaign manager.

Scott and I had a falling out a few months ago, and so I had not talked to him at all during the last election cycle. As the campaign wound down, I thought a lot about all we had been through together the last election and I often wondered how he was doing.

On the night of the election, as I waited to get the results, I remembered the look on his face in 2007 when he found out we had been defeated. Scott was not a person who liked to show his sensitive side, but that evening he could not hide the pain any better than I could.  And in the days after the campaign when the calls stop and the loser feels an emptiness, Scott was the one of the few to call and try and cheer me up and then he vowed we would be back in two years.

Scott suffered from a condition that kept him in a wheelchair, and yet I never heard him complain about it once. He used to joke with me that if I wanted to go to an event that “the cripple always gets the best parking spot.” When Scott, Harold Suhr and I got together for Harold’s short-lived run for assembly, it had the makings of a great reality show. Harold would get Scott going and we all shared many laughs. Even then, when Scott would complain he was not feeling well, we figured he would take a short trip to the hospital for a tune up and be right back as feisty as ever.

On the Thursday after the election, I received a call from Scott’s sister asking to borrow some sound equipment and I asked how Scott was doing, she said he was “not well.” I knew that it was time to go and make peace with Scott and made plans to see him after work on Monday.

On Sunday morning, I opened up my dresser drawer and pulled out a solid blue t-shirt that Scott had given me. It was a double XL and I remember him joking with me when I tried to tell him I wore an XL. I put the shirt on went to the Albion Knights of Columbus to drop off the sound equipment. It was there I heard that Scott had passed away.

I paused for a moment and thought how weird it was to hear of his death in a place he spoke about often, for it was at the K of C building where he attended a famous sports banquet with his father. Scott loved sports and he really loved his family.  In a weird way, I thought he was trying to get a message to his old friend Thom.

I suppose in some strange way it is fitting that I am saying farewell to Scott in the column that brought us together; I only wish it could have been in person. For now, I will cherish the fond memories of our brief time together and smile knowing that Scott is probably busy bowling a game with his father and getting ready to stir up the pot in heaven.