My friend of over fifty-five years died the other day. Whenever such things happen, I have always turned to writing about them. Writing is cathartic for me. It helps me make sense of things that happen in life.

And this imperative to write arrives with the emotion of the moment.

But not since I learned of the passing of Ralph Ezovski. Since then, it has taken a few days to sink in. Not until I sat here, early in the morning in Arizona, a few days after his death, have I been able to write about him.

Since his death, messages of condolences and stories about Ralph have showered his family. All one needs to do is read a few to see the common theme: Ralph lived to help others.

It wasn’t some driving sense of purpose or devotion to a particular philosophy of duty to care for his fellow humans. It was much simpler than that. Ralph was the sort who naturally saw the good in everyone, passed no judgment on others, and did what he did because it came naturally to him.

He was a caring person, almost to a fault.

But my experiences with Ralph go back fifty-five years to when we were thirteen. We met at Highland Middle School in Cumberland in 1969. Ralph’s sense of humor was immediately evident, but that someday he would graduate from law school and become a teacher was not.

He and I, by the teacher’s direction, became Latin Buddies. My part of the deal was to help Ralph raise his grade in John Needham’s Latin class to something higher than single digits. And together, we somehow made this happen.

But more importantly, it created a bond that has held us together for decades.

A group of friends formed around the nucleus of that friendship: Tony Afonso, Clyde Haworth—who I also met at that same school—and Ralph and I have remained friends all those years. We experienced all that is high school and our first ventures as adults in different ways but still forever linked.

But Ralph and I shared something bigger. Back in 1977, Ralph joined the East Providence Police Department. I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps and join the State Police. Then, in February 1978, we had the Blizzard of “78, and the State Police canceled the interviews and later canceled the academy.

Ralph said, “Come on EP, they’re hiring.”

Being a typical Rhode Islander, I barely knew where East Providence was. But Ralph insisted, bringing me an application. I filled it out but never sent it in. Ralph took it, went to City Hall, and slid it under the door on the last day of the application process.

And that started another chapter in our long association. On my first night working alone in a police car, I was assigned to a post beside Ralph.

Throughout our shared time in the department, we experienced those moments only those who have worn a uniform could understand. They are moments as a cop that don’t make the national news but impact you in ways you often never realize.

During our time together on the PD, we also shared experiences outside the department. Marriage, the birth of children, and the everyday rhythms of life each of us had apart from each other yet still shared.

During his time on East Providence PD, Ralph took on the responsibility of serving as Union President. His tenacious nature that made him a great cop also made him a natural with the union. Once again, this would draw me into experiences one could never imagine.

There came a time when the union, led by Ralph, took a stand against a corrupt Chief of Police and the political factions that put him there. Ralph’s force of personality fueled much of the commitment demonstrated by the rank-and-file members.

This quest took him and me to Oklahoma City and the National FOP Conference, where we presented our case seeking financial support for the legal bills mounting from our fight with the city. And we prevailed.

But like all things, there came a time when we were ready to move on. When we finally retired, we even shared our retirement party. It seemed a fitting end to that chapter.

And life went on.

Yet now, I find myself for the first time without that connection. Even though we might go weeks or months without talking, when we did, it was as if we had only been apart for the briefest of moments. The connection is a persistent one.

And I know while he is no longer a phone call away, the memories of that connection will remain.

Every single person who met Ralph will have a story. Every single person. He impacted more lives than even he might realize. And now he is gone.

It has taken until this moment, in finding a way to end this piece, that the tears finally came. Perhaps it is because I know I have had my last conversation with Ralph. I have shared my last experience. We have drawn to the inevitable end of something that started all those years ago.

But I will forever be grateful that what started as Latin Buddies became a lifetime of laughter, shared moments, and having the best friend anyone could ever hope for.

See ya, pal.