They say a woman never forgets her first time.
Today, I’m testifying to the truth of that statement by publicly admitting that Bob Chadwick was my, “first time.”
My first time dating someone that I'd met on Match.com.
It was winter, 2009. I’d jumped into the online dating pool in solidarity with a womanfriend/neighbor. She was a widow wanting to start again, and convinced me it would be fun to do it together.
We signed up, created profiles (mine was Irishlass), and began.
The process of culling through hundreds of photos of available men felt like hitting TJ Maxx after an inventory restock. So many choices. Where to begin?
Obviously, each man’s profile pic was a good starting point. Yet with Bob…or Chaddy as I came to know him…it was his “Match” name that caught my attention.
“Bluesman.”
I didn’t know what it meant about this guy, or his lifestyle. It was just cool, and felt laid back, and I liked all that it suggested.
A few clicks on his match bio. Some flirts back and forth, and Chaddy and I were launched on a relationship path that bonded us for life.
We started out strong with our first date at the upscale Daniel’s Restaurant. He was GQ handsome in a black turtleneck, tan slacks and coordinated sport coat. Our dinner conversation covered our common passions of music, movies, writing, photography, and family.
Over the next months, we spent time sharing meals, going out to movies, and even attending Mass at his beloved St. Tommy’s Parish.
We talked on the phone…a lot. In hindsight I believe the faceless nature of those conversations allowed us to cover some deep territory---my abusive childhood and marriage which I rarely, if ever, talked about. His alcohol addiction and subsequent years spent, “in the church basement” doing his best to recover.
Yet, as we continued to get to know one another, it became clear that we were better suited to a relationship as friends. We did our best to navigate that transformation, bumpy patches and all. Thankfully, it never changed our special connection as Bluesman and Irish.
We developed a significant bond over writing. At the time I was working on a book of historical fiction based on the house where I lived. Bob was working on a memoir of the early years of his marriage and fatherhood.
I was disciplined in my writing routines. Bob was unfocused. When I called him on it, he simply laughed and explained it as his lifelong pattern of being distracted by, “…shiny things.”
While I could brag about the eventual success of my book versus his still---to this day--- incomplete memoir, I would have no right.
Bob’s Children
That's because anytime my phone rang and I heard that familiar raspy voice, “Hey Irish….I've got a new story to read you,” Bob would regale me with his favorite memories of his children, or stories from the Church Basement, all of which wrung out and used up my emotions in ways that no best-selling author has ever done.
He was an incredibly talented writer/storyteller. I told him that time and again, and did everything within my power to encourage him to complete his Stories From the Basement Book. I assured him that his experiences could help others struggling with the same addiction. In response he would always laugh and say, “yeah….I got a bunch of ‘em I’ve written...somewhere around here."
In 2011, I was endorsed by the Erie County Democratic Party as their NYS Assembly Candidate in that year’s election. Before I met with the party execs for their official blessing, I took a ride to South Buffalo to chat with Chaddy.
Between his decades as a CWA Union Member and his long-running involvement with the Working Families Party, I knew Bob would be one of the best to advise me on the wisdom of entering the race. I can still see us that day---sitting on his front porch in the First Ward---me asking and Bob advising. He was thoughtful and kind, explaining the pitfalls and plusses of becoming a candidate. Ultimately, he was supportive in offering whatever I needed for my campaign.
For the next six months Bob Chadwick my friend became Bob Chadwick my campaign assistant.
He was like the best mother I ever had.
He drove me everywhere in his shiny black Ford truck---meetings, parades, breakfasts, bar-b-ques, endorsement interviews and debates. He guided me through the treacherous path of union endorsement interviews, ensuring I made all the correct turns. He coached me, debated me, fed me, and always assured me that I was doing a good job.
And when I lost, he shed tears with me.
In the decade since that campaign Chaddy and I stayed connected, more often than not through social media. His love of writing and his passion for photography made sites like Facebook custom-tailored for this man of expansive talents and short attention span. As was our pattern, we continued to talk on the phone and a couple of times a year, we met for lunch.
In 2021, I finished writing another book….this one about Internet Dating. As part of the book launch party I decided that I should play The Dating Game. I put out a call on social media for men who might be interested in playing along. A week before launch night, there was only one man who had stepped forward. Panicked and not wanting to be totally humiliated, I quickly reviewed the list of my male friends fun-loving enough to willingly participate. At the top of the list?
Dating Game Bachelor Reveal
Yep….Chaddy.
I called him and explained my quandary. He listened, hesitated for only a second before replying, “Sure, Irish. I’d be glad to play.”
So it was on October 16th, I became the bachelorette and Bob and one man unknown-to-me served as my bachelors. It was great fun and those attending the launch thoroughly enjoyed it. And no, I did not choose Bob, but we did go on a “date” anyway---to Bar Bill for wings and weck---his choice. As always, we talked for hours.
Two weeks ago, one of Chaddy’s family members let me know that he had been taken to Mercy Hospital. He had developed a medical concern that quickly revealed he was in the last stages of an aggressive and uncurable leukemia.
Like every moment when shocking news is delivered, I went from stunned to sorrow in warp speed. Through the rest of that day sweet memories of our friendship played through my mind---some I had not recalled in years. And all I could hope was that I would get a chance to talk with him again.
The next morning I got a call from Bob’s daughter, Jessica. Doctors had decreed that time was short. If I wanted to see Bob, I needed to come--- sooner than later.
Driving to the hospital I thought about the many times Chaddy and I talked about writing. Those remembrances inspired me to ask him a question if I got the chance. Thankfully, I did.
As I stood by his bedside and we held hands, I told him I was writing a new book that I wanted to dedicate to him. I just needed to know which name to use….Bluesman, Chaddy, or Bob?
He pondered for a few seconds and through his oxygen mask said, “Bob.”
As I began to acknowledge that Bob was the name, he grabbed my hand and shook his head. Drawing nearer to his face, I heard him rasp, "No. Not Bob. All of them!”
Dearest Bluesman, Chaddy, Bob, I have been truly blessed by the gift of you in my life. I will always remember and love you...and be forever grateful that it was you who was my first time.
xo
Irish