The stuff true comrades are made of
He shunned publicity, so I had difficulty persuading him to agree to a write-up in the local newspapers about his prowess as a runner.
By Cliff Buchler
It’s always a shock when you’re unexpectedly told over the phone that someone in your circle has been hospitalised. The news is particularly bad when the person is an old pal of yesteryear, triggering memories of special moments indelibly marked on the mind.
When first meeting Dave Campbell you get the impression of a mild-mannered, polite individual. In pre-millennium parlance, a woosie.
Until you hear he’s an out-and-out sportsman and a man’s man. And someone you don’t mess with if you’re out of line. He played soccer, hockey and golf, and to crown it all, has umpteen Comrades marathons under his belt. He became “Comrades Campbell”, a title eliciting a characteristic giggle, endearing him to his mates.
He shunned publicity, so I had difficulty persuading him to agree to a write-up in the local newspapers about his prowess as a runner. He not only ran the big marathon, but was a member of Roodepoort Golden Reef Road Runners’ Club; at the same time as playing in a major hockey league, and wielding his golf clubs on the Maraisburg and Ruimsig greens.
Determined to get a photograph of him running as part of a write-up without his knowledge I decided to stalk him from my car. After a tip-off, I foundnd Dave running along one of Joburg’s busiest arterials during peak hour. Without thinking, I jammed on the brakes, left the car idling, and with camera slung over my shoulder, set off after him. That’s when the hooting started from cars stuck behind mine. It’s only when one irate motorist bellowed, “Hey, do you scheme you’re the paparazzi? Stick your camera up your ass and move your bloody car!” that Dave looked round. The shot I clicked was him glowering at me with a mouth that said, “Are you out of your skull, Buchie!”
Dave’s life was not all macho. He was a good husband and father to his children and grandchildren. He would drop everything, including his nine iron, if he was needed in emergencies. And he never shirked from changing nappies during baby-sitting sessions.
After retirement, Dave hung up his sports shoes, but joined a bowling club where he’d been active until his sudden collapse.
Being the man we know, we’ll expect him to run from his hospital bed at the first sign of improvement. He’s not “Comrades Campbell” for nothing.
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