It’s March 17, which many of you know and celebrate as Saint Patrick’s Day. But it’s also the birthday of one of my best friends, Mark Christopher Aldridge, who died on Jan. 31, 2019, at the age of 56. He had been dealing with health issues for some time, but it was still a shock when I found out.
Today, he would have been 64, so I’m already hearing that classic Beatles tune.
It is a blessing to have friends, no question. But to have friends that seem like you’ve known them forever? That is magic. And my friendship with Mark Christopher Aldridge was magic. In addition to sharing the same first name, we had much in common when it came to interests, sense of humor and temperament. Everyone called him Chris.
We were first introduced through our mutual friend Wardell Parker. I first became friends with Wardell when I attended Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, Va. in 1981. A year later I met Chris; he and Wardell had been high school classmates at Duke Ellington School of the Arts in Washington, D.C.
As Wardell and I first got to know each other, he would continually tell me how I had to meet his friend Chris, that we were so much alike, and he just knew we would get along so well. Turns out he was right. We became fast friends from the moment we met.
Together with Wardell, we were like the Three Musketeers. And like that legendary trio, we had many adventures.
Chris and I shared this amazing ability to say the same thing at the same time, which amused and amazed us every time it happened.
You know how men often feel pressure from boyhood to mask their emotions, to not show vulnerability? Chris not only didn’t get that memo; he threw it in the trash. He unashamedly wore his heart on his sleeve. But it meant he was genuine. If you were Chris’ friend, you knew you were his friend. If you needed his support, you had it without reserve. When he hugged you, you knew you were loved. Chris made friends wherever he went.
When Chris laughed, mirth and glee shook his whole body. So, of course, I loved to make him laugh and tease him. Once, as were exiting a restaurant in the Georgetown district of D.C. after celebrating his birthday (Chris told me once that, being born on Saint Patrick’s Day guaranteed him a free beer no matter where he went). Standing on the sidewalk, we posed for a group photo, and just to mess with him, I stood directly in front of him, when he moved, I moved with him, continuing to block Chris until I felt his head sag against my back as he doubled over with laughter.
Another time, when he was about to undergo hip replacement surgery, I would occasionally play on my smartphone an MP3 of “What is Hip?” by Tower of Power.
To know Chris was to take part in a screwball comedy/musical/action-adventure. To dare to go singing in the rain. To chase rainbows and lighthouses. To sail off to new adventures. I’m not speaking metaphorically; he actually did those things. And he loved every minute of it.
In spite of his health issues, Chris enjoyed traveling, whether by road, sea or air. He especially loved cruises and regaled me with many tales of his adventures on the open seas.
He was also an avid photographer. He loved to capture the fleeting moments of life. If there was a rainbow or lighthouse within driving range, he was there.
Chris, Wardell and I shared a passion for storytelling, whether it was found in film, television, comics, cartoons or literature. We never lacked for subjects to talk about, dissect and debate for hours on end. Chris’ knowledge of classic movies and the golden age of television was encyclopedic. Thanks to him, I gained a new appreciation for the grand musicals of yesteryear like “An American in Paris” as well as comedies like “Some Like It Hot,” dramas like “12 Angry Men,” and kinescopes of dramatic anthology TV shows like “Playhouse 90” or “Studio One.”
And the three of us loved running gags, whether it was on film or in person. Once, Wardell and I witnessed an exchange between Chris and his brother David Aldridge, a noteworthy sportswriter and columnist. The three of us were coming out of a movie theater having watched the premiere of “Star Wars: Return of the Jedi” as David and his girlfriend (soon-to-be wife) Diane were coming in.
As they saw each other, David said, “Chris!”
Chris said, “David!”
And simultaneously, while reaching in their nonexistent suit jackets for nonexistent guns, in true gangster fashion they both said, “Why, I oughtta…!”
Wardell and I nearly collapsed with laughter, as Diane wondered aloud, “How do you two always do that?”
He could also recite entire scenes from movies and television, like the movie “Airplane!” and the comedy series “Police Squad,” both created by Jim Abrahams, David Zucker and Jerry Zucker. While the TV show was short-lived, it would find new life as “The Naked Gun” movie series with Leslie Nielsen reprising his role as Detective Frank Drebbin; in the first episode with Alan North as Capt. Ed Hocken, he interviews witness Sally Decker (Kathryn Leigh Scott) about a robbery:
Sally Decker: Well, I first heard the shot, and as I turned, Jim fell.
Capt. Ed Hocken: He’s the teller, Frank.
Det. Frank Drebbin: Jim Fell’s the teller?
Sally Decker: No, Jim Johnson.
Det. Frank Drebbin: Who’s Jim Fell?
Capt. Ed Hocken: He’s the auditor, Frank.
Sally Decker: He had the flu, so Jim… filled in.
Det. Frank Drebbin: Phil who?
Capt. Ed Hocken: Phil Din. He’s the night watchman.
This scene ends with Drebbin telling Sally, “We think we know how he did it.”
Sally replies, “Oh, Howie couldn’t have done it. He hasn’t been in for weeks.”
To which Drebbin looks at Hocken and asks, “Weeks?”
“Saul Weeks. He’s the comptroller, Frank.”
Chris memorized this entire scene and regularly re-enacted it, sometimes with me and Wardell, but mostly with his brother David.
Years later, I could still turn to Chris without any warning and say, “Weeks?”
And without batting an eye, he would shoot back, “Saul Weeks.”
Since his passing, I have missed him greatly. The running gags that once flowed so effortlessly between Chris, Wardell and I are now bittersweet.
Still, I know Chris is with us in the ways that count the most. I’ll still occasionally say aloud to myself the “Airplane!” movie line, “How about some coffee, Johnny?”
In my mind, I can still hear Chris quip without missing a beat, “No thanks!”
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