It was a Saturday morning … the only day of that week when I had neither 6 a.m. kitchen duty nor an early class. I was in my Freshman year and rather startled to open my door to two students whom I didn’t know. They said they were from the Yearbook and asked if I would very quickly write a piece eulogizing another freshman who had taken a lethal combo of alcohol and pills during the night. I vaguely did know that boy because he either was in a class or worked the kitchen now and again. He was so handsome and eighteen years old. There was some speculation that he was homesick and depressed. Years later, I wondered if he might have been trying unsuccessfully to live a life that wasn’t true to his nature. Today, I would put my last dime on it. Born a few decades later, he might not have felt the need to exit with the whole world waiting for all the wonderful things he might do with his life. We can only wonder how very many young people continue to opt out of life nearly fifty years later.