Westbrook High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Westbrook, ME)

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DEDICATION We, the Class of 1983, wish to dedicate this edition of the Blue and White to the memory of Alan L. Gilman. Swiftly and without warning. Alan Gilman was taken from us. He left us without his know- ing it was to be. He left us, and that separation is difficult to understand. He left us with just memories, and that seems so unfair. Each of us has memories of Alan — experiences we shared together in the classroom, on the court, at the club meeting, the beach, or a party. We cling to those memories of Alan, especially as we realize that there will be no new experiences with him. Remember, if you will, Alan. A tall, muscular, good-looking young man with strong, firm hands and a booming voice which sometimes cracked, complemented by that devilish smile of guilt as he proclaimed his innocence. Inside that young man I found a very generous streak of compassion and sensitivity that far outmatched his size. Al was not a saint, he was one of us. subject to the same human frailties. He was special to many of us in different ways. He was special to all of us because he was one of us. His team members will tell you that Al always gave 100% at practice and when called upon to play. Whether he was on the bench or in the game, he was a part of the team. I found, as his advisor in Key Club, that Al was always there when you needed him, and many times the first to volunteer. He would joke, laugh, and poke fun, but in the end he did his work well. He told me I was fat, and to stop smoking. What he told me in his own way was he cared. Al tried in his classes most of the time. He, like all of us, waited until the last minute on some things. He was a young man full of energy; he tried as he knew how to make the best of situations. Taking shortcuts when possible, having successes and failures. As I said, he was one of us. One of the finest qualities I found in Alan was loyalty — to his friends, to his teams, clubs, and school, and probably most of all to his church and family. It is not always popular to let people know that God and family are high on your list. Alan was proud to tell someone how he felt. This spring many of us ribbed Alan about his beard and how poorly it was growing. He took it in stride. I talked to him one afternoon, trying to perhaps get even because he called me chubby. I questioned him further about his beard. I found out that he was in a church play for Easter. In fact, he had the part of Christ. It was important to his mother and it was important to the members of the church that he take the part; and so. it was important to him, and he took the ribbing. Alan was giving a gift of Love to those who meant so much. Al enjoyed school, his ac- tivities, and his involvement. He died young doing what he liked best, playing basketball. He lived his short life to the fullest. He enjoyed his family and friends, he loved to party and keep active. He did his share of complaining, but I found that you could count on Al in the long run. He seldom gave up and even lectured me on the bright side of seemingly horrible situations. Al's death is untimely, and there doesn't seem to be a bright side this time ... but perhaps from this personal tragedy we may be able to salvage a lesson. Life — how precious, important it is. Our families, our friends, things that we haven't taken time to say or do. And then find it is too late. Our friends, how important they are, not just in time of sorrow but in joy. Perhaps Alan has left us all a precious gift, although hidden behind a veil of sorrow. A deeper appreciation for life and those we share it with. Al would be one of the first ol say “Go for it. So I ask you to reflect, to evaluate, and perhhaps in Al's memory, to chart a new course for yourselves and your relationships with others. “Free — to be you and me. I ask you free to be — you and me — together. And so I offer you this paraphrase of something said by Dr. Schuler: We have not lost Alan, because we know where he is, because we know what he was. — Peter J. Curran, June, 1982