To tell the story of my classmate and close friend, I need to go to our early pre-teenage years.  Ralph was the third son of four with an older sister.  His father was a teacher and his mother was a full-time housewife.  During deer season, there was often a gutted deer hanging in the Schwartz’s garage.  Like many families in our community, venison was on the menu every fall.

I first noticed Ralph when we were in 5th grade.  His family moved in across the alley from us and he found that his new surroundings were filled with other children.  In those days, an empty lot was a prize and we just happened to have one in the center of all of our homes.  Our friendship began with collecting insects together and later collecting different types of rocks for our science class requirement.  But when the weather would allow, we would grab our sleeping bags and lay out under the stars hoping to catch a satellite passing over, counting meteors and recapping the day’s events.

Now during those summer nights, when we were “out-n-about”, we would head towards the water tower and wait for the siren to sound at 10:00 p.m. This would signify a curfew for the younger crowd – though adherence wasn’t that well followed.  We would often scale the water tower and wait for the siren blast.  It sent vibrations throughout the supports.  We would “Tarzan” onto the supports, waiting for the vibrations.  There were “scientific experiments” conducted from that water tower, with a parachute we designed.  At first, our weight was a piece of metal, but we decided we needed a test pilot . . . one of many cats prowling the area.  Fortunately, the cat survived and we deemed it a success . . . it was time to move on to other endeavors.

In the summer of 7th grade, both of us grew 6 inches, which helped us on the basketball court – the only sport Ralph would play throughout his high school years.  The lack of coordination I witnessed in Ralph back in 5th grade had completely vanished by this point. Ralph was fluid on the basketball court and had as sweet a jump shot that ever was.  One B-Squad game he put in 38 points, which I believe was a new record.  From a standing position he must have had a 27-inch vertical.  

As the years passed, I became more involved in sports, and Ralph his music.  Often when I walked home from football or track practice, I would hear Ralph practicing in his basement and go visit for a brief time.  It seemed to me that the perfecting of “The Carnival of Venice” was often the endeavor.  Ralph’s mastery of the trumpet became apparent when in his freshman year at the state music competition he was named 3rd chair, and then for the next three years of his high school time, he was named 1st chair.  We all became aware of Ralph’s accomplishments during this time.

Ralph seemed to have two loves; his trumpet and his guns.  We had taken hunter safety classes together.  Often, I would enter the Schwartz home and Ralph, sitting at there kitchen table with an old bath towel in front of him, would have his guns torn down, oiling, cleaning and assembling – but with even greater fervor did he approach his trumpets.  I found him once with more pieces than required of one horn. He explained that he had disassembled two trumpets to create one that had the sound characteristic he wanted.  This seemed to be a never-ending task with Ralph that I witnessed throughout his high school and college years.

Following his college years, Ralph’s return to Big Sandy were more vacational than vocational.  We would head to a stream in the Bear Paw Mountains or a reservoir on the prairie that was stocked with fish.  The evening’s fish fry was always a time of celebration, the typical fishing story and reminiscing about the “glory days”.  He often spoke of returning to Montana to a much simpler way of life.