Last week, I found out that an old and dear friend had passed away two weeks prior. His death was not unexpected, but it was still saddening nonetheless. He'd just turned 68 and had been battling Alzheimer's Disease for most, if not all, of his 60s. He'd also had Multiple Sclerosis since the 1990s, but his Alzheimer's had progressed so powerfully that, according to his wife, it masked the indicators of his being afflicted with MS. I'd lost touch with him for years, and probably hadn't talked to him since Trump's first term (not because of Trump, just declining health and because algorithm).
But Russell was very, very special to me. I've always had an easier time making friends and finding community online rather than in real life. My hobbies have always been more introverted and indoorsy, things a person can more easily do alone, to a degree. And having low self-esteem in and of itself limits how many volts a person's social battery can hold. So, for as much as the internet emboldens the worst of humanity to be worse, it also has helped people like me be able to engage more socially, and to the extent we wish. All that said, it was freshman move-in week at college for the fall semester of 1999. Netscape Navigator was still a popular web browser, iPhones were still almost a decade away, desktop computers weren't ubiquitous, let alone laptops. As a young man who had his stuff in the dorm room set up and would start class the next week, I decided to hit the computer lab at the Student Union, but didn't really know what to do. Maybe check e-mails (it was a hyphenated word back then), check the university's website out and try to find people from my high school who were at this school too, and maybe discover Minesweeper. But as someone who loved music (still do), especially the music of the 1960s, and was especially a huge fan of the Four Seasons (still am), I wanted to find Frankie Valli's official website. Which I did, and like a good fan, I left a loving comment on his web page. You had to enter your e-mail address when commenting (much like today), so naturally I did that, using my newly issued university e-mail address. A day or two later, I got an e-mail from this guy saying he was a lifelong fan of the Four Seasons too, and that he had helped form a group of fans from all over the world that communicated over e-mail. He thought I'd be a perfect fit, and that I wasn't the only youngster in the group. So, I sent an e-mail to join the group and was accepted. As someone who didn't have internet access at home growing up, this was a whole new world for me. That guy who reached out to me at my university e-mail address was Russ. Russell. He answered to both.
Looking over my life, I see all the friendships I've formed in online communities: the Comedy Central boards, a few private message boards that began as fan sites of Comedy Central shows from the early 2000s, DelphiForums, the community of hobbyists over (of all things) the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame, a few podcast hosts that I call friends of mine, and now even a couple TikTok creators whose communities I've joined and have a blast with some nights. It all began in the late summer of 1999 with a self-proclaimed hillbilly named Russ. Russ was the very first online friend I ever made.
That friendship remained very strong for nearly twenty years, well after Yahoo's "Groups" service was discontinued and we all had to find each other again on Facebook. And then on Facebook until his health kept him from being online and celebrating the music of the Four Seasons, or life in general. Despite him being twenty-three years older than me, Russ and I had a lot in common, including similar senses of humor, a love for Jesus, and at that time, political ideologies. Unlike me, he had a gentle spirit, a quickness to forgive, and a story for every occasion.
As I see the way TikTok, Discord, Twitch, and even the world of podcasting recreate a sense of community very reminiscent of those message boards twenty years ago, it reminds me of a sentiment that I've had to defend against multiple times from people in my real life, such as coworkers and even family members: the notion that internet friends aren't real friends. Those people were forgivably ignorant and lovingly suspicious back then. While it is always a good idea to be cautious when engaging with the digital world, the truth is there's the potential for bad actors in any facet of life where socializing is possible or even inevitable, offline or online. Russ was a true friend, end of discussion. And as happens often, people from these online communities tend to meet in person and have amazing times together. I'm certainly no stranger to that. Russell wasn't the first online friend I met in real life, but of all the online friends I've met offline, he's one of (I think) three to have me as an overnight guest, four to have fed me a meal in their home. It's really hard to get more real than that. I got to meet his amazing wife Nancy, befriended his youngest son, and briefly got to meet another of his sons.
Sitting here now, listening to the Four Seasons on Spotify, thinking of him... he really had an amazing impact on my life. When I found out about his condition, it was only months before his passing. I figured the algorithm was why I wasn't seeing as much of him, and maybe his MS was getting worse. But when I learned it was Alzheimer's, it threw me. When I heard how he had trouble recognizing his wife or daughter sometimes, I just about wept with them. When I heard he'd been put on home hospice, I gasped. When I finally heard of his passing, I both grieved and felt relieved that his suffering was over. As someone for whom making friends out of complete strangers wasn't just a talent, it was a mission, Alzheimer's is just about the cruelest affliction imaginable, inflicted by the accuser to shake faith in the believer. But that's not a battle Russ was going to lose. Nor will I. Russ was too faithful and stubborn in that regard, and I know he's with his Savior now. I miss him dearly.
Rest In Peace, Russell, my hillbilly buddy. You were as real of a friend as could be measured by any metric, and proof that internet friends are real friends. I love you, dear friend. Farewell.
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