“Hello my brothah.”
“What’s new, Steve?”
He seemed to be very pleased with himself as he revealed, “I’ve decided it’s time to pass on something to the next generation.”
“You’re going to become a teacher?”
“No. I’m going to become a father.” Continue reading
At 3:00 a.m. the phone roused me from sleep.
“Hello my Brothah!”
“Steve? It’s … holy shit. It’s three in the morning. What’s wrong?”
Becky was now awake, “Who is it?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m getting married.”
“Oh. Congratulations. When?”
“Now.” Continue reading
Winter in Chicago was occasionally memorable. There was the blizzard of ’79, when I looked out my bedroom window to find a four-foot snow drift covering the flat-top roof of the carport. We were out with snow shovels at two in the morning, clearing the roof. Then finishing it up by jumping off the roof into the six-foot deep pile of snow.
Continue readingWhen the office phone rang on that late August afternoon, I didn’t think much of it. I took one hand off the keyboard and brought the phone up to my ear, cradling it against between my head and shoulder then tried to resume the email I was typing.
“Hi, I’m with the <county> police department. Am I speaking to Michael Marchi?”
I stopped typing. “Yes. “
“Is your brother, Steven Marchi?” Continue reading
This gallery contains 12 photos.
One year, I got a camera for Christmas. Steven wound up being the subject of most of the pictures I took. Here is a collection of some of the more memorable ones.
Two weeks after he disappeared, the search for Steven began in earnest, spearheaded by his friends in Atlanta.