By JIM STEELE

I couldn't believe the news when I heard it Monday morning. Sunday morning, Steven Parker, a McKenzie Class of '82 grad, was tragically taken from us after suffering injuries in a motorcycle accident near Paris.

He was 44.

Steve was not only a friend of mine, but a friend of the family. I remember how he adored my sister back in the mid 1970s (I guess we are all entitled to lapses in judgment) and how he liked to talk about sports, especially baseball.

I remember the first time I met him. I was in eighth grade and had basically just moved here. I was organizing a back yard whiffle ball game and he got wind of it.

"How many do you have playing?" he asked me. "About 11," I said.

"You have 12 now," he said.

And so our first conversation centered on baseball and lasted a pretty good bit. That discussion took place at the McTyiere St. entrance to the United Methodist Church's Fellowship Hall. Maybe his interest in my sis didn't work out so well for him, but he and I forged a friendship that lasted through college.

Of course life separates folks and we sort of lost touch after the college years.

But Steve and I were pals, teammates on the Rebel baseball team for a year. My senior year, we had a pretty good team with eyes on a state-tournament bid. We never realized that goal, but Parker's crew did and did so often. Bruce Herrin, who was our baseball coach, said that Parker was the best situational hitter he had ever seen. He could hit the other way, execute the hit-and-run and get the clutch hit.

Parker had designs on playing ball at Murray State as a walk-on, as did Kevin Adams at the time, but it didn't pan out. Still, Parker was one heck of a player.

He was easy to get along with, liked to have a good time and I never heard an unkind word about him.

I remember the last time I saw Parker, it was at the 2005 McKenzie-West Carroll football game. I didn't see him when I walked by him. He yelled, "STEELE!" We had a brief, but good chat and he seemed to be doing well. Everytime I saw him at a West Carroll game of some sort, he always pointed out his kids. He was proud of them. He loved life and having a good time, which sort of explains the Harley-Davidson he liked to ride.

Our paths didn't cross that much lately. He lived in Paris, had his own family concerns in his part of the world and I just didn't see him that much, which is a shame. But I was asking about him just the other day and recalling some of the old times.

Steve was a regular guy, never full of himself, just one of those solid folks everyone liked. He will be missed.