 |
 |
| current issue |  |
past issues | |
send a letter/news | |
address update | |
advertise | |
about us | |
alumni home |
Features
|
Remembering Domenic
By Jackie MacMullan '82
My first day at UNH, I bought a pile of books and tried to navigate the MUB steps with them in my arms. I tripped, and the books went flying. I was about to do the same when some guy grabbed me and saved me from a serious fall. His name was Domenic Visconti '83, and for the next 30 years, we took turns holding each other up. He was a freshman like me, and as he steadied me, he laughed in the most distinct way—a prolonged, enthusiastic hiccup that let the world know he was surprised and delighted and curious, all at the same time. If we had been old enough, I would have thanked him by buying him a drink. That fall of 1978, though, we weren't, and so we settled for a cup of tea at Young's. Turns out my new friend loved to cook, spoke fluent Spanish, and claimed to be an excellent dancer. He got a kick out of tacky landmarks, like the big phony cow in front of the Hilltop Steakhouse in Saugus, Mass. I told him I'd never eaten there.
"I'll take you!" Dom exclaimed, unleashing another of those surprised/delighted/curious guffaws that I began to realize were going to be regular occurrences. Dom was irreverent, fiercely loyal, and unabashedly different. His energy was electric. When I got free tickets to the Allman Brothers, I asked him to come along. What was I thinking? This was a man who later spent the equivalent of a 10-year mortgage attending every Madonna tour ever scheduled. Fifteen minutes into the concert, and about two minutes into "Jessica," Dom asked, "Are there any words to these songs?" Not this one, I replied. "Let's go!" he cried, linking my arm with his. |
blog comments powered by Disqus