Beyond the Byline: That kid and his orange suede shoes

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WILKES-BARRE — While looking through my closet the other day, I found something I can never forget.

As I was shuffling things around searching for something — I can’t even remember now what it was — the shoebox dropped and that legendary pair of orange suede shoes fell out.

I gathered the shoes up, but before I could put them back in the box and return them to the shelf, I sat down on the bed and stared at them.

It was a long stare.

I started thinking about the shoes and their original owner — Seth Zimolzak, whose story has been well-documented in this space over the years.

The story came back to me again — well, it actually has never left me. Seth left an indelible mark on me — that’s why I sat there staring at those shoes for so long.

On Sept, 6, 1999, Seth died. He was 18. He was my buddy. His parents and I remain close today. I’ll never forget that kid and all the fun we had. He is present in my life every day.

Seth spoke at a dinner in 1999, about eight months prior to his death. Here is what he told a large crowd of men decked out in tuxedos and women in long evening gowns:

“After having to deal with cancer for three years, I have learned a great deal of things. But the most important thing I’ve learned is the value of time. Treasure every moment that you have. And treasure it more because you shared your time with someone special — special enough to spend your time on. And remember that time waits for no one.”

Seth was a Make-A-Wish kid and I was fortunate to be his contact with the organization. Seth and I became close friends — we golfed, we went to events like the Miss UNICO pageant, where Seth got six of the contestants phone numbers

“Only six?” I asked.

His response: “That’s all I asked for.”

That was Seth. He always provided sunshine on the cloudiest of days.

As the tale of the orange suede shoes goes, Seth was in New York for treatment in early spring of 1999 — the year he was graduating from high school. He and his mom were walking by a store and and a pair of orange shoes in the window caught Seth’s eye. He wanted to wear those orange suede shoes to his high school graduation on June 6, 1999.

His mom bought the shoes, but Seth would be told by school officials that he had to wear black or brown shoes to graduation. But thanks to some quick-thinking friends, Seth got to wear those orange suede shoes.

As he walked into the stadium at Northwest Area — last in line (Zimolzak) — Seth’s friends called him over to a garbage container where they had hidden the orange suede shoes. He slipped them on and walked proudly across the stage to accept his diploma wearing those orange suede shoes.

Two months later, Seth was dressed in a tuxedo, waiting to be interviewed on TV during the Make-A-Wish of NEPA annual telethon. He called me over and told me he had something for me.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope containing $1,647 — his graduation money.

“Give this to the kids,” he told me. “I won’t need it where I’m going.”

Seth was very symptomatic at that point. He knew his time was running out. He was too weak to walk up to the stage to present the check, so he asked me to do it.

Seth passed a month later — on Sept. 6, 1999.

I offered the eulogy at Seth’s funeral. After the service, his parents gave me those orange shoes. I wear them whenever I help a local charity and I always tell the story of Seth and ask for donations.

The shoes — and the story of Seth — never fail.

Seth was an exceptional kid. He would be 43 today and he would likely be running for president.

When one of Seth’s longtime friends got married,there was no designated best man at the wedding. The groom said the only best man he could have had was Seth.

There are many Seth stories of how this kid touched so many lives. He truly was a remarkable young man and I often wonder where he would have gone in life — to exceptional heights, I am sure. President of the U.S. would not be a stretch.

I used to own a Corvette that I always let Seth drive. The car had two settings for the driver’s seat — one was programmed for me and the other for Seth.

After Seth died, I re-programmed the settings — both for me. However, time and time again, the seat that had been programmed for Seth would always return to Seth’s settings.

No matter how many times the car was taken to the dealership to have the problem looked at, and no matter how many times the seat controls were reset, they continued to return to Seth’s setting.

It’s difficult to adequately express how much Seth influenced me and countless others. He was a special kid who somehow managed to keep the most positive attitude through four-plus years of cancer treatment and uncertainty.

When the shoes dropped from my closet shelf, it was a reminder of a kid I will never forget.

How could I?

I think I’ll wear those orange shoes more often.