He died in an accident on the Cajon Pass, on his way to enroll in Brigham Young University in Utah.
It should be noted Matt was one of the best-liked, most cheerful, enthusiastic and best-looking guys in ’67. I didn’t know him very well, regret it now, and remember how much I always enjoyed his friendly, relaxed attitude, especially at 8 AM every morning in our epochal freshman English class with Miss Bernot, 1963-1964.
In that famous class, I gulped, gasped and guffawed through one of the best laughs of my entire life. It seemed that either Matt, Andy Fall, David Rechnitzer, Stan Commons or one of the other scholar-merrymakers had in his possession a tiny wooden cocktail toothpick with a tiny paper flag on it. Somehow through their inspired freshman sorcery — Matt and Andy would be even money if the true comic culprit were the subject of wager — but the tiny toothpick found its way into the hair bun our teacher Miss Lois Bernot wore, more or less on the top of her young head. For the next ten or fifteen minutes — longer? — she went about her business, teaching Homer’s Iliad, while all of us fresh young adolescents tried not to laugh out loud, and not all of us successfully. Mildly quizzical became the expression of her face, perhaps bemused, and she continued with her pedagogery.
The scene is fresh as yesterday in my memory now, some fifty three (53) years later. Thank you, Matt, for making those sometimes cold, drear freshman mornings at the teenaged break of dawn so much fun.
That class, that class!
Memory being a strange thing, I’ll remember more names later. - Paul. 050116