The Wall of Honor by NC Williams 3/26/06

When we were kids, my brother and I did everything together. We played together, ate together, made messes together, learned together. Even as we got older, and our peers found themselves deep in the throes of disdain for their siblings, Harold and I were busy finding creative ways to enjoy life, and more importantly, to enjoy it together.
Being only eighteen months apart in age, even when we were not deliberately setting about a new project, game or pastime, circumstance often threw us together just to see what our offbeat, but only somewhat distinct, personalities would add to the mix. In German class, we were typically paired up to craft, and then butcher, bi-weekly dialogues, complete with the requisite number of ich's, du's, nein's, and other guttural utterances we never did master. In science, trying to memorize the earth's geologic eras in reverse chronological order, we came up with a mnemonic device consisting of the first syllable of each era, strung together in one long unpronounceable word: QUATERCRETJURTRIPURPENMISDEVSILORDCAM.
It was rare that we didn't find humor in whatever we did, or whatever we did wrong. Much of our glee stemmed from our mistakes - which in turn stemmed from our rather unconventional belief that life's primary control feature was a 'go' pedal. I'll never forget our first serious musical endeavor, the Steel Band. Placing as many glasses, pots and dishes as we could find on the kitchen table, and arranging them just so, our spoons rendered a rhythmic clanging reminiscent of some cosmic train wreck. Hideous, to be sure, but sheer music to our ears.
Once, we managed to botch the most elementary of kitchen recipes in our making of Rice Krispie treats. Inadvertently pouring in four times the amount of melted butter required, we couldn't stop marveling at the resulting mix - thousands of pale Parameciums floating in an otherworldly yellow sludge. And as we threw ourselves into our next invention, our next school project, our next attempt at landscaping, or chemistry, or art, often the final product was unworthy of even the smallest public viewing. But in the end analysis, the very best part of all of this was that the outcomes didn't matter. The joy, the fascination, even the fear and the intrigue could be found chiefly in the process of living - in squeezing the last drop from an experience and then pulling out the pulp like it was our last meal.
My brother never lost that desire for intensity. As others around him grew up and allowed the limitations of being grown up seize them, pull them down and drown them in the mundane, Harold never gave up searching. He never stopped dreaming, never stopped experimenting, never stopped believing that life is not about outcomes, but about the infinite possibilities poised in each and every breath.
My time with my brother was short in human terms - he died at the age of 45. And yet, looking back on it now, with him by my side, it was my privilege and my joy to live a hundred lifetimes in what we recognize, in the most basic of human terms, as the span of a single day.

WYOMING - At age 12, Harold Ross Cooley was inspired by director Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey." It was the film of all films that propelled Mr. Cooley into writing, directing and even starring in his own space adventure films as a teenager.
"I saw '2001: A Space Odyssey' and that was it. I had to make a science fiction movie," Mr. Cooley said in a 1978 Enquirer article.
While still at Wyoming High School at age 17, Mr. Cooley made "Trans-Cargo 5." It was a suspenseful science-fiction film made in hopes of getting his foot in the door of the film industry.
Mr. Cooley died Wednesday at his home. He was 45.
After high school, Mr. Cooley used his talents to earn a bachelor's degree in film production from Southern Illinois University in 1983.
Born July 1, 1960, in Cincinnati and raised in Wyoming, his interest in space didn't begin with Kubrick's famous film.
It began as a young boy when he first noticed the stars and the vastness of the sky. He became enraptured.
"It was the fact that it (space) had no boundaries," said his sister, Noele Williams of Wyoming. "That it was limitless."
Mr. Cooley's interest in space didn't stop with films. He also was a member of the Planetary Society where he participated in the communication of recent discoveries in space.
In 2000, his science-fiction book "Starfighter" was published by First Books Library.
Mr. Cooley's interest in space drew him to aviation. He took flying lessons and could fly a Beechcraft Sundowner and a Cessna 152plane.
He and his father had a tradition of never missing a Dayton Air Show.
After college, Mr. Cooley pursued his interest in information technology. He found a career creating and producing training films for corporate clients at Cypress Information and Technology Systems, Inc. in Cherry Grove. He eventually earned a partnership in the company.
With a mellow baritone voice, Mr. Cooley sang in the Wyoming Presbyterian Church choir. His favorite song to sing was "A Wanderin' Star" from the Alan Lerner play "Paint Your Wagon."
"Although he will be remembered most as a quiet and gentle soul, Harold has at last found his home in the vastness of the stars," Williams said.
Besides his sister, survivors include his parents, William E. and Marion G. Cooley of Wyoming; brother, Charles W. Cooley of Wyoming; another sister, Marilyn G. Ginder of Castleton, Va.; four nieces and nephews; and many friends.
Services will be at 2 p.m. with a reception following today at Wyoming Presbyterian Church. Burial will be in Spring Grove Cemetery, Winton Place.