Quick! Name the 2004 first-team SAC (South Atlantic Conference) third baseman.
Here's a hint: he hit .352 with four home runs and 44 runs batted in.
He was also named the SAC Scholar-Athlete of the Year for baseball, majoring in physics and finishing his college career with a 3.8 grade-point average — meaning he earned just one B his entire college career.
His name is Curtis Bell, and he was my roommate and best friend.
Not only did Curtis excel in the classroom and on the ball field, but he was the king of the sky. He had been soloing airplanes since the tender age of 13 and could fly planes before he could even drive a car.
My best friend passed away when his plane went down last Saturday evening. He was giving rides at an annual festival in Lexington County. He would have been 23 today.
All of these accomplishments I've spoken of you never would have known about because Curtis wouldn't tell you about them. Some would think that he might be cocky or arrogant because he excelled in pretty much everything he participated in, but he was just confident. The confidence he showed was infectious, making everyone around him more confident — including me.
With his goofy grin and "aw, shucks" attitude, he never made an enemy. Like our friend Marcus said at the funeral on Wednesday, "I've never heard anyone say that 'Curtis Bell rubbed me the wrong way or there's just something I don't like about that guy.'"
I first met Curtis when I was seven. I had just moved to a new church and we became instant friends. We would hang out on Sunday afternoons, throwing the football, hitting baseballs or playing video games. Curtis and I were just a dominating combination — there was nothing that we couldn't do.
Curtis had always been an athlete, and he would regale me with stories of his battles for the Gilbert Indians on the football field, basketball court and baseball diamond. He was very competitive and never let me win at anything. I beat him one time in a game of H-O-R-S-E. It was the best day of my life.
He told me about facing former Gamecock baseball standout, Drew Meyer, when Gilbert played Bishop England. He told me Meyer was pitching and that his fastball was so overpowering, he couldn't touch it. He also told me the stories of he and another Gamecock great, Bryan Triplett, playing in the same infield at Gilbert High School.
Even though we never went to the same school, and we only saw each other on a limited basis, our friendship continued to grow. When Curtis told me he was going to walk-on to the Presbyterian College baseball team, I told him he should give USC a try, so we could go to the same school. He thought he wasn't good enough.
To this day, I think he could have made it, but I'm glad he chose PC.
During his freshman year he only had one at-bat and played on the junior varsity team. He always told me he didn't think he was getting a fair shot to show off his ability, but he never let it get to him that much. Instead, he continued to do what he thought was best, and he eventually cracked the starting lineup his senior year. Where others would have quit, Curtis persevered and became an All-Conference player.
Many times I made the trip to PC to see him play. Every time I went to see him, he made sure that I was comfortable and never thought about himself. I would spend the whole day watching him play, and then that night we would go out and grab some dinner and talk about the day's games.
Because of Curtis, I've made a number of friends who I care very much for, and it was great to see them again — even though the circumstances could have been better. His friend Marcus, who spent summers with Curtis and learned to fly; our roommate Travis, who went to school with Curtis and kept us grounded; and Curtis' girlfriend, Jamie, who was so nice about letting me have Curtis every once and a while and never complaining about me tagging along on their dates.
All through college all Curtis talked about was us getting a house together after graduation and living out on Lake Murray. It was his dream; it was all he ever talked about.
After we graduated in May, we moved into a house next to his parents. It was beautiful; we were living our dream, thanks to his parents. I have to thank them, because they've always been good to me and have been like a second family.
Even now, it still doesn't seem like Curtis is gone. It just feels like he's on another one of his trips, flying all over the country and showing off airplanes to perspective buyers.
It seems like I'll get home tonight and see his bags in the living room and see his door open. I'll walk to his door, where he'll stir out of his sleep and talk to me for thirty minutes, even though he has to get up in a few hours.
I'll never have those opportunities again, but I can take comfort in knowing that Curtis is in a better place now — soaring higher than he ever thought possible.
So thank you, "Curtman," for being my friend and my brother. You'll never know how much your life touched me and others around you.
It's going to be hard for me to get along without you. You were taken from us too early, but I know we will see each other again in heaven, where you will greet me with open arms.
Until that day, I'll never forget you.