Luke Condit

I’m devastated. After a year-long battle with cancer, yesterday I said goodbye to Luke Condit, my collegiate best friend, fraternity brother, roommate, adventure partner, drinking buddy, groomsman in my wedding, godfather to my son, devoted husband and father, and forever loyal friend. He succumbed to the dreaded disease and passed through to the other side, survived by an incredible wife and six amazing children.

We were inseparable in college, earning the nickname of Batman & Robin because we were always together and shared such an affinity for sports, camping, concerts, road trips, skiing, (shitty) golfing, constant socialization, and partying.

I was the outdoor-loving, socially deprived homeschooler from Kentucky. He was the cocky, popular kid from New Jersey who had the spark, the “it factor” that no one can define but everyone admires. When we met in the spring semester of ’99 at the Franciscan University of Steubenville, we bonded over a love of basketball, snow adventures, and competing over everything.

We would use any excuse to skip class and play wiffle ball in the backyard of our apartment, shoot hoops, golf, go fishing, or just hang out and bust each other’s balls.

We both loved the outdoors, and hopping in his truck with a semi-full tank of gas, windows down, and music blaring while exploring the back roads of the Ohio River Valley was a favorite pastime.

Every winter, we took a trip to Vermont to ski, and doing donuts in his 1989 Toyota truck was a constant source of entertainment for us whenever it snowed in Steubenville.

He loved the Philadelphia Eagles as much as I loved the Cincinnati Bengals, and every Sunday during football season, we’d go to Damon’s bar and root for our respective teams and each other’s, as they seldom played against one another.

Everything was a competition to Luke, which was fine with me because I never met a game I didn’t want to win. We had an ongoing wiffle ball tournament that lasted for over a year to see who could strike each other out the most (pretty sure I won!).

One semester, we took a physical anthropology class together. As a class project, we visited the Pittsburgh Zoo to document the Ring-tailed Lemurs. We decided that to make it more entertaining, Luke would push me around in a wheelchair, pretending I was handicapped so we could film the animals and each other for extra credit.

The wheelchair skit led to us always taking turns pushing each other in a wheelchair every time we made a beer or grocery run to Kroger. We eventually took the chair hostage and would tie a rope to the back of his truck and pull people around until I got launched out of it, going 25 miles an hour outside our apartment, so we decided to put an end to that shenanigans before someone broke a leg.

Luke was a dichotomy. He loved to party but also had the most robust faith of anyone I knew. He could make friends with anyone, had the most infectious smile, and a way with women I always envied.

He knew how to love, and he loved with every ounce of his being. He didn’t judge, even when he disagreed with you, but would ask questions to make you think. He was by far the most fun person I’ve ever met. To this day, I think of Condit whenever I see a beat-up white Toyota pickup truck or a yellow New Jersey license plate.

He was indeed my soul brother from another mother. No matter how much time would pass between us, it was as if time had stood still. Neither of us missed a beat, competing, ball-busting, and reminiscing about our college glory days.

Rest in peace, Luke; I’m forever grateful that our souls decided to incarnate together in this lifetime. I’m sure that wherever you are, you’re telling jokes, causing trouble, and inspiring everyone around you to become the best (and most fun) version of themselves!

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