Matt,
Over the past three years, we have shared some wonderful memories. You were honest, loyal and not afraid to be yourself, and that’s what I loved most about you. I will always admire the way you treated people and lived your life regardless of what other people thought. You were truly an amazing person (let’s not forget your dance moves); and although you may not be with us in this life anymore, you will never be forgotten, and your memory will live on through all the lives that you touched while you were here. Phi Alpha.
Mike Sullivan, Pratt ’12
Alpha Delta Phi Fraternity
It was my first Tailgate. Orientation was hardly over and already the self-identified socialites had heralded themselves into their competing cliques.
Riding together on the bus to West Campus that morning, we would have told you that our gang of 10 was the best. You might even have believed us. We very well may have been the loudest, the wildest, the drunkest and the most confident.
It was all pretty new to me, but I thought I might as well play the part. After all, what was there to lose? If this was what Duke was about—and my peers seemed to think it was—then I might as well blend in and have some fun.
That morning the bus was packed full of drunken freshmen dressed in full Tailgate garb. Except, that was, for one girl sitting alone. She had had the luck of being positioned next to a particularly cocky member of the clique so that he was looming over her.
Normally, my friend was a gentleman. I liked him—and still like him—very much. But on this particular morning, he must have been feeling pretty full of himself. He started hitting on her. By this I don’t mean funny jokes and personal inquiries. He was being aggressive. Not physically, of course, but words were enough.
Meekly, the girl sitting alone declined his advances. After a number of attempts he finally became spited. With a voice loud enough that all the bus could hear, my friend exclaimed that the only reason he was talking to her was because he was drunk.
What color remained drained from her face. Silence. No one moved.
Then, without missing a beat, a small guy in Timberland boots stepped forward. This kid, who looked like he couldn’t weigh more than 150 pounds, looked right into my friend’s eyes and told him to: “Shut the hell up and leave her alone.” He didn’t flinch for a moment.
My friend was taken aback, and there was another pause. Then, the pack reacted. Within moments the kid in the Timberland boots found himself surrounded by three guys, each at least 20 pounds larger than him. “You wanna go?” they asked, “you wanna do this?”
The kid had nowhere to run, and no good option except to back down. So I thought, anyway. But he didn’t back down. Somehow he got bigger, his face even more fierce, and starring straight into my friend’s eyes, he responded, “I’ll go right now.”
There was no fight, of course. The bus arrived and we all got off, and that was that. Except, I had this nauseous feeling as I got off the bus. That kid, I thought, he was who I wanted to be. Not these guys.
The kid in Timberland boots was Matt Grape. He never attempted to blend in, and he never compromised his principles. Matt was twice as loyal as your family retriever and three times more fun to be around. He was the true gentleman that every guy should aspire to be.
It has taken me years to fully appreciate the feeling I had that day, and to realize that Matt, who I got to know so well, had become a role model. I will never forget that day. I will never forget the kid in the Timberland boots.
James Sawabini, Trinity ’12
Alpha Delta Phi Fraternity
I remember one day last Spring when I had a funny interaction with Matt. The French department was gathering on the front patio of the Languages Building for an afternoon of cheese tasting and speaking French. My French professor had told our class about it that day, so I decided to stop by before returning to my dorm. Matt was there as a requirement for his French class. We saw each other and, after grabbing a plate of cheese, I made my way over to him. It was unusual, but so uniquely funny for both of us to be there, required to speak French to each other. I think I speak for all of his friends when I say that Matt was one of the last people you would expect to be hanging out at a French-speaking, cheese-tasting get-together. We definitely struggled to keep up the French conversation for the whole time. But even if we probably made up half of what we said to each other, it was so fun to be able to find him there and do something with him that I never thought we’d do together. He made a potentially uncomfortable situation into an awesome one. Matt was one of the friendliest guys I ever met in English, French or any other language if he could speak it. We love and miss you, Grape. Rest in peace.
Alex Ghaffari, Trinity ’14
Alpha Delta Phi Fraternity
Dear Grape,
I decided to write this personally to you instead of to The Chronicle in remembrance of you. Why? Because, to me, your legacy is not about an article in a paper, a stone in the ground or even your composite picture (one of which I am now paying my tribute to. Can you guess which one?). It is about someone that, without any personal direction, changed my life indescribably for the better. This is the legacy that I envision when I think of you still being here with us. I close my eyes and remember my dear brother as I have come to know him. He is a person who, despite self-claims of introversion, touched more lives than many on this earth. He is a man who excelled at his educational career to create purpose in his life. And finally, he is a brother who taught us the authentic ways of our great ADPhi, bonded with us as a everlasting fellow Alpha Delt and survived to become the embodiment of the true gentleman the elder ranks of our chapter crave and deserve. I am honored to be a part of your legacy and only wish that we would have been able to continue to create together.
Writing straight to you Grape, allows me to be truly honest.… I have very few memories of us together my freshman year. And sophomore year, a few here or there, but nothing that could stick with me forever as I would have preferred. Yet somehow, in these past few weeks, something remarkable happened. Call it coincidence, but you suddenly became so much more a part of my life. I found joy knowing that a day wouldn’t go by when I wouldn’t be hanging out with you. Whether you were creating the atmosphere at my apartment (for some reason, more often than not, donning one of two L.A. Lakers jerseys), pouring your heart out at the bar (seriously, YouTube-bmac08 “arms wide open”) or late-nighting somewhere till the sun came up, one quick 360 degree sweep, and there you were, smiling away, keeping my energy going. This was your effect on me after only three or so weeks of me actually getting to know you. The beautiful thing is, it happened so quickly, yet, I am not surprised in the slightest about what occurred. For when you displayed this presence so naturally, the only logical option was to continue to be around it… forcing me to hang out with you (sarcasm).
You rarely find people in this world who you can connect with so quickly. That’s why, when someone like you does come along to fit the bill, you can’t help but recognize and accept what’s happening. And it’s not because “there’s no fighting it” or because you might as well go with it (Grape will hang out with you sooner or later, whether you like it or not), it’s because there’s no one in this world who would, out of total desire for the change for the better, want to refuse it. A lot of s—t says you don’t know what you got till it’s gone. But, Matt, it’s time for your final “I have no friends” correctional therapy. Cause the truth is, everyone who has ever had the opportunity to cross paths with you has felt your inspiring impact on their lives. That was your true mission, your true purpose. I believe you were meant to continue this purpose for many years and eventually generations. Yet, with great sorrow, we recognize that this will not be possible. Fortunately, though, we all certainly recognize how blessed we were to be a part of even 21 short years with you as a loving family member, courageous colleague and a forever-fraternal brother. I will never forget you till the day we meet again, Devines in our sights, and the spirit of Xaipe in our hearts. Love and Phi Alphas eternal,
Always your brother,
Joel Sues, Trinity ’13 (aka Randy aka You can’t squash the Grape!!!)
Alpha Delta Phi Fraternity
Matt,
You were a great brother. You really have an amazing loving family, and I am thankful to them for helping to shape you into the man you were. I am honored to have been your friend and most importantly, your brother. I know this hits pretty close to home for me and for all of us. You’ll always be one of us, until the day we’re all gone. Take care up there, bro. I’ll be singing, “Good times never seemed so good,” for you.
Your brother,
Kevin Rutter, Trinity ’12
Alpha Delta Phi Fraternity
I remember spending the first day of our sophomore Fall semester with Matt. I live about an hour’s drive from campus, so I’m usually one of the first to return to Duke after a break. Matt was as well, not because he lived particularly close—he didn’t—but because he simply loved coming back here and viewed the beginning of each new semester with something like manic excitement.
One asset Matt possessed was an encyclopedic knowledge of contemporary popular cinema—and a particular, possibly ironic affinity for rom-coms and Michael Bay action flicks (and I have witnessed Matt recite entire scenes of “The Rock” from memory). So here’s me, bouncing around our brand-new Edens digs looking for company; I happen upon Matt, firmly ensconced in his couch, Busch Light in hand, taking an active interest in the opening credits of “Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist.”
Matt had this very particular grin that may have been the most endearingly coercive facial expression I’ve ever seen. He’d tilt his head down and bring his eyes back up to you, eyebrows drawn together slightly, and shoot you this narrow, dimpled-cheek smile; the effect was diabolical and irresistible, like a real-life Tom Sawyer come to convince me that I did indeed need to go out drinking with him on a Tuesday. Matt and I had called each other “buddy” since the beginning of freshman year. I have no idea why we did it, but neither of us ever questioned the practice. I was Buddy Green and he was Buddy Grape.
Buddy and I watched Nick and Norah in its entirety that day; all it took to keep me there was that grin. Watching a bad movie is a litmus test of a friendship. You’ve got to be comfortable in each other’s company: comfortable with long silences, with occasional interjections, with sustained conversations that have nothing to do with whatever you’re watching. I haven’t felt this way about many people, but Matt was unquestionably one of them.
“Best friends” is a trite term, cheapened by Facebook and emoticon-laden text messages, but that’s what Matt and I were. Immediately after it happened, I thought of the tragedy in abstract terms, outside of my own perspective: Someone with so much potential and vitality had been taken so young, robbed of the fruitful and fulfilling life he was certain to enjoy. But I can’t come to terms with Matt’s death without considering what we have lost on a personal level: a youngest son and brother, the object of immense pride; a fun-loving, unfailingly loyal friend; an intelligent, reasonable man with strength in his convictions and compassion in his heart.
At his wake this Saturday, the line outside the funeral home stretched around the block for upwards of four hours, mourners coming to grips with what they had lost. I was fortunate to know Matt well enough to know that the void he left can’t be filled. He was, in every meaningful sense of the word, my brother, and I’ll miss him terribly.
Ross Green, Trinity ’12
Alpha Delta Phi Fraternity
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