For my birthday in December 2007 Chris Burritt gave me this can of Burma Shave wrapped in newspaper. Chris was a part-time teacher and the union rep in my department; he was also a very close friend. Chris and his wife Susan did not have children, and our children had no extended family in the US, so Chris and Susan slotted in to being something between Uncle/Aunty and hip grandparents.

A couple weeks after Chris presented the Burma Shave to me, Susan stopped by the house with Christmas gifts for our sons. When I heard my wife talking to Susan at the door, I called down to ask how Chris was — he had been laid low with a respiratory problem. Susan said he was okay, but I phoned him to check in, as we would be leaving Chicago mid January to live back in New Zealand for 4 or 5 months while I was on sabbatical leave.

I suggested to Chris that I drop by to say “hi” but he dissuaded me. We joked about how fit Chris would be when I saw him again in June.

About 10 days later Chris died of stomach cancer. We took the boys to see him in an open casket at the funeral home and I spoke at his funeral in the local Catholic church a block from our house.

Burma Shave was a code between Chis and I for our shared fascination with the old America of Route 66, lonesome railroads, and rusted billboards. I only use the shaving cream as a stopgap when my other supplies run out. I never want to get to the bottom of that can.