Take a Load Off, Colin

Note: Colin Poellot was my good friend and my son's godfather. He died last year of respitory complications caused by ALS. On August 5, 2026, Colin's 57th birthday, his wife Barbara Lynn gathered a wonderful group of old friends at Colin's former workplace in SoHo to remember him. I wrote this piece of that event.

Twenty three years ago, I moved to Manhattan with my wife Laura Leigh Davidson. Within a year of our move, Laura started working here at Scholastic, and soon after that she started talking about a guy she worked with named Colin.

“I really want you to meet him,” she said. “I think you’ll like him.”

The opportunity for that meeting occurred at a karaoke bar in Midtown.

Several people from Scholastic were meeting after work at a place on 38th Street and boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, and significant others were invited to tag along.

I was genuinely looking forward to going out that night, but I began to wonder what I had gotten myself into as soon as we got there.

I remember a lot of blue and pink lights, and a lot of blue and pink drinks, and the kind of music that one hears at a bar with blue and pink lights that serves blue and pink drinks.

I was quickly getting into that state of mind where I tell myself I’m going to have a bad night before the night even begins, when Laura caught the eye of someone she recognized from work who waved us toward a back room where the Scholastic crew had gathered.

And at the front of that room, there was a guy singing a karaoke version of “The Weight” by The Band, a song that is about as far removed from the vibes of blue and pink drinks as possible.

Take a load off Fanny, take a load for free;

Take a load off Fanny, And (and) (and) you can put the load right on me.

Now if any of you are still going out and singing in bars, you can let me know if things have changed, but back in the mid-oughts not too many people had Robbie Robertson’s greatest hits in their repertoire.

So as this surreal scene of sights and sounds played out all around me, my mind began to race.

What was happening here?

What had I just walked into?

And as I tried to make sense of it all, Laura tapped me on the arm and pointed at the guy.

“That’s Colin!” she said.

Yes it was and my life in this city was so much more interesting and fun, my faith in God is so much stronger, and my appreciation for the weight and gravity of friendship is so much greater because of him.

The memories of laughter and incredible times I shared with Colin are just the best, and I know I’m not alone.

All of us gathered here carry something within ourselves that we count as a gift or a blessing that Colin gave to us—a memory of a Rush concert, riding bikes across Iowa, a photograph, a kindness, a conversation.

Hey Barbara Lynn, remember that time we went to the Astoria Beer Garden to eat pierogies and hear that sketchy band Laura Leigh met up with on the subway?

Remember that time driving around upstate when we saw the sign that said “Beware of the Monkey” and immediately passed a monkey that was sitting in the road, eating an apple, and giving us the stink eye?

Remember the Christmas Eve service at my church when—like a scene straight from Rev—the drunk guy started heckling me while I tried to preach and little baby Oliver made a break for it down the aisle?

What gloriously ridiculous memories we have.

Hey Barbara Lynn, remember when my family had no heat or electricity after Superstorm Sandy and Colin drove into Lower Manhattan during the blackout so that we could join Jeff and Tom as your Superstorm house guests?

Remember when Laura got sick and you and Colin tried so hard to love us and help us even as things got increasingly out of control?

Remember when I came back to the City by myself for the first time after she died and Colin met me for a drink?

I don’t recall a single thing he and I talked about that day, but I remember Colin was there for me, and that’s all that mattered.

That’s what Colin did and that’s who Colin was.

What gloriously messy, beautiful, heart breaking, and life affirming memories we have.

In his book The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis wrote, “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”

By the time Colin put down the microphone that night and walked across the room so that Laura Leigh could introduce us, our moment had already begun.

Late last year, my wife Dana, and now-teenaged Oliver, were walking from Grand Central to Madison Square Garden. Navigating our way through the crowds and trying to find a place to eat, we ended up walking down 38th Street, right past that same karaoke bar.

And I thought, isn’t it amazing and wonderful that the one time I ever walked into that place, I met someone who changed my life.

Of course, our fondness for this city will tell us that that’s part of New York’s charm and magic. And maybe that’s true, but let’s face it. Pink and blue drinks under pink and blue lights are more likely to lead to a headache and maybe regret, than meeting someone who you will remember and love forever.

No, even more than this city, it’s the charm and magic of a unique soul like Colin Poellot who touches us, who changes us, who we are blessed to call our friend.

Rest in peace, Colin. Thank you for everything. I love you.

Amen.