Monday, March 25, 2013

My Friend Bob



Many of you know that I lost one of my best friends on February 26th.  Heart attack, 8:30, 9:00 in the morning. Right outside his home. They didn’t find him for a half hour. His daughter was going to take him to his exercise class. Very shocking news. Dead. His family had a memorial service for him this past weekend.  My wife and I drove to Sacramento. We think that friendship lasts forever but it has limits.  And then we find they don’t.
 
We tried to call each other at least once  a month.  He came to visit us a couple of times.  We would see him on our yearly trips to Sacramento or Lake Tahoe.  He was a great friend.  And I had just spoken with him two weeks prior.  It hit me hard.  He was my best friend.  He was our Best Man.  I had known him for 34 years. 

My wife and I celebrated our 25th Wedding anniversary on February 27th.  We had planned to drive up the coast.  It was a bittersweet trip for us.  We kept in touch with Bob’s son for any details on the service.  They had postponed it until this past Saturday.  My wife and I drove up to Sacramento on Friday.
 
I met Bob in 1979 when I was a crazy, mixed up kid, looking for a way to live my life with joy and happiness.  I was running away to the mountains to find God.  I wanted to drop out, live my life as a hermit, to learn to fish and hike.  Bob became my friend when the hotel I was working for assigned me to the restaurant where he was also a cook. It was different setup than the rest of the hotel.  A lot more relaxed.  For instance, our restaurant didn’t open until lunch time.  We had three hours to set up each day.  And boy did we have fun.

The restaurant was a New York style delicatessen.  They served a lot of NY local sodas.  We had Dr. Brown’s sodas.  One day I decided to try a Dr. Brown’s celery soda.  Bob decided it would be funny to put Tabasco in it while I wasn’t looking.  I took a sip from it while he and our other co-worker looked on, waiting for my reaction.  I noticed it tasted different.  But it was actually quite good.  I think he was perturbed because I didn’t react with a quick trip to the sink.  But we all got a good laugh out of it as I threatened my revenge.
 
Several days later, Bob was making a paper airplane out of a placemat (probably to throw to a waitress), I found the perfect opportunity.  Our kitchen was the envy of other cooks.  It was quiet, clean and we always had cooks from other kitchens stop in for a visit.  This one day while Bob was constructing his airplane another cook stopped by.  I saw the cook come in and I knew Bob had seen someone come in dressed in white.  I quietly whispered “Chef”, and I actually relished the look of panic on Bob’s face as he quickly crumpled his plane.
 
Ah, those were the days.  Lot of fun.  Bob taught me how to have fun.

Time went on and eventually Bob became my roommate.  Or I became his.  The apartment at the “Y” in Tahoe.  The “Y” is actually an “X”, a crossroads of two highways and two city streets.  Nice little neighborhood. 

One day, during the fall of 1980, Bob and I were going to go fishing.  It was mid-afternoon and I had just gotten off work.  Bob wanted to watch the last of the National League Playoffs.  Phillies and Astros.  It was late innings and a tight score.  Now, at the time, Bob and I were rooming with another cook, Wiley.  Wiley and I were about the same age and both looking for the intellectual stimulation that we could derive from games.  We were playing various board games but they were all still kind of simple.  This day, I sat down with Bob to watch the end of the baseball game.
 
I don’t recall the score.  But the Phillies manager, Dallas Green, came out to make a change.  I asked Bob why he was doing that.  I played little league as a kid.  I never understood why.  I  just did.  I wasn’t any good.   But the manager came out and made a strange move.  I thought it strange.  But Bob explained to me the idiosyncrasies of the game. Bob taught me to love baseball.

One day while sitting in our living room I noticed it was large enough to accommodate a pool table.  And so started the days of our bachelor pad.  When my brother’s and I were in high school, working at our various jobs, we had saved up enough money to buy a pool table.  But now we had moved to different locations and that pool table sat in our parents garage in So. Cal.  Heck it was just taking up space. Wiley and I made a trip to SD to pick it up.  We sure had a lot of fun with that.  People walking by the apartment,  looking in.  Years later someone told me that people had complained about the noise.  I was not aware of that.  No one brought it to my attention. 

And so, Bob taught me how to shoot pool. Bob grew up in Butte, MT.  He told me a lot about the gambling halls and clubs.  I think at one time Bob worked some of those clubs.  

Bob taught Kate that it was ok to jump in a lake with her clothes on, after dinner, on a cool summer evening.  

My friend, Bob, taught me a lot of things.  I thank him for that.  I thank him for the 30 years of friendship.  I owe him a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid. 

Bob was my friend, my teacher. He was like a brother to me. I will never forget him.
And now, I realize there is one great lesson that he has taught me.  A lesson I learned too late for some relationships in my life.  But he taught me how precious it is to know someone well enough to call them friend.  Family is given, friends are chosen. I am proud to call him friend. 

David

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