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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