I don't have pictures of these two gentlemen. I may have one later this evening, as I will be attending a birthday party/poker game at one's house this evening. Our poker games are really minor league, $5 gets you 100 chips (nickles). Nickle-ante, fifteen cents-max on bets and any of the three allowable raises. The "big winner" makes a few bucks, nobody loses more than $5, and a group of long-time friends get a chance to swap ailments, and other lies. We have a great time, the game breaks-up by 10 pm, and we tell the stories we've all heard a thousand times, but we laugh at the old jokes anyway. As a Navy-brat, I never believed I'd have a group of friends for over 40 years, but these are some of the friends of my youth. To Ed and Dee, Mike and Anata, "little" Steve Amphlet, you have remained my friends for a long time.
Bill (the Kid) Case is the Birthday boy, he actually turns 60 on Monday, but none of us can be up until 10 pm, and get up "bright and early" the next day. I can, mostly because I don't drink... OK, totally because I don't drink, but some Sunday mornings I have early morning meetings, and it's not easy anymore.
I've written about Billy before, how we met, all of that, but I haven't spoken of him being my brother. No, we are in no way related, not even remotely. I sort of inherited the position after Bill's real brother, Gene, was killed in Vietnam. Bill took it hard, and to this day will not watch a movie about 'Nam. Bill has always had an inferiority complex, knowing he could never be his brother, and particularly after he gave up on ever finding a woman, or raising a family. Bill and his older brother were exact opposites. Gene was outgoing, fairly athletic, and good-looking. Bill has always seemed to appear "chubby," not very athleticly inclined, extremely shy, and introverted. I guess, in their grief, his parents would ask him why he couldn't be more like Gene, and when Bill couldn't answer, he took it as failure. He still thinks, if it were possible, his parents would trade his life for Gene. It's a vicious cycle that he perpetuates in his own mind.
There's a part of Bill that stopped growing when Gene was killed, drugs and alcohol abuse had a great influence in stunting his emotional growth. Bill still sees himself as a kid, or "the Kid," telling people that it's a Billy-the-Kid kind of thing, but I'm convinced that, while Billy accepts his turning 60, his own self=image is based in being a child, or young man. He's made pretty good progress since he quit Meth. He is funtional, in the community, but somewhat of a techno-phobe when it comes to electronic gagets. He has a "flat screen" (but it's a tube), two single-disk DVD players, one with a VCR, and what could best be described as "antique audio" with a 1960's vintage receiver/amp, complete with speakers. Computer? Operated one for a while, doesn't own one (yet, he-he-he).
Bill is amazed that we've been friends for all these years, and thinks I don't recognize how "opposite" we are. "How can two people, so opposite, be best friends for forty years?" he asks all of the time. Duh? Looked at my marriage lately? Opposites attract. If both parties, in a relationship, are willing to acknowledge and talk about their differences, listening to what the other is saying, there is a good chance the relationship will last an entire lifetime. Mary and I often joke about our differences, but I am grateful we have them. I understand the dynamics of having two people with many similarities (Bill's dad and my dad for an example) getting together. My dad and my mother-in-law were alike in many ways, and couldn't stand the sight of each other. My secret for a lasting marriage: marry someone your exact opposite. You must be willing to talk, and listen, and above all make the necessary compromises, but you'll never run out of things to talk about, and communication is the key.
The other guy I'll call "Theodore E. Baer," or "Theo" (to protect the reputation of the "innocent"). Theo and I met when I was "put in-charge" of a classified material storage vault, in the Training Department office building at Fleet Combat Training Center, Pacific (FCTCP). He worked as an Electronics Warfare (Heavy) Instructor, in an office next door, and we became friends over time. Theo and I were opposites, too. Needless to say, for a period of time, we became very close.
We did a lot of things, golfing, bowling, softball, raquetball, and camping. I mention camping last, but it's a lot of great memories, and a wealth of information and wonderous vistas. We once took a trip to McCain Valley, between the Laguna Mountains, and the drop-off down to the Imperial Valley. One morning, after breakfast, we climbed a mountain, and had lunch at the top. The next day, we crossed a dessert, and lunched on the rim of the Imperial Valley. It was so cool!
I was never a Boy Scout, per se, I was a Cub Scout, but never warmed up to Boy Scouts. Consequently, I never learned much about camping. My folks' idea of "roughing it" was a camping trailer with beds and a kitchen. Theo taught me a lot. The first time we went camping was an outing to the Lagunas, where we made our own campsite. Theo had a VW bus, which carried a lot of gear, but we slept on the ground, built a fire-pit, and lugged bits and pieces of mesquite back to the campsite for fuel. We took my then-one-year-old daughter (Tyffany) with us, along with Theo's cat "Mor". Although both would accompany us on several outings, Mor would sense that we were loading the van, and crawl up on the dashboard to wait for us to get going, every time. Before Taz, Mor was one of the neatest cats I ever met.
We'd go to places like Palo Verde -- on the Colorado River -- or Indian Wells, or Joshua Tree, among others. Once, I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I asked Theo "Where are we?"
"Utah," Theo responded, "I think."
We had followed (roughly) I-15 from San Diego, went through Salt Lake City and caught I-80 West, drove through Sacramento and caught I-5 South, and made the circle complete over a three-day weekend! That wasn't the weirdest, though. That distinction has to go to a trip we made to Sequioia National Forrest. We'd set up camp on Friday night, tents this time (thankfully) because it was quite cold. While we were asleep, six to eight inches of snow had fallen, and it was still snowing. We had no chains, so we decided to head for warmer places, broke camp, and drove out of the mountains into the Mojave Desert, WHERE IT WAS STILL SNOWING!! Snow in the Mojave... thought I'd seen it all... We ended up on the beach in San Diego, body surfing. From snow to beach in one day... now I thought I'd seen everything... ah, youth...
Alas, for a long time, I lost touch with Theodore E. Baer, though he was never out of my memory, and I'd often ask myself, "I wonder whatever happened to my buddy Theo?" I'd call Information, prior to the internet, and there were either no listings, or too many variations to call one-by-one. I hooked back up with him, sort of, recently. I've sent an e-mail, got a cryptic response, and sent a second, but haven't heard from him in a while. I think he's afraid that I'm still the alcohol-fueled maniac I used to be, or some kind of Bible-thumping Mormon trying to convert him, but he's got it all wrong. I've been a "Friend of Bill W." for many years, and yes, I once served a Mission for the Mormon Church, but it was a Church Service Mission, and Mary and I were the Group Leaders for the Addiction Recovery Program, an AA-approved adaptation of AA's 12 Step Program based upon LDS Doctrine. But no, I'm not trying to reach him to save his sould, either. He's had some "issues" of late, personal and health-wise, and I'd like to actually hear from him to see if he's OK. I'd like to see my old friend again, and shake his hand, or give him a hug. He's probably not the Theodore E. Baer that I remember, and that's OK, because I'm not the Grover he knew, either. I gave you the phone number, call me. If it's a matter of long-distance charges, I can call you back, I have nationwide calling. Please?
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