Mike and Henry

Mikey and ‘River Rat’ had been friends since 3rd grade. From grade school through high school they had shared everything. You hardly ever saw one without the other being too far away. But after graduation, Mikey went off to college while ‘River Rat’ moved on to do life’s little things just to try to keep from starving. ‘River Rat’ didn’t dig the college scene because, in his words, “I just can’t understand the need to go into debt for the rest of my life to get a little piece of paper with some snooty guy’s signature on it. Just to proclaim me smarter than someone else.” But in truth, Mikey knew that it was because ‘River Rat was more in tune with a bottle of beer than he was with books.

A year later, ‘River Rat’ was requested to join the Army. By the luck of the draw, he missed Vietnam and ended up in Germany for a couple of years before coming back home. In the Army, ‘River Rat’ became Specialist Henry Bowman and had learned how to stay out of people’s way. He also learned that it was a pretty small leap from beer to whisky and even a shorter step to drugs.

As his youth faded away, he eventually got a job as the maintenance man for the local cemetery where he grew marijuana in the woods behind the back wall. His name changed to just Henry and then Mr. Bowman as, over the course of the next few years, he faded into the everyday life of another rural Midwesterner.

Mikey went on to graduate college at the top of his class and moved on to Law School where he became Michael Schmidt. He ended up in Kansas City where he worked hard to become a partner in the law firm Lindsey, Graves, Schmidt and Leland. He married a model from the city and when he did visit home, she sat beside him in his Porsche 911 as he paraded her through town like some trophy he’d won at the carnival.

Over the years, Michael and Henry drifted so far apart that they no longer recognized each other if they should happen to pass on the street.

One day, the police got a call about the smell coming from the apartment. When they busted down the door, the groceries were still sitting on the kitchen counter. A gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, a box of aspirins and a 12 roll pack of Charmin. A note beside them read, “Don’t try to find me.” They found a box knife in the bathroom next to the body. They never found his wife.

‘River Rat’, his wife and their three children were the only people to show up at Mike’s funeral.

Damn War

Damn war

It was February 23rd, 1967 when the men in their pressed uniforms with shiny metals and polished shoes knocked on his front door.

That’s was when his mother locked herself into her room and cried until she finally gave in and kissed the .22 caliber God; leaving him to fend for himself against foster parents that made him join in their games.

Before they fed him the little round pills that filled him with numbness. Before they showed him how to inject false hope into his veins.

Hopefully, February 23rd can’t find its way through the six feet of dirt.

Temptation vs Opportunity

“But Wait, if you order it now, we’ll send you a second one free.”

“Act now for this limited time offer.”

“Let me talk to my manager and see if I can do a little better.”

There are so many so-called opportunities that bombard us every day that we have an entire industry built around ‘temptation’…it’s called marketing strategy.

It usually involves offering something for little or no work and risk free. But remember my friends, if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

For example, let’s look at one of the biggest scams there is…the lottery. It offers the “opportunity” for instant wealth (at only the odds of 300,000,000 to 1). Think about it…If I could save $1 per day for 50 years (18 years old to 68 years old) and put that money into a jar in my back yard, I’d have $18,250, not counting leap days.

In a Money Market savings account at just 1% interest it would leave me with $23,646.

Now, if I invested that same $1 in an ETF (Exchange-traded Fund) at 11.23%, I could have $698,450.

That my friends, is a true opportunity.

My First Funeral

 

I wondered why people felt the need to express their opinions about his appearance. They strolled by the casket like they were out shopping the fresh produce isle at the market. I watched as a few gathered the bravado to touch a hand; some patted his chest and one old women, I had no idea who, even place a kiss on his forehead.

 “Doesn’t he look nice?” “He looks so peaceful.” “He looks so natural.” “Well, at least he’s in a better place.”

When my turn to peek over the side came, my excitement faded.

Uncle Elmer just looked dead.

The Drowning

How in the hell the news got to us so quickly is still a mystery. One minute, we’re in the middle of the street playing our childish games then, what seemed like only a moment later, we’re standing at the water’s edge. Red lights slashing through the early evening dusk.

We watched as Sheriff Rankin and his brother Will maneuvered their boat around the middle of the lake. Casting a snagging line out like it was just another evening of spoonbill fishing.

Everybody from town was standing around in little groups whispering to each other. Speculating on what, then how, it happened. It seemed that seventeen year old Terry Bowman had tried to swim across the lake by himself. He didn’t make it.

All us guys were standing a few yards away from the somber faces of the adults. We were jabbing each other in the ribs and joking with one another like we had just come out of the movie theatre. Even there in the face of death, our youthful immortality poked its head out. We knew one thing for certain, whatever hand fate had dealt to Terry, it had nothing to do with us.

But the moment they lifted Terry’s body from the boat and laid him gently onto the shore, his blue lips highlighted against his pasty whiteness, his eyes wide open and staring toward the night sky. His mother kneeling over his wrinkled body and crying for God to give him back. That’s when I knew death for the first time in my life. And my youthful naiveté abandoned me.

As I stared into his face, I strange curiosity overtook me. I wondered what thoughts went through Terry’s mind the moment he realized that he was never going to make it to the other side of the lake. As he looked back and saw his friends, highlighted against the setting sun, dancing, singing and making out; when did panic set in?

Was it when his arms turned to rubber and he struggled to just stay afloat that he started looking for some miracle to get him out? Or later when his first gasp for air brought him nothing but a mouth full of water? At what point did he stop fighting and just accept that death was going to take him. Or did he struggle to the very end, never giving up hope?

So as I stood there in silence, watching his mother cradle her son. Her tears dripping into his unblinking eyes and her sobs choking out any words she tried to give to him, my knees buckled and I fell to the ground. I watched her gently rock her baby in her arms and I suddenly hated God for taking him away from her.

That evening, those flashing red lights slicing into the stillness and the sobbing moans of Terry’s mom burned a memory deep into my innocents that I was sure I would never forget.

But the next morning found us all gathered at the ball park laughing and joking like any other summer day. Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Except choosing up side was just a little harder now that Terry was gone… but hey, the game must go on.