A friend of mine died the night before last. I met him in 1984. Bob Woods told me to teach him everything I know. I didn’t. I did teach him everything he knew. He was my age, actually, a couple of months older than me, just starting out. He had just gotten out of the service, had a new wife, new place, new job. He went on to build a life for his wife and ultimately his twins. The Doctors misdiagnosed and almost killed his wife during the last tri-mester. I thought he was going to drive back to Livermore and shoot the Doctor. He hated the City and his wife spent several weeks at UCSF, his twins were born there. And he spent every single day they were there with them.
And then somewhere along the line something went wrong. Another friend said last night he was a 1,2,3 guy who got dealt a 4,5&6 and didn’t know how to handle it. I think on some levels it started with his back. He had a surgery. I told him not to, but he did. Then there was another surgery. And somewhere along the line the blood was tainted and he got Hep-C. He would have never done drugs, it was the surgery. And somewhere along the line he fell into the bottle. Whether it was because or why his wife asked him to leave I don’t know. Whether it was because or why he lost his job I don’t know. But he couldn’t get up. And now he’s gone. And it’s just a damned shame.