On more than one occasion I have spoken of one of my High School friends who often showed up to school after a fun weekend with one or both of his fists in a cast … the old kind with lots of ersatz-concrete to enhance clumsiness and more than enough white-space to portray a favorite Rat Fink pose. I also have reflected on my friend’s stunning pachuco styling, especially some of the earliest bell-bottoms to appear on campus without requiring an enlistment in the Navy.
I didn’t follow my friend’s career after High School (shoot, I didn’t follow the over nine-hundred classmates I graduated with) but there are hints he was from a Navy family and may have taken service to his country as a career (besides, think of all the bar fights there are in those far-away exotic destinations). I don’t mean to denigrate my friend with the references to bar fights: to me it brings back a vivid image of his feistiness and vitality.
Sadly I received notification that my friend died last month. We were never that close but he is one of my best memories of growing up.