Of Friendship and Passing Years

I recently received an e-mail from a sweet young lady with a special request: “Hi Barry! I hope you are doing well! I’m writing you to ask a favor. My Dad’s birthday is coming up and as a gift I am trying to compile a book of sixty letters to give him in celebration of his sixty years. I would really appreciate it if you could help me by writing a letter to be included in this book. It can be handwritten or typed, as long or short as you like. It can include pictures or none. Even just a little note to wish him a happy birthday would be great. Dad is a very sentimental person and I know anything that you could say or include would mean a lot to him, especially since you have been one of his best friends since childhood. I’m trying to get all the letters pulled together by November 20. You can email them to me or mail it to my home address. Thanks so much! Sincerely, Jenny”

 “Well, Heck!” I said to myself sputtering and fussing. I will be honest-- I HATE to do these type of letters. I tell myself that I haven’t the time nor inclination, and knowing Wayne, the whole book idea would just embarrass him. He is a shy and unassuming individual and does not seek the spotlight in any way. That is one of the many reasons he and I have gotten along so well over the years. But I am fond of Jenny and Wayne is a good friend, so I decided to write the letter in the vein of our weekly missive. Jen would get the letter, but not in the way she might expect. It would be a little more widely distributed than she might have wanted. The memories are mine and my good friend might recall a slightly different version of things but, as with the release of a genie from their bottle, you don’t always get exactly what you wish for.

As I recall, Wayne and I became good friends about 50 years ago. That time frame seems like just yesterday and forever at the same time. Wayne and I really bonded in high school. We had the same propensity to ditch school and disappear into the back country. Our teachers may have disagreed, but we figured our grades were acceptable and we were assured graduation, so why not enjoy life a little. We would load up my little Toyota 4x4 pick-up with provisions (pop and jerky), his little white, curly headed dog Chico, and drive to his family ranch in Verger or some other place we had heard of and wanted to visit.

I recall one such escape when Wayne and I passed our football coach while leaving town. He was coming back from somewhere and our eyes met as we passed on the highway. “Oh shoot!” we said in unison, “this could prove to be a problem.” And it did. We were back for football practice that afternoon and the coach was waiting to make an example of us. Wayne and I were two of the three team captains, along with our buddy Jess. This “team captain” thing may sound like bragging, but I assure you I am not. We won one out of like eight or nine games that year, so our leadership skills were lacking at best. Anyway, for punishment, Wayne and I were forced to run “Reindeer” (an all-out sprint and sprawl exercise) for fifteen minutes while the entire team watched. We both figured our outing was worth the pain because we had experienced a great day.

In time, Wayne and I drove that little Toyota all over the Blue Mountain, Elk Ridge and down into Canyon Country. We witnessed broad vistas at lofty altitudes, drove and got stuck in deep dark canyons, fished in mountain ponds and streams-- cooking our catch right there and then. We hunted Sage Grouse in the Chippean Valley, then roasted and ate them on the spot. Wayne, Chico and I were inseparable; we loved being out of doors and could not be harnessed or hampered by other responsibilities. The local indigenous people say that when the Spanish invaders reintroduced horses to the Americas, their world expanded ten-fold. The freedom and mobility that little blue, yellow and white four-wheel drive allowed Wayne and me afforded us that same flexibility and opportunity.

From these excursions, Wayne and I learned to love and appreciate the land, the greatness and magnitude of the Four Corners, the incredible magnificence of the vaulted heavens and most importantly, friendship. During those outings and other adventures we had together, a lasting bond was formed. Even though our lives, wives and subsequent families (along with work) have caused our paths to diverge a bit, we still stay in contact. Wayne lives two doors down and across the street from me now, on Main Street, USA. We cross paths quite often. As we do, our eyes meet and memories flood our minds. Inevitably a smile comes to our lips, we nod in recognition and go about our business. We have no photographs of our travels but the imagery is burned onto our subconscious memory. Those good times will not be forgotten. Happy sixtieth old friend, mine is not far behind.