One of my old friends past on today.
He was ancient by my way of thinking. He is the father of a beautiful redhead I dated during high school. That was almost 42 years ago. She, I liked very much. Oh, that red hair. I liked her mom and brother too. I really liked her sister (who married one of my best friends) but I was absolutely terrified of her dad. I thought that he might enjoy having my ass for dinner just because he could. And, he did, on multiple occasions. Just because he could.
Later on a few years, I remember going on a fishing trip with Bedford and one of his doctor friends. I think the reason we (my best friend who married his daughter and I) went with him was that he owned a motor home and that was way more exciting than sleeping on the ground or in the pickup bed. He and the doc had the bedroom, my friend got the couch and I slept on the floor.
The TV played from the time we left home until we arrived back there after a week of fishing. He never turned the thing off. One time I tried to turn it off and he just roared at me. Once, while he was sleeping (really snoring and snorting loudly with an occasional gasp for more air) using the remote control, I started to turn the volume down one click at a time over perhaps 15 minutes, so I could sleep without the TV playing reruns of Mr. Ed or The Twilight Zone. Finally, the volume was down to almost off...one or two more clicks...you had to really work to hear it...and I was feeling like a million dollars with sleep just starting to wash over me. Oh, sleep, quiet sleep, what blessedness it gives the soul.
Inever made it to that last click. Bedford sucked air just enough to momentarily wake up. "Who turned off the TV," he roared, 'I was watching that!" He instantly knew it was me who had turned it off. No one else would dare do such a thing. "It's not off, the picture is still on, watch-a-way all you want", I said. Didn't work. He made me turn up the volume on the damn thing. I thought of pulling a tube out of the back but there was none. Awe shucks!
Another memory on the same trip was that Bedford and the Doc would consume alarming amounts of Vodka. They would start at breakfast with Vodka and orange juice, at lunch it was Vodka and Coke-a-Cola and by the time dinner was over it was just straight Vodka.
I'm not much of a drinker, but it seemed to me that one bottle of Vodka a day per man should be enough to really leave one plastered and sleep should come easy and hard. Not so with Bedford. The more he consumed the more easy going he was with everyone else and the more he enjoyed torturing me.
There were ways of getting even with him though. My wife has always had this fancy of hiding embarrassing things in my clothes or fishing gear. One trip it might be some fancy lacey underware or perhaps a leapord print bra. I have quite a collection now. On this trip she had purchased what could only be called a cleverly comical guys G-string Complete with a face, hat and giant nose. I found it and quickly hid it in Bedford's stuff.
Sometime after dinner he found it and was mad as hell. He came storming out of the bedroom waving this thing all around in the air, making gestures and yelling words that still burn my ears all these years later. The motor home was rocking from side to side, dishes tumbling into the sink and glasses spilling, people jumping to get out of his way. He looking for me! Once again, he knew it was me who had planted this obscene thing in his precious stuff. But, Oh what a laugh we all had. It took some time, but even Bedford began to laugh at Pierre.
Memories. These are all I have left of my precious friend, just memories. Good by old friend, we will miss you.
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