A few days ago Wayne, the guy everyone’s looking at in this pic sent it to me. Brought back memories of a time when I had a dozen suits in the closet and more ties than would fit on a rack across the closet door. That photo must be from 1975, 1976. Leading edge watch I was wearing must have cost a bundle.
I’m the one with the chin. The meataxe is the one without one. Ken was his name. If my memory serves me rightly he died sometime in the late 1980s, early ’90s and left a lot more people glad he did than wished he didn’t. By that time he’d been far enough out of my life long enough so’s I didn’t give much of a damn one way or another. Ken never amounted to much this lifetime, but he narrowly missed a few good bets, geography and time being a key factor. He’d have fit right in a number of places when goose-stepping was more popular as a pastime.
Old Wayne’s stuck with that career all these decades, fought his way up the ladder to success, winding down now. When we re-established contact a few months ago I’d thought for a long time he was probably dead, too. But he’s a couple of months away from hanging up his gun, instead. Retiring. Cleaning out his desk, I reckons.
I’m hoping before I head off into the sunset, but after he finishes getting all that behind him, we’ll get out on a river bank somewhere and watch the bobbers on a trotline, scramble up some catfish and eggs for breakfast. Him winding down, me just listening and watching.
For a human being, getting success behind ain’t always easy. Tough drug to kick most times, but a man has to do it.
Old Jules
So Far From Heaven 