SPLITTING THE ATOM

In the fall of my 8th Grade year, they came and took away our Yo-Yo’s.
Over the period of a few weeks, the Yo-Yo craze had spread like a wildfire through the open air atrium at Bedford Jr. High.
By the coke machine Robert Everly and John Mcintire stood, “Shooting the Moon and “Walkin the Dog”.
In the Cafeteria, Suzi and Tracy watched in wide eyed amazement…Julie was a natural and was giving a clinic on how to “Rock the Baby” go “Around the World “ and even the near impossible ‘Two-handed Loops”.
But in the Resource Center…

Ah yes, the fabulous Resource Center, that’s what we called it, it wasn’t a library any more, it was a Resource Center. You could view some kind of Microfiche or something on a personal projector and listen to tapes about Indentured Servants and the Louisiana Purchase and stuff. I actually stole a set of headphones from there to listen to my Black Sabbath with, but mom found them and made me take them back to Mrs McNeese the Librariian, so I started taking Sabbath to the Resource Center, but that’s a whole ‘nother story. Right now I am supposed to be telling you about Yo-Yo’s.

Over in the Resource Center, Gary was demonstrating his version of ‘Split the Atom” which was to douse his Wooden Duncan Spin-master with a little lighter fluid and set it afire just before performing his trick. Gary was working on another trick at home with a Yo-Yo filled with a little black powder that would go off just as he finished the last move of a ‘Double Gerbil”, that’s how Gary rolled, but I seriously doubted that trick would ever take off.

But if anybody could pull something like that off, it would be Gary. His Dad was a Gunsmith and Gary was a Champion Muzzle-loader marksman since befor he could walk. There were kegs of black powder all over Gary's house.

Anyway, after dousing his Duncan with lighter fluid, setting it afire, he went into part one of “Splitting the Atom”. But it was then something went terribly wrong.
Not only did his string break just as he spun the Spinmaster over his head, causing the flaming Yo-Yo to jet straight towards Mrs. Mcneese’s very blue-grey hair, but everybody in the Resourse Center was about to find out that Gary was using the wrong Yo-Yo.
Unknowingly, Gary had brought the one filled with black powder from home!
The only thing that saved McNeese from a face full of flaming Yo-Yo that day was the fact that it exploded into tiny splinters 3 feet in front of her face.
No one was more surprised than Gary himself.
Gary “Split the Atom” alright, and the next day the Principle and entire coaching staff confiscated every Yo-Yo on Campus and forever banned them from the hallowed Open Air Atriums of Bedford Jr. High.

But, you know kids are resilient. They make the best of things. It didn’t take long before we found a replacement for the dangerous Yo-Yo’s.
What was it, you may ask?
Before too long the school was filled with the tap-tap-tapping machine gun like sound of a brand new toy.
Clackers! (click here)

FOR A LISTING OF GREAT YO-YO TRICKS AND VIDEO DEMONSTRATIONS GO HEREhttp://www.yomega.com/tricks/



Gary, receiving his "Order of the Eagle Feather" Award for a perfect score at competition, 1971.

RESCUE ME

Here’s me and my daughter, doing a little slow dance at a Buddy Whittington show. We had so much fun that night. We rocked that place inside out. When she was a little girl we used to dance. She would run little circles around me, flailing her arms around, and squealing. Then for the slow songs I’d glide her along perched on top of my feet.


She’s a big girl now, and dances very cooly, and looks so good doing it.

My friend Gary told me a while back that I didn’t dance the same as I did a year ago.
“You are not nearly as flamboyant” he said, and wondered if I was tired of dancing or depressed or something.
“No Gary, I just seem to wear out quick these days” I had said. “And all these FACEBOOK Jokers that want to video-tape me doing my knee-jerk shuffle and post it has me a little shy.”
“You? Shy?” he asked.
“Nah, I don’t care. But I do wear out awful quick these days.”

And that shouldn’t be a surprise, what with my diabetes, high blood pressure and low testosterone.
But I got the bronchitis last week and went to the doctor. They did some tests and have determined I have COPD as well. They gave me anti-biotics and some kind of inhaler.
And a prescription for something called a “Rescue Inhaler”
That’s great. All of a sudden I’ve crossed some kind of line and need a rescue inhaler.
I told the doctor I didn’t think I needed one.

But I’ve been thinking about it, and before the next Buddy show, think I better go get one of those rescue inhalers. I have been accused of all things, being less flamboyant than usual.
And no wonder.
I just can’t get any air.
Dancin’ days are here again!

"We do not do Bluebonnets"

I went to an Art Show this weekend in Arlington. You know, one of those outdoorsy things with tents set up for folks to display their crafts and hopefully make a sale. There is a stage set up for bands, and its all very festive, but no one really daces because the bands are usually cover bands doing bad versions of Fleetwood Mac songs,  and there is always a row of trailers where they are selling funnel cakes and sausages on a stick and turkey legs and other stuff that you wouldn't dare put in your body, but for today you will make an exception.
So you tour through the crafts, and stand there at the stage for a bit, tapping your foot and eating something sinfully greasy, and the sin drips from your chin in the afternoon heat.


My pal Gary Williamson had a booth there. Gary uses a unique process to create sculptures from scrap recycled paper, His company is called "Shatter'd Visages" after a Percy Shelly poem. Check out the link to his site, or to his Facebook page. I have a Melpomene done in Verdi Gris on my wall, and I like it a lot.

Anyway, there was a photographer from Austin. We stopped by their booth, and they had a lot of Texana stuff, and my friend Pam asked "Do you have any pictures of Bluebonnets?"
Bluebonnets are the state flower, and this time of year flourish along the roadways all over Texas. Everywhere you look there are cars pulled over to the side of the road, and folks all dressed up to get their picture taken in a field of these native wildflowers.
But the photographer looked at Pam kind of funny, almost offended.

"We don't do Bluebonnets" she said, matter of factly "We do junk cars and beat up cowboys. We do Lone Star beer and mesquite trees. We do Rusty Weir, Ray Wylie Hubbard and Guy Clark. We will even do the Alamo or the tower at University of Texas, though we prefer the Huntsville prison. But we do not, under any circumstances, do bluebonnets"

I assume they do not want to add to the 7 billion bluebonnet pictures already on the market, the way other photographers might refuse to do cute furry mammals..

I like that.

But maybe a shot of a graveyard, which also has bluebonnets, might be nice.
 

photo coutesy of  westtexasinsomniac

EAT ME RAW

I had always thought that the biggest hairiest baddest lookin’ dude on the stage had to be the bass player. Whenever I looked at album covers, I could always spot the bass player. Like Geezer Butler for Sabbath or Felix Papparlardi for Mountain, I thought I could pick them out based on their hair, their sheer size and the mean scowl on their face.


But then I went to Moody Auditorium on the SMU Campus September 15, 1974. That was the night Gary Thain, the bass player for Uriah Heep, got electrocuted.
It was in the middle of either July Morning or Sweet Lorraine. Of course, we were there to hear "Stealin'", but we had to settle for listening to it on 8-Track going home.
Uriah Heep hadn't been onstage very long, just a few songs.
We didn't see any sparks or nuthin, just all of a sudden the stage lights flickered and the music stopped. Then crowd murmurs and the house lights came on and the show was over.
The Heep were supposed to come back someday, but I don't think they ever did....not that decade, and sadly, not with Gary Thain.

But the opener, Suzie Quatro, she stole the show.
We had gone to see Uriah Heep, but ran head-on into Suzie Quatro.
Suzie played bass. She was the biggest meanest hairiest person in the building that night.
Between songs, she would raise her right hand and give us the bird, and holler out "Fuck you’se Dallas!”. I’ve never seen that kind of animosity between a crowd and an audience, except maybe the night Leslie West crushed the first two rows at Texas Hall.

Susie says:
"Eat me raw through a Flav-R-Straw"

FULLY CLOTHED WOMEN, DANDELIONS, ECT.

Here is a sampling of images either removed or saved from my Facebook album titled

"Fully Clothed Women"

The Facebook police didn't remove this one.

I don't imagine they knew what they were looking at. 

I call it "The Speed of Light"

They didnt get this one of Deborah Harry either. I guess her breast is just not big enough, and the grill on the Thunderbird was just too shiny.

I knew when I posted this one of Jimi Hendrix that I was way over the edge, but I just couldn't help it. Facebook removed this image.

"Have you ever been experienced?"

They didn't get this one either. I don't know why not. Just that look on her face ought to get her banned from something. My caption for her was

"Stirred Straight Up With a Twist"

"The world was moving she was floating above it and she was"

My albums are not really about naked women. In fact, out of some 1500 images, Facebook only actually removed three. Sure, they missed a few, but the point is that the overwhelming preponderance of evidence suggests that I'm not really a pervert. I just have an eye for beauty and an outstanding sense of humor. One of the things I have found to be very beautiful are images of Dandelions. They are so completely feminine.
Follow this link by clicking here for one posted a while back with another take on dandelions

They didn't get this one yet either.
I'm sure they will be back for it someday. In the meantime...

"If I say its safe to surf this beach, young Captain, it's safe to surf this beach!"

"My cup runneth over"

I'm just throwing this one in because its pretty, and I haven't seen a bobby pin in a long long time. They did not remove it.

Yes, they took this one down. How could they miss it?

My friend Gary says it is a muzzle-load shotgun.

Finally...I really do love dandelions.

"Time works like a damp brush on water color. The sharp edges blur, the ache goes out of it, the colors melt together, and from the many separated lines a solid gray emerges."

- East of Eden, John Steinbeck

From the comments:

Gary: Time actually seems to bring me more aches, not remove them.

Me: Then you havent ached enough yet.

As I gather these images, I am seldom able to identify the photographer, but at this point I should credit some of the sources:

ThisIsntHappiness

TheSweetestSpot

DecapitateAnimals

ResidualRandomtarian

 DivanJaponaise    

GREAT POETS OF THE 20th CENTURY

GREAT POETS OF THE 20^th CENTURY

“Ain’t no money in Poetry, that’s what sets the poet free”
And probably why poet Lew Welch turned to advertising to make some clams. Lew made up the slogan “Raid Kills Bugs Dead”, which sold a lot of Raid. He studied Philosophy and took a job with Montgomery Wards writing copy for the lingerie and sporting goods department, and asked for a transfer to San Francisco in order to be closer to Kerouac and the Beat poetry scene. Once there he started driving a cab, as all Beat poets do, living with Gary Snyder and Lawrence Ferlinghetti.
He married a nice Polish lady named Maria, and became stepfather to her son Hugh Anthony Cregg, III, better known by his stage-name Huey Lewis.


On May 23, 1971, Welch walked out of poet Gary Snyder's house in the mountains of California, leaving behind a suicide note faintly reminiscent of the terse meter of his Raid ad that read only “HEADING SOUTH-SOUTHWEST. GOODBYE”. His body was never found.

TEXAS PART 1

A THICK SLICE OF TEXAS TOAST FOR MOTHER OF INVENTION
ELOCUTION LESSONS TO FOLLOW

COLD DOG SOUP
William Butler Yeats in jeans
Got up to play guitar and sing
In some join in Mission Beach last night
At the door sat Tom Waits
In a pork pie hat and silver skates
Jugglin' three collection plates ...Jesus Christ

Townes Van Zandt standin' at the bar
Skinnin' a Hollywood movie star
Can't remember where he parked his car
Or to whom he lost the keys
Full of angst and hillbilly haiku
What's a poor Ft. Worth boy to do
Go on rhyme somethin' for em' man
Show him how you really feel


Ain't no money in poetry
That's what sets the poet free
I've had all the freedom I can stand
Cold dog soup and rainbow pie
Is all it takes to get me by
Fool my belly till the day I die
Cold dog soup and rainbow pie

Ginsberg and Kerouac
Shootin' dice and playin' Ramblin' Jack's guitar
With the cowboy paintin' pickguard on it
And they sat in the back and drank for free
And rhymed orange with Rosalie
Now there's a pride of lions to draw to
FROM THE 1999 RELEASE "COLD DOG SOUP" BY GUY CLARK


Townes Van Zandt left a mark Deep in the Heart of Texas. Click on anything he wrote. I dare you; and if you can look at one and not look at another, there is something wrong with you.
No, there's nothin' wrong with anyone that 100 dollars won't fix.
We Texans have come a long way since "London Homesick Blues", the Original National Song of Texas, covered by everyone from William Shattner to The Muppets. I really like the Muppets version taped 'live' on Austin city limits in 1995.

LONDON HOMESICK BLUES
Well, when you're down on your luck,
and you ain't got a buck,
in London you're a goner.
Even London Bridge has fallen down,
and moved to Arizona,
now I know why.
And I'll substantiate the rumor
that the English sense of humor
is drier than the Texas sand.
You can put up your dukes,
and you can bet your boots,
that I'm leavin' just as fast as I can.

I wanna go home with the armadillo.
Good country music from Amarillo and Abilene.
The friendliest people and the prettiest women you've ever seen.

Well it's cold over here, and I swear,
I wish they'd turn the heat on.
And where in the world
is that English girl,
I promised I would meet on the third floor.
And of the whole damn lot,
the only friend I got,
is a smoke and a cheap guitar.
My mind keeps roamin',
my heart keeps longin'
to be home in a Texas bar.

I wanna go home with the armadillo.
Good country music from Amarillo and Abilene.
The friendliest people and the prettiest women you've ever seen.

Well, I decided that,
I'd get my cowboy hat
and go down to Marble Arch Station.
'Cause when a Texan fancies
he'll take his chances,
chances will be taken,
now that's for sure.
And them Limey eyes,
they were eyein' a prize,
that some people call manly footwear.
And they said you're from down South,
and when you open your mouth,
you always seem to put your foot there

I wanna go home with the armadillo.
Good country music from Amarillo and Abilene.
The friendliest people and the prettiest women you've ever seen

Gary Nunn

IN A PIGS EYE

Today in the fish eye lens that seems to have become my life, where mice in the attic sound like Elephants stomping, and the Vanilla Malt from Sonic seems to warrant writing about, and the lyrics to 'Fly like an Eagle" seem to offer a real solution to world peace I find myself compelled to study the Pig.

They say that a pig can be used to dispose of a body, and not so much as a DNA sample will be left behind. Hannibal Lecter was almost eaten by pigs, but its tough to beat Hannibal Lecter and he ended up feeding his attackers to pigs instead. Then he fed Gary Oldham to an Eel, then he and Julianne Moore ate Ray Liottas Brain which is pretty good work if you can get it but we are here to talk about pigs.

In a fight between a Pig and a Pit Bull, I'd have to go with the Pig.

I have a friend who collected pigs for years. She now has 9,647 pigs and people keep sending her more because they know she collects them. The thing is she stopped collecting them 3 years ago.
She hates pigs now, but what are you gonna do?

We used to call Policemen Pigs.
There are lots of names for policemen.
Now they call them the Po-Po.
That's seems to be the newest name for police, but its not new at all because that's what I called them when I was learning to talk

I know two quotations about Pigs.
One of them went "Its the Pigs caught in the fence that squeals" and just might turn out to be really prophetic if things keep going the way they are going.
I don't know who said it, but i expect to be hearing it again any day now.
Don't forget you heard it here first.

The next one is 'There are too many pigs for the Tits" and I know who said this one.
It was Abraham Lincoln and its a good thing he's not around to say something like that today or else he'd be in as much trouble as I usually am.
I wish he were still around.

I have been hearing a third one the last few days about a pig wearing lipstick.
Thats some real hardball stuff there.
In the fish eye lens that has become my life I find it pretty innocuous, lame and less offensive than a Hockey Mom.

This is not the first election to feature a pig for a candidate. Anyone remember Pigasus, from 1968?

Of course one of the most revealing things I ever heard about Pigs was in a Beatles Song. In the 6th Grade this song was stunning, it was shocking and the Harpsichord blew my stoned little piggy mind:


PIGGIES
Have you seen the little piggies
Crawling in the dirt
And for all the little piggies
Life is getting worse
Always having dirt to play around in.

Have you seen the bigger piggies
In their starched white shirts
You will find the bigger piggies
Stirring up the dirt
Always have clean shirts to play around in.

In their sties with all their backing
They don't care what goes on around
In their eyes there's something lacking
What they need's a damn good whacking.

Everywhere there's lots of piggies
Living piggy lives
You can see them out for dinner
With their piggy wives
Clutching forks and knives to eat their bacon.

CHEAP IS HOW I FEEL- CHRISTMAS 2016

“It's the kind of night that's so cold, when you spit
it freezes before it hits the ground
And when a bum asks you for a quarter, you give a dollar
if he's out tonight he must be truly down
And I'm searching all the windows for a last minute present
to prove to you that what I said was real,
for something small and frail and plastic, baby,
'cause cheap is how I feel”

COWBOY JUNKIES

I had avoided the mall for two years. The last time I was there in 2014, a really slick salesman tried to sell me 80 dollars worth ofpink salt. These guys are good.

But I had to go last week. I was invited to a Gala Event, a White Dress  Banquet, where everyone is supposed to wear all white. Believe it or not I actually have a couple white shirts, but I don’t have any white slacks, or a white dress jacket. In order for me to meet the dress requirements, I am going to need at least a white dress jacket. And I only have one days notice.

So I trudge down to Dillards at North East Mall. I’m willing to buy a jacket with my Credit Card, if they have one.

But they do not. The salesman tells me white jackets are out of season, especially in my size. This doesn’t surprise me, because guys my size dressed in all white usually look like something you would put on top of your hot cocoa.
Unless you are Gary Williamson, who always looks good no matter what he wears

I hate to go to the mall and not buy anything. I thanked the man, and as I was turning, spotted a rack of ties.
Ah, a tie! If they have a white jacket at Men’s Warehouse, a nice red tie will look nice. I take a look at a few and ask:
“How much are the ties?”
“Seventy-Nine Dollars” the man says.
“$79.00 for a tie? I don’t think so.”

So now I’m at Men’s Warehouse, Damon is measuring me, and we go over to the rack, and there is not a single white suit or dress jacket in my size there. Big Surprise. And then I spot the ties again. You know, maybe a guy like me with a winning personality can show up to a Big Fancy Christmas Gala Where Everybody Wears All White, dressed in black slacks, a navy jacket, white shirt and festive red tie. Even though everybody else there has had weeks to get ready for the Gala, with rented Tuxedos with tails or elegant Yves St. Laurent tailored suits, I can just waltz in there wearing my Navy Blue jacket I bought last year to try to hide my tremendous gut, and a stupid grin, dance like no one is watching,  and no one will notice.
And anyway, who cares? I’ve suffered many worse humiliations…

So I look at the ties. The tag says they are 16 dollars each. I grab two and head for the register. I have to fill out an entire questionnaire to buy two ties. About this time, Damon shows up with a gorgeous Calvin Klein suit, and things start happening fast.
‘Mr Renfro, I can call the Irving store and see if they have this in your size”
‘Sure, that would be nice” I say.

The cashier takes my questionnaire and rings up the ties.

“That will be 80 dollars” he says.

“80 dollars? I thought they were $16 each?”

“No Mr. Renfro, they are 75, plus tax, and on sale two-for-one”

“Well you can take them back. I’m not spending 80 bucks on a tie, even it if its TWO ties.”
He looks at me like I’m a worm, and now its Damon’s turn.

“Mr. Renfro, they have this suit in your size at the Irving store!”
“Oh, thanks Damon. Is that at the Irving Mall?”
“Yes, you cant miss it. Right in front of the Best Buy. Tell them Damon sent you.”
“Ok, I’ll head right over”
And that’s when it hits me.
“Damon, just for grins, how much is that suit?”

“Lets see….its 1100 dollars, but on sale half off. $550 dollars”
I look at him, slack-jawed.
I wanted to say “You know I can buy a Trump suit for $179?”

Instead I said “That’s way out of my ballpark” and turn and left. I could feel the eyes of he and the cashier watching me, both thinking “that’s one cheap dude right there” but I really didn’t care.
Because cheap is how I feel.

BROTHERHOOD OF THE POINTY TOES

FOR SOUBRIQUET ON HIS BIRTHDAY

Well, when you're down on your luck,

and you ain't got a buck,

in London you're a goner.

Even London Bridge has fallen down,

and moved to Arizona,

now I know why.

And I'll substantiate the rumor

that the English sense of humor

is drier than the Texas sand.

You can put up your dukes,

and you can bet your boots,

that I'm leavin' just as fast as I can.

I wanna go home with the armadillo.
Good country music from Amarillo and Abilene.
The friendliest people and the prettiest women you've ever seen.

Well it's cold over here, and I swear,

I wish they'd turn the heat on.

And where in the world is that English girl,

I promised I would meet on the third floor.

And of the whole damn lot, the only friend I got,

is a smoke and a cheap guitar.

My mind keeps roamin',

my heart keeps longin' to be home in a Texas bar.

I wanna go home with the armadillo.
Good country music from Amarillo and Abilene.
The friendliest people and the prettiest women you've ever seen.

Well, I decided that, I'd get my cowboy hat

and go down to Marble Arch Station.

Cause when a Texan fancies he'll take his chances,

chances will be takin, now that's for sure.

And them Limey eyes, they were eyein' a prize,

that some people call manly footwear.

And they said you're from down South,

and when you open your mouth,

you always seem to put your foot there.

I wanna go home with the armadillo.
Good country music from Amarillo and Abilene.
The friendliest people and the prettiest women you've ever seen.

"london homesick blues" by gary p. nunn

Frank Lucchese out of El Paso makes one of the finest boots in the world and Soubriquet will need a Pair cuz after we wear out our share of the Sisters, we will be going to the North Side of Fort Worth to a little Honky-Tonk name of Filthy McNasty's and start in on a coupla few cousins I know.

Then we can head over to the White Elephant Saloon to ride the Mechanical Bull and wrestle the Bear.

We can then call him "True Grit in the Gears".

Between Soubriquets Chivalrous nature and youthful good looks, together with my ability to put my foot in my mouth in the most charming fashion, we just might have us a time!

Hold it...I was sposed to be talkin' about the boots I got for Souby...they are Hand Made from Caiman Crocodile with 'Parched Wheat" Uppers. These are not for shit-kickin or doin' the "Cotton Eyed Joe"....these are for Steak and Candlelite and a nice bottle of Montrachet and CremeBrullee' and VSOP with a Lady from the Sisterhood;

not anything you'll find at FilthyMcNasty's.

Happy Birthday Soubriquet!

My Best Friend Larry

 "So  Now You Know"

"Thank you Lisa for the honor and privilege to speak here today. Lisa is my longest running friend…we went to nursery school together. Erica, Ryan Michael, Jay Sara and David, thank you for allowing me this. I was proud to know your dad.

I’ve had a lot of best friends in my life. In my old age now I think back on all of them regularly, and when I do Larry always comes out at the top of the list. If best friends can be ranked, Larry ranks best best friend. Not many people have been as close to me as Larry and Lisa, and I never liked a man as much as I liked Larry Allen.

I remember the first time Larry and I bonded. We sat on the hood of my car on graduation night and talked about what we would do now that we were out of school. I was going to be a chef. Larry was going to do art. Over the years Larry and I would check in with each other, and congratulate ourselves we were still doing what we said we were going to do.

I haven’t cheffed professionally in years now. But I want you to know the last time I saw Larry, just a few weeks ago, it was at an art studio in downtown Fort Worth called Dang Good Candy.  The exhibit was titled “Larry Allen: A retrospective”. The gallery was filled with Larry's artwork, and also a life time of his friends. His pieces were professionally displayed, with captions,  descriptions and details of the provenance of the particular pieces. Tip o’ the hat Larry, still doing art.

Larry said later it was the greatest night of his life. Most of y’all were there, and I was amazed by the sweet sweet spirit in the place. It was one of the most amazing nights of my life as well, to see this tribute to my good friend.

Some of you may have been unfortunate enough to be cornered by me to view the portrait of the old man Larry had gifted me long ago. I held people hostage to read the story and poem that I associate with the portrait. It was only a lack of vanity that kept me from taking the portrait down from the wall and making them read the inscription on the back Larry had written 28 years before. The inscription reads:

"In life, there are people who affect the way you see the world, not by what is said, more in how they assist in one’s illuminations of what is; those people are friends. I am grateful, as well as a better man, for your friendship.”

This inscription probably says more about Larry than it does about me.
The Old man is one of my most prized possessions. I told Larry that night that if he ever wanted it back he would have to fight me for it. From his chair Larry gave me his biggest smile, and put up his dukes.

A few months after high school there is a story that I cant tell here that earned me the first Larry Allen raised eyebrow I had ever seen. Y’all know the eyebrow, yes?

A few years later Larry and I went to the HOP. I taught him how to drink Peach Brandy. Then to the Old South for Dutch Babies, and back to my place where we unwrapped Waiting For Columbus, littlefeats latest release in 1978. Larry fell in love with Dixie Chicken, and the album became a mainstay of gatherings and parties among our peers.

The day after Erica was born Larry and I went to dinner. He told me all about what it meant to be a father, and reminded me that soon I would be a member of the club.

Back about ’94 Larry bought a house. Larry spent a month preparing for the move and I helped. It would be the most organized move ever. He had shrink wrap, stretch wrap, bubble wrap and boxes. His boxes were meticulously labeled. You know Larry could not make a check mark without it being a work of art. Shoot, he couldn’t request Dixie Chicken at a Buddy show on a cocktail napkin without it being a work of art. We saw that at his retrospective, cocktails napkins saved through the years with Larry's artful requests.

I'm going to cut to the chase here. On the day of the move the movers came. The the house sale fell thru. Somehow a rent house was located and movers were redirected. By 4 O'clock that afternoon I would have helped Larry move TWICE. But it wasn’t over yet because when Larry finally saw the rent house, he said “This place is a dump, I’m not letting my family stay here”

Well, we sat and had a discussion for the next hour about what to do.

At some point I said “I tell you what we could do Larry. We can move all your stuff  into my garage and onto my back porch. We'll put pallets up for our kids to sleep on. Y’all can stay with us until you figure out what to do”

And do you know what?

That’s exactly what we did.

All night that night we moved Larry's stuff into my house. We finished up about 8 the next morning, both a bit punchy. I said “Larry, you couldn’t have planned this more perfectly; you paid movers to move all your worldly possession's to two different locations, then all night long we moved them all to my house. And right now our kids are sleeping on pallets in my house, and all is right with the world.”

I asked Erica if she remembered this. She said she did not. Of course she didn’t …it was just part of the grand adventure.

Two weeks later a group of friends loaded a U-haul in my driveway with Larry's stuff. He had determined to move to Florida. There was Gary, and Bill and Jeff maybe, Billy Baker and Curtiss Pilcher (Hey guys). They got the truck all loaded, and I noticed Larry frantically looking through his well marked boxes. He pulled one off the truck and took it into my living room. He was being kind of furtive about the whole thing, but at some point I knew what he was doing. I went and took a shower while everyone sat in my drive way. I stood in the shower and I cried. Partly because Larry was moving away, and partly because I knew that Larry was about to gift me the portrait of the old man.
So now you know. So now you know part of the story of the Old man that is seldom told.

There are people that help illuminate for you what is. Not by what they say, but more but what they do. Larry was that kind of friend to me. Our friendship wasn’t based on self improvement, for the self or the other. I don’t recall we ever gave or sought each others advice. But just by virtue of the companionship, we appealed to the larger parts of each other; the smaller parts of ourselves diminished, not from critique but from participation as a witness to each other on a journey that cant be taken alone.

I’ve been struck by pictures I’ve seen of Larry the last year. Handsome with a beaming smile, but ravaged from his disease. I see him at the farm, on the beach, home with family. And always that beaming smile. Larry didn’t want to go. He didnt want to go because he loved you guys so much.

I’d said earlier that he couldn’t have planned that disaster of a move more perfectly. But I was wrong. In addition to Erica, Ryan and Michael on pallets, we could have had Jay, Sara and David as well. And there was no way we could have known that that would come later."

*******

This is what I wrote for Larry's servce in its entirety. I did not read it for the service, I just wanted to tell it.  A lot of it fell off  as I spoke, including the last two paragraphs. The description of our friendship seemed a perfect place to end it.
I never liked a man as much as I liked Larry Allen.