As I look back on the past 53 years, a lot has happened. I most happily share it all here with my readers, for good, bad or ugly, it’s my life. And through it, perhaps you can see that yours isn’t so bad, and perhaps even better. I also get to do a lot of free therapy.
A couple days ago, I did a little piece about my family. I discovered that writing about them is the only way I’m ever going to hear from them, and while it would be wonderful to post their angry diatribes, I won’t bother wasting bandwidth.
Instead, I’m going to talk about someone who has been by my side all these years since my family stepped out of it – my token Irishman, Bobby.
As I noted in my RobZerrvation on my family, Bobby has been my mentor, stepping into the role of a father figure without being asked. In fact, I’m not sure he even knows it.
Even though there’s quite a bit of difference in our ages, he’s been one of my best friends in life. I remember the first day I met him. I had just become an honorary Seafair Pirate. We were holed up at the Tropics Inn on Aurora, and right across the street was Denny’s. Pirating can make a guy hungry.
Not knowing anyone in the pirates (I’d only been with them a couple days), I went over to the restaurant to get a bite to eat. Now, I don’t like to eat alone, at least I didn’t until they invented the iPad. Now I can dine alone without a second thought. But being hungry makes you do desperate things, so off I went.
As I waited for my cheeseburger to arrive, I noticed several other pirates at a table down the way. I didn’t know their names, but I heard one of them talk about the importance of soup. That, of course, caught my ear, since I don’t like soup (another story entirely). What also caught my ear was a very distinct Irish accent. I knew who that was – there was only one Irishmen I had seen in the group.
He played Baritone ukulele. At this time, I was still playing with my brothers, so we didn’t mingle. We would do stuff, then he would do stuff. We largely were cordial but kept our respective distances.
It wasn’t until we went to Cayman that we hit it off. Or should I say, didn’t hit it off. The captain had requested that we do one of my songs and he wanted Bobby to go up on stage with me to do it. We never had performed together before.
It didn’t set well. When we got back to the condo, Bobby let us have it with both barrels. He wasn’t going to perform with me, even if ordered to, he said. From then on we were best friends and for the last 30 years, have played in more places than I can even recall.
It’s funny how you end up being friends sometimes. On minute, you’re distant, even have a bit of mild disdain. Then fast friends for apparently no reason at all.
Through the years I have learned a lot about me. Often it’s through Bobby’s sage advice, born from a life far different from mine. He used to tell me the story about how at the outbreak of WWII, they had issued rifles to all the soldiers. There he was, patrolling the cliffs of Great Britain, gun in hand. But no bullets. They didn’t have enough of them.
He also taught me about how to learn the value of a friendship. I had loaned $100 to another pirate once and was a bit miffed that he never brought up the fact that he owed me this money or offered to pay it back. It was then that Bobby offered his perspective, “If it only takes a hundred bucks to learn where you stand with someone, it’s the best money you’ll ever spend.”
Of course, that’s just one very small chunk of all the great advice I have been given over the years. Even though we haven’t seen each other in five years, when we’re on the phone a conversation can roll on for hours, and they usually do. We just have so much to talk about.
It I were to catalog all our adventures here it would suck up all the space I have on this server. There is just so much. Even though we met as pirates, we also performed separately as The Coachmen. We could really sing up a storm. Our record for performing was five hours straight during the Great Seattle Blackout. It wasn’t supposed to be five hours. But every time we’d all take a break, I’d find Bobby over in a corner, instrument in hand, singing Sh Boom! and I’d be there in no time, singing right along with him. Then we’d take another break, or try to, and I’d be over in a corner singing.
It was never a case of one upmanship. It was just because we so loved entertaining together that we couldn’t get enough of it. We both loved singing Peter, Paul and Mary and Kingston Trio songs and we blended so well, not only our voices but our personalities that it was like having a really good high. It was addictive.
It wasn’t all music either. We were always jabbing one another, equals mentally as well as musically. He would tell people how I was “Still young enough to think that youth is an asset.” Funny, but it took me 30 years to figure out what he meant by that.
Soon, I will be headed back to the great Northwest. One of the best parts of the trip will be seing my token Irishman. It’s been a long time. Oh, I should explain the title of today’s column. That’s how we always introduced him in the band… And Bobby, our token Irishman.
It is offered with the highest regard, greatest respect and with tremendous love. It is a pleasure knowing him, and most of all, being able to call him my friend.
Out on the Treasure Coast, humming along to Puff the Magic Dragon (a signature Bobby song),
– Robb