I don’t often mention real names here of people I’ve known, but I’ll make an exception here.

Bob was a good friend of mine. Met him late in life through a friend of a friend. The first friend has disappeared into the dim past but Bob and I hit it off. For that matter, I hit it off with his wife-to-be; they were just starting to date when I met them.

This pretty much describes Bob.

We were at the edge of a cliff overlooking a river in the Cascades outside Seattle when some guy came up in a truck and for some reason – beer? – laughed at us and threatened to drive us off the cliff. Bob said something or another and the guy appeared mad enough that it seemed he was heading our way to do just that. I don’t go into the wilds unarmed … so that stopped that.

Bob was born rich in Philadelphia. He told me he blew his inheritance of some $3M dollars on a cute girl in Steamboat Springs while in his early 20s. Told me once he didn’t care about the money; the times he had with whoever was worth every penny. I gather she disappeared when the money did.

Now Bob could tell a good story so I doubted at first but as we got to know each other better, I believe his tale was true.

Bob had a sister in Australia who was a botanist. I forget the details but by some manner, she had a particular rose formally named after her. I have the details somewhere around here but probably buried deep in a box I’ve not looked through in a while.

Bob and Diane got married in 1990. The day of their wedding happened to be the day of the basketball playoffs between Chicago and Detroit. Game 7, series tied. The wedding was put off until the game was over. Detroit won.

Bob liked to do things in style. Bob rented the Steamship Virginia V for the wedding reception. Bob never acted or lived like he had money … but one could tell he was used to being around it. I never did ask him how he paid for all this; that just isn’t done.

During the festivities, Bob introduced me to some of his friends:
“DT“, he says, “let me introduce you to Lenny Wilkins“
“Hello. Pleased to meet you“, DT says with a blank look on his face.

I don’t follow basketball; I was probably the only person around who had no idea who Lenny Wilkins was.

I had bought a house south of Seattle; closer to Puyallup. When it was time to leave the area, Bob wanted to buy it. I cut them a deal but Bob was “negotiating”. Diane finally told him to shut up; she wanted the house and was afraid I’d just put it on the open market. I made money on the deal, he bought it for much less than market value. Win, win.

Bob and Diane came down from Seattle to where the soon-to-be Mrs DT and I got married; the last of three times. The party wedding. Well, the festivities lasted late, Bob got a bit toasty, so I drove him and Diane to their hotel. The clerk took his credit card, charged the room, then refused to give him the key. With no other solution at that time of night, B&D spent the night with us (and a few others). About 8 guests in our little 600 sq ft apartment on our (last of three) wedding night. The hotel later denied it ever happened.

Bob truly tried to help people. Being familiar with Washington’s welfare system, he tried to develop a company to aid in easing applicants through the bizarre procedures of the state. The state didn’t like the competition and shut him down. Maybe that was the beginning of the end.

Bob became an alcoholic. He knew he was an alcoholic, he told me he didn’t care, he’d keep on drinking. He developed some sort of blood condition that caused him to have one of his lower legs removed. The amputation didn’t heal; they kept cutting until they had to amputate above the knee. It still didn’t heal.

I had moved far away so I wasn’t able to keep up with his (lack of) progress. I last visited him and his wife Diane in 2013 or 2014 when I ended up having a medical problem myself and had to stay a day or two in a Seattle hospital.

I didn’t know it was the last time.

Diane called me in August 2015 to tell me Bob had passed; his condition exceeded what could be cured. Did alcohol play a part? Perhaps, but the condition itself was not alcohol related.

I thought about driving up to visit his grave – it’s been 10 years now – but what’s the point? His marker is not a headstone but a small slab of marble set in the ground. I’d go up, drink a beer over his grave, turn around and come home. I can toast a friendship gone by here as well as there. I haven’t seen Diane since.

So why this ramble? Bob would have been 75 today.

How in the world did it happen that my friends became my grandparents’ age?