When I was at college I got mixed up with the wrong crowd. Fifty years later, we’re still friends. To be honest, there was no wrong crowd at UC Berkeley in the early 70’s. The wrong crowd all went to Stanford to become Republicans.
Good friendships require little maintenance. Like succulents and electric cars, they last. Even if they move out of state, when you reunite, it feels like you’re just hanging out after a football game.
My two best friends from college are Bill and Bryant. We have a special bond forged by a half century of giving each other a bad time and a seething contempt for the right-wing. We look back fondly on running over to Kip’s bar in between classes to watch the Watergate hearings and fleeing from the SWAT teams sent in to disperse the protest on Telegraph Avenue over Nixon’s invasion of Cambodia. Ahh, good times.
I refer to them as Monsieur Willie and Bobo. They call me Danny Boy or Scopaz (short for my given last name, Scopazzi). We cemented our friendship about four years after graduation when we went backpacking in the Trinity Alps of northwestern California. We trudged up 3000 feet to pitch camp on the shore of an isolated, pristine lake. Falling into crystal-clear freezing water was the perfect therapy for our sore legs after that long climb, even if took several days later for our testicles to re-descend.
Lots of pot was inhaled while Bill and I toiled over a Scrabble board and Bobo enjoyed his book. He’d occasionally glance over and register his disbelief that we’d transported a 4 lb. copy of the Funk & Wagnall’s dictionary, lovingly referred to as the Funky Wagnalls.
We were in our mid-twenties. Our responsibilities were few. I had just completed my shaky second year as a special education teacher. Bill and Bryant were enjoying a summer break from law school. One or two other parties would visit the lake but we all camped at equidistant points, respecting each other’s privacy.
After several nights in the wilderness Bryant had to return home. The night before his exit we had a ceremonial going away dinner. He gave a stirring farewell speech concluding with the words “Granny’s tired”. It’s a reference to a character portrayed by Marlon Brando in the movie, The Missouri Breaks. He is a bounty hunter who dons several disguises. In one scene he captures and kills his prey while dressed as an old woman. He then yawns the words “Granny’s tired”. We thought that it was hilarious and called it up whenever appropriate.
If none of this sounds amusing to you, I will repeat: lots of pot was inhaled.
Days later Bill and I continued north to attend the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. While in Ashland we ran into one of Bill’s high school classmates who was there directing. I remember feeling instantly deficient. Here I was at a job I wasn’t particularly good at and dreading the oncoming semester, juxtaposed to a world class stage director who was my age.
It was blazing hot so the three of us took the afternoon to cool off at a nearby stream. After laying about in the disappointingly tepid water we rose to find dozens of tiny leeches stuck to our calves and thighs. Trying not to panic we spent the next half an hour feverishly removing the inch-long blood suckers. Much to my horror, a few had found their way to my crotch. We convinced ourselves we had plucked them all but nonetheless sped back to our hotel room showers for a final de-leeching.
I later read leeches prefer warm water and are particularly attracted to disturbances that create vibrations, such as animals swimming by or splashes created by people carelessly wading. Please listen to the voice of experience: If you desire to go about splashing with your dog, I recommend the Pacific Ocean, where leeches fear to tread. I’d rather be pulled in by the undertow than become leech lunch again.
That night Bill and I attended a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream under the stars in the exquisite Elizabethan Theatre. I remember the actor playing Nick Bottom registering repeated, hilarious applause when an electric jolt ignited my brain. I was not meant to be teacher! I loved the kids, but I was crappy educator. I didn’t prepare well enough. My heart wasn’t in it. It was not my calling.
Instead, I belonged up on a stage getting laughs. Nothing could beat the roar of an approving crowd. I suddenly recollected 8 yr. old me enthralled by the comedians on the Ed Sullivan Show. If I were going to get there, I’d have a lot to learn. There was no time to lose. The day after I got home, I resigned my position and began researching audition monologues. Had it not been for my foray with friends, I may not have come to that epiphany, at least not that soon.
Forty-five years later, Bill, Bryant, and I have enjoyed sporting events, lunches, bike rides, anniversary parties, birthday bashes. We’ve attended each other’s parents’ funerals. Joked around with each other’s kids. Bill and I got to meet Bryant’s first grandchild. There are months when we may not hear from each other, but we know we’re still there.
And whatever they want to do, I’m up for it…just as long as there ain’t no leeches.
That Old Gang o' Mine
What a beautiful story and friendships like this don't come around often these days. You inspired me to reach out to my best friend since 2nd grade and say hey!!! Thank you for this, it makes me smile during this crazy covid time.