His nickname is Buddy since his real name is pretty weird. Buddy and I became friends in first grade. That was 1953. Yeah, amazing right? Almost sixty years and he is still a close friend. I had best friends before that, but none that I can say are still close friends.
By high school we both wanted to be artists, even though neither of us knew what that meant. We probably still don’t, but we are both artists now. We teach art in universities too. Amazing.
You might think that all this means our paths from there to here were somewhat similar. Therein lies the story.
The first year of college we both went to the same university. 1965. That’s right – hippies, the Beatles and Vietnam. The times they were a’changin’.
Educational deferments only came to those who stayed in school. I did. Buddy didn’t. He chose partying with the Kingsmen and the Beatles, which cost him an educational deferment. I had eased closer to hippiedom after I (luckily or unluckily) spent my first university term in the Reserve Office Training Corp. It scared the hell out of me. I kept my deferment. The university military was really stupid and mean. That made me wonder a lot about the non-university military and its chief officer. I became a committed draft dodger. I’m not apologizing. Buddy didn’t “choose” Vietnam. He got appointed. We both had draft cards in our wallets. His got used.
While I stayed in college – got a dumbass grad degree, a high draft number, a one A physical classification, and looked for anything else that would keep space between me and Vietnam. Buddy took medic’s training and won a free flight directly to the rice patties from rural Alabama. We were both equally unaware of almost everything. I talked sophomore philosophy in the university center. We both got high, but he was in a much scarier place.
He finally told me some of the stories over twenty years later. I didn’t wonder why he spent so many years sleeping in his truck while doing odd jobs around Alabama.
So, a lot of good and bad stories later, we arrive at the insult that adds to injury in ways only Vietnam and similar human events could.
Too many weeks and months passed this year without a chat with my good buddy, Buddy. You know. Life and stuff. I got a bit nostalgic about the one longest friendship I have. “Hey Bud! How’s it hanging? I know at your age it’s only hanging…”
Stage four cancer!? Laid off! Promised tenure track went down with the embezzling university president? Months of cancer treatment while still having to work! What about the cost? No medical insurance now to cover all that? How sad can this get?
Well, as life and luck would have it, the VA is covering all that medical care, since they now admit that the cancer was caused by their very own agent. Agent Orange.