I received a call from a friend on Sunday morning. He was calling to let me know his dad had passed. It wasn't a shock to me, nor was it a shock to the family, as Stan had been fighting a losing battle for quite some time. The news of the sad event came with a couple of stories, and it stirred a few memories. The son and I have known each other over forty years, since we were 11 years old, so we have some stories to tell.
Stan was a physically small guy, apparently on the quiet side, with not so good eyesight and an unassuming demeanor. That was the apparent Stan. I learned, over the years, that Stan played a little golf, knew his way around a poker table, enjoyed a cocktail, and had a pretty sharp sense of humor. When you're a kid, other kids' dads are just guys, and you don't get to know much about them, unless the relationships last, and 99% don't.
We lived in on 82nd Place in Chicago, and when it was time for high school, my friend and I both went to a Catholic high school in the suburbs. That was an opportunity to get to know one side of Stan, as he would drop us off at school on his way to work. Stan worked in the administrative offices at Polk Brothers in Melrose Park. For the younger readers, Polk Brothers was a forerunner to Best Buy, though I think they sold a lot furniture, too. TV sets and couches, that was Polk Bros.
The trips to school were not unusual, unless you have a lot of intervening years to colorize them, and I do. Stan's car, for about a hundred years, was a faded beige four door Buick LeSabre, a large, boxy, frumpy sedan that was always parked in front of his house like big steel sand dune. It had a complementary, equally bland interior of beige cloth with the shiny pattern that I think is referred to as brocade by people who know that kind of stuff. Being in the Buick was kind of like invading a black and white TV show: everything around was devoid of color. On school days, Stan would come out and start the car about ten minutes before lift off and fire up a highly unsavory cigar, turn on the AM-only radio that was permanently tuned to station WAIT, a bland-as-the-Buick broadcasting outlet that played elevator music, and Stan would sit and wait for the car to warm up. Even when we were not heading for school, Stan would sit and warm up the car and light his stogie and listen to his elevator music before heading off to work. I didn't realize how rigid was the process until my friend pointed out to me the dark brown spot on the beige headliner above the driver's seat. A lot of cigar smoke from a lot of rides.
The warming up the car part was a ritual in name only, because, as I recall, the Buick offered little heat in the winter. The car had its own karma, but no air conditioning, so we got even on the heat part when winter ended.
At some point in our high school years, Stan replaced the Buick, upgrading to Oldsmobile Delta 88, gold on the outside with a black vinyl top and a black interior. The Delta 88 was one step from the top of the Oldsmobile line, a very nice car in its day. This one had air conditioning, it had an FM radio and the cigars were discontinued, at the behest, I assume, of Stan's wife. With no cigars, the warm up time was substantially reduced. Stan drove the 88 the same way as the Buick, kind of like a bus driver, very methodical, though he would occasionally punch the accelerator and zoom and cackle quietly in enjoyment.
The FM radio, by the way, was now tuned to WAIT-FM, same crappy music but now in static-free monoraul FM. We were so sad when we learned that WAIT came in FM...
My friend and I eventually got cars and didn't ride with Stan anymore, and life took its course, and eventually Stan and his wife of many years sold the old house on 82nd Place and bought a condo in the 'burbs and retired. When his son told me on Sunday of Stan's passing, he told me also about something Stan did in his last few days.
Stan told his son to ask Stan's best friend, with whom he'd been friends with 68 years, to come and see him. in the hospital. When the friend arrived, he and Stan spent a little time together, Stan and his friend of 68 years. Stan bade him good bye and gave him a gift.
Stan gave to his friend, in the words of his son, "the Holy Grail of 85 year old men".
Stan gave his friend his 1996 Oldsmobile 98, top of the line.
The friendships that last, they can be pretty amazing. Top of the line.
Friday is definitely the weaker in terms of negative vibes. This may be that it's worn out, as we have one every week, a Friday that is.
