Mark Garay guest blogs about a friendship lost
BY MARK GARAY
“I don't matter, you don't matter
Neither does this mindless clatter
It don't matter where you're from
What matters is your uniform.”
-Pete Townshend “Uniforms” 1982
It happened just five minutes ago. What would you do? My grocery home delivery driver was late. He texted me to say he couldn’t find my pad. Understandable. If my phone is in the back part of my house, it somehow reads that I’m next door. Don’t know why.
It then occurred to me that the deliveryman hadn’t called. He was texting in a strange way and never followed the simple instructions I sent for this very scenario. I went outside to greet him. Turns out the dude was a few blocks away. It took me 30 minutes to reel him in. When I finally did, it was clear he spoke no English.
Chapter One
In the fall of ‘81, these two 16-year-old dudes met at a well-known college prep on the West Coast. One came from a safe, modest neighborhood, both austere and simple. He’d attended public schools in a major city and yearned to make movies from a young age. His grandad played with Joe DiMaggio in the North Bay. He was a hard worker and eager for bigger things. His nickname was DG.
The other kid had grown up in a sheltered little beachfront hamlet south of the City, where the local A&W was a landmark and people only came to visit relatives. Lots of tough laborers and blue-collar types. The kind of honest folks who’d more than likely be wearing button-downs with their and to the left. His name was RR. RR had long sought out his future with plans to attend the Naval Academy. DG sought out a film education.
Chapter Two
Throughout high school, they were inseparable; concerts, trips to the lake, laughing fits at incredibly inappropriate times. They skipped class to get breakfast. They double-dated at the senior prom. They were athletic. DG took top honors for helping to secure an all-state baseball championship. RR, at 5’7” took out 6’5” future Dallas Cowboy Kevin Gogan in a devastating hit in 1983.
That same year, they visited colleges throughout California. They slept in sleeping bags in the back of DGs El Camino during the trip. Eventually, RR got his commission with the Navy. And DG was accepted to film school. Throughout the unfolding years, they kept in touch despite opposite coasts. One time RR showed up unannounced at DGs apartment in San Diego. He’d been on a Navy cruise from Annapolis that docked in Coronado.
By graduation, neither even considered a gap year. In 1989, DG was working at a TV station in Montana. RR was fighting as a Navy Seal in the first Gulf War. Years passed. Lotsa letters and mutual respect. The friendship grew deeper and stronger. They both married beautiful gals; RRs wife a former Seattle Seahawks cheerleader.
I eventually moved to Houston, where my DG moniker no longer applied. Eventually, my wife and I visited RR after he and his wife moved to Fort Worth. I am now a retired television journalist. He is now a retired Navy Rear Admiral. We still stay in touch regularly. In fact we had dinner a few weeks ago in Sugar Land. Our friendship was perfect, until 2015, when the paint began flaking off.
Chapter Three
That was the year that 131 people in Paris died after a string of terror attacks. Hundreds of thousands of Syrians fled across the Mediterranean to flee persecution. And a rich TV celebrity announced his run for high office. I didn’t know too much about this candidate, so I did a little research and discovered how he had treated Scotland years before. As I dug deeper, the more disgusted I was about who this guy was, and how he bullied people. 6 bankruptcies? A guy who justifies not paying people with bullshit lawsuits? The kind of guy who probably paid fellow 13-year-olds to corner who bullied him in the schoolyard.
On a subsequent visit, RR and I discussed politics, for perhaps the first time ever. He expressed disturbing views on homosexuals, strange interpretations of authoritative law enforcement, and clear support for this particular candidate, named Trump.
And so it began, like an insidious virus.
And as our political divide matured, it became flammable. When Trump called me a criminal, untrustworthy, a terrorist, and a threat to America, my angry spirit escalated. I didn’t understand how anyone could say that I or any of my news colleagues were enemies of the state.
For his part, RR supported this guy no matter what. Insulting brown people. Assuming people on social programs are lying. Initiating ridiculous tariffs. Killing people in Venezuela with no trial. But when this now twice-elected president posted a video depicting himself donning a king’s crown and dumping shit on Americans, I’d had enough. RR said it was a brilliant way to troll liberals. He called it hilarious.
Chapter 4
That exchange happened about a week ago, and I’ve been marinating in a stew of disappointment and sadness since. I’ve known this guy for 45 years. He’s my best friend. We’d both committed years ago to not letting politics disturb our friendship.
But I’m feeling shit I can’t understand or unravel now.
Is it possible to love someone if their views on humanity and world order violate my natural inclinations? Is that fair? Am I losing my respect for him because he suddenly seems cold and hard? Did his two combat tours in the Middle East make him less compassionate? How do I manage these major differences between us? Because, for some reason, and I hate admitting this, I’m drifting away. My views of my best friend have changed. And I’m taking a break from him.
Epilogue
It was about 40 minutes beyond scheduled delivery, and I was pissed. It was a bubbly stream of frustration and anger: why are they hiring people who can’t speak or read English? No wonder I’m going through this delay! This idiot has no idea what he’s doing! I guided him to the parking. He grabbed my groceries and quietly followed me to my house. His shoulders drooped, he shuffled his feet a bit, but said nothing as he lagged behind. And then, as usual, I began thinking about this guy’s story. Where’s he from? How’d he get here? Does he have a family? Was his life in danger from where he’d come? I quickly loosened up and took a breath. This wasn’t a bad man. He’s doing what he must, and he deserves some understanding. Everybody does. I added $5.00 to his tips.
And I wondered if my best friend could understand why I would do such a thing.
(Former ABC13 Houston KTRK anchor Mark Garay returns to mikemcguff.com as a guest blogger!)
