Chalk and Cheese.

We were buddies in high school. His father was one of the bus drivers and our “egg man” and a truly nice man. One of those families where everyone respects everyone and gets along. I used profanity heavily; he didn’t and usually reminded me in a good natured way to be less profane. I was a wanna be badass and he was a good guy. I got drunk and he drove me home. More than once. He didn’t drink. I drove like a maniac and he drove very responsibly. He was religious, I wasn’t. For some reason he looked out for me, and when I got into real trouble he stayed my friend. He and his family converted to the Mormon religion and moved to Provo. We gradually lost touch as friends often do when there is a gulf of distance and philosophy developing between them. He went on to marry and have a big family, and I have no doubt it was a good family. After his wife died he married a widow with several children and they had a super-Brady bunch, 12 or 14 or something like that. I told him once that no matter what, where or when, if he needed me or something from me, like a kidney, it was his. No questions asked.
He died a little while ago, and I just learned about it. The profane mourns the clean-to-the-core. If there were justice it might be otherwise I suppose, but then again who can know a man’s heart? I think I knew his, and am so sorry a good man is gone. He believed in Heaven, and in his construct, that is where he is. No shit. (That was for you Chuck, to let you know it really is me.)
Image: Chuck with gigantic barracuda on Five Fathoms trip to the keys in 1957