Tim Smith

I wrote this upon learning of Mike's death. We went all the way back to Patrick Henry and lived together in Naples in '67 before he went in the service.  I hadn't seen him in years, though I'd tried to track him down when I was in Long Beach for work or family visits.

Bad News
 

Bad news, my wife says, and hands me the phone.

I know its my daughter on the other end

and I imagine her mother's father has died

or the dog's been run over, something not

terribly unexpected, but death, nonetheless.

This is how my mind runs, logical in some way

seeking to make sense of what it will hear,

preparing in advance for an appropriate response.

But when she says, "Mike Brewer died", the system fails,

the source is wrong, the subject completely unexpected.

And more surprising yet, the sudden descent into reverie,

the smoky insinuations, images; the forgotten ghosts; 

waver, flicker, glow brighter in the mind

as though something were cranking a generator

faster and faster, sending current to awaken memory.

I see my life again, as it had been at 13, 18, 23 

and finally near  fifty, 30 years past high school,

and I see him there, manic, probably high on coke

moving with nervous imprecision among the crowds

his baldness concealed beneath a wool fedora.

So much more was hidden;  a deeper introvert I never knew.

Yet he was my 'blood brother', with real blood flowing

from our wrists pressed each to the other as we swigged

beer and shouted Odin like mad vikings or just

a couple of fatherless kids longing to be men.

I looked up to him, thought him the coolest, smoothest 

operator of all, liked by the guys, desired by women

who always seem to know who needs the love, and who can't give it.

There was something of the tragic there, an untrusting

artist who could have made so much of his talent.

Yet he never did.  He went to Nam, came back more deeply

withdrawn.  He got up on top for a while, but couldn't stand

the stability, and started a long fall toward the end, like his father before him. 

I remember when we pulled the staggering old man 

out of a bar on Anaheim St. and he hardly knew Mike's name.

I thought then of our future.  Of those who shaped us and 

whose values we admired.  I felt that terror of abandonment

as when, hung over and raw,  the abyss opens beneath and

the meaning we take as solid ground suddenly slips

from beneath our feet.  Then the fall into that awe-full emptiness.

And now the obituary with no more information than next of kin and

birth/death dates.  As little there as he was willing to share.

I was as close to him as anyone, yet knew nothing of his heart.

I don't believe he ever married, though he shared more than

a few beds with married women.  I wonder what he told them.

I talk to my ex-wife;  it was Mike who introduced us.  I talk to his sister

who I haven't seen in 40 years, she sounds exactly the same.

I write people with whom I've had no interest, or inkling of forever.

Who says the dead have no power?  I am haunted by our past together

in ways I could not have imagined, his restlessness become my own.

I survey all I have become, have failed to be, may yet attain.

I see the fearful force of family working its curse

on each of us, the hand of heaven at work on an anvil of mud;

and any part of us not shared, not  taken in and nurtured by heart

and mind, soon dries to to dust and is blown in our eyes.

Jody Whitlow (Delgado)

Beautifully written......Yes, the war took a lot of our boyfriends to war.  So young at the time.  And then they came back broken, scared and alone for the most part.  I too remember Mike Brewer.  Didn't know him well, but he was a handsome guy.  But then again, there were so many handsome guys attending Millikan High School.  May he rest in peace and thank you for sharing.  My husband, Raul A. Delgado, has just written a book, Ghosts of 1968" about his time in Vietnam.  It tells of his story and experiences during the war.  So much pain from the war.  Again, thanks for sharing your thoughts.  Jody Whitlow Delgado

Caroline Lawson (Rutledge)

While I didn't personally know Mike, or even you Tim, I did know who you were.  Tim, what you wrote really touched me.  It brought back memories of others we have lost.

Linda Short (Pacholl)

Tim, what a wonderful tribute to Mike. I knew both of you, we had classes together throughout our time together at Millikan. I am sorry for your loss and in reality, it is all of our loss. Death, no matter how old we are, when we hear of it about a friend, family member, neighbor, a pet, it really touches all of us in a personal way, thank you for being able to express so eliquently!

And now, in just a few years will be our 50th High School Reunion, did I ever think back then that it /or I would be within those numbers. All the people, teachers, administrators, that shaped our past. We are a part of history, Mike was a part of that history. Thank you for bringing him back to life for all of us.

Pamela Tarzian (Broadman)

I didn't know either of you as well, but am so touched and moved by your beautiful writing. Lovely memorial of Mike and all the others we lost. So moving. Thanks for sharing.

Kathy Zimmerman (Blackwelder)

Mike was one of my best friends - my best guy friend - and I miss him very much.  It's funny how we each view people differently.  I never saw the manic which you mentioned, however, I did see all the other stuff and although he was quite private, we shared each others joys and sorrows.  Platonic all the way.  The last time I talked to him was on my 60th birthday.  Got the call from his sister four months later.  Still makes me cry.  Sigh....just loved him.

Wayne Dillehay

 Tim,

That was a great story about Mike.  I new you both at Milikan H.S..  That war took a lot out of all the  people that went to VietNam. 

Well written

Wayne Dillehay

Rowena Shaner (Briggs)

My path crossed with Mike's at a GTE company function a number of years back.  He worked with my husband and it was surprising to see him again in that setting.  Beautifully written memories, Tim.

Antoinette Barris (Stockton)

I went to high school with Mike.  We lived around the corner from each other and on the weekends I would sneak out of the house and knock on his bedroom window and wake him up.  We would walk the neighbor hood for hours and talk and laugh till we cryed.  Rest in Peace Michael  I will never forget you.  Toni Barris

Nancy Littleton (Atwood)

I don't believe I knew either Tim or Mike, but this is very powerful writing & would move anyone.