Glenn Johnson
Let me tell you the story of a man. He was a man yet is no longer, nor ever will be.
If there is one word to describe this man it would be Wads, since that was his nickname. He is the first of our inner circle to perish. That circle I mention is our high-school gang of hooligan-wannabes. Always a trailblazer, Wads, whether in laughter, ironical gazes, or cracking open a quart of Coors beer.
The main thing I think about when I remember him, is how funny he was. Never was such a check-you-out-under-his-brows look. That was you and him, knowing, and him letting you know that he knew, in a funny way. The world’s most sardonic and loving smile is gone forever. Thank goodness we got to see it, though. That was one of a kind.
I didn’t seem him much since school days, but he was always the same old Wads to me, if not quite as nymph-like in his physique. Actually he was of a comfortable size always, especially his big healing hamfists. He followed in the steps of his father and studied to become a chiropracter.
I had not realized what a natural healer he was until him and Parise came to visit us at college in Fulton Missouri. We lived in a rented student home for the underpriviledged: saggy porch, holes in the wall, bad smells, very little homework being done.
There was a stray dog that hung around the neighborhood begging for scraps. That was the ugliest dog I ever seen, and absolutely puffed-out with cockleburrs, way worse than anything I’ve ever seen in any animal.
Well, while the rest of us were floating near the ceiling or out bounding nude through the backyard, tossing flowers and emanating peace, Glenn sat down with a razor blade and that horrible smelly dog for two hours at least – though it may have been several days, judging from the amount of cockleburrs and arcane chemistry in the vicinity – and took all the cockleburrs off that worthless mutt. It was in him to alleviate distress wherever he saw it.
Thank you Goddess for letting us share him for a while.
Your sad yet grateful,
LWIII
Coo,
I do remember it and many other times of tenderness that were Wads. Many new him few well.
He will be forever missed. Nice piece.
Thanks Parise. I never could say I knew him all that well, but what I did know of Wads, I sure liked and admired.
Glenn and I became acquainted in sixth grade, in the “new” building at Central School; if I remember right our teacher’s name was Mrs. Judish – of the North Pole Judishs’ [sic]. We raised so much cane sitting next to each other that Mrs. Judish set us on opposite sides of the room from each other — it didn’t matter, all Glenn and I had to do was look at each other and we would both erupt in laughter. We discovered early on that we both loved dogs ¬– when we said “hi” to each other each day, we called each other (in infant-like voices) “puppy-dawd.” This puppy dog howls in sadness over the loss of his early pack mate.
Thanks Greg, it’s definitely a sad time.