Charley

Almost 44 long years ago, yrs trly darkened the halls of his beloved alma mater, good old Houghton College, about 70 miles south of Rochester, NY on the Genesee River, the last time.
I’ve never regretted it; it was the most pleasant and rewarding thing I ever did.
And that’s despite my being an outcast there. The college is evangelical, and I’m not.
Yet they weren’t browbeating me. I always respected them for that.
I almost got canned on a tight-pants rap (a la Rolling Stones), but wasn’t.
They let me graduate with a B.A. in History. —And a future wife; same one I’ve been with over 42 years.
While there I gained the friendship of a fellow ne’er-do-well, one Charley Gardiner.
It was a pleasant yet somewhat difficult friendship. —Pleasant because we shared similar interests, yet difficult only because Charley was a superior, all-knowing being, and I was an inferior dolt.
Charley was from near New York City, Long Island actually.
Over the years, and many contacts, I’ve found New Yorkers tend to be elitist, supposedly more urbane and hip than we non New Yorkers.
And why not? Within New York City was a surfeit of intellectual stimulation.
Plus it was possible to visit without a car.
In fact a car is an impediment.
The few times I visited were by train into New York, and then subway-elevated therein.
And finally you hoofed it.
Brooklyn Bridge was hoofing it.
I’ve seen Charley three times since college; once at a college reunion, and twice at his digs in rural Massachusetts.
Each time we fell into our familiar roles, he being superior, and me the clueless dolt.
The other night I had a dream.
My wife and I were exiting a building onto a sun-dappled portico.
And there was Charley climbing the steps.
I wasn’t sure it was him. He looked too young, and was wearing a knitted winter cap.
The only thing visible that looked like Charley was his face.
Our eyes met, but I walked on by, rather than scare a complete stranger.
“BobbaLew,” he said, after I passed.
“I could stop by your apartment and visit. I could bring coffee.”
We congregated, and he had me hold a large Dixie-Cup containing what appeared to be a root-beer float with chocolate ice cream.
“Not coffee,” I said; “something like this, that scares the bejesus outta your teeth.”
“Still waxing eloquent,” Charley said.
“I am not!” I snapped. “We own a Toyota Sienna minivan, and a Honda CR-V; not an Eloquent.
And I haven’t waxed either in years. Us old folks farm such things out.”
Which is why Charley liked me; my penchant for slinging words into insane verbiage.
Others fell in.
I blog this stuff for them.
“How do you do it?” they ask.
“Well I don’t know,” I say. “I guess it was always in there.”
A jaundiced eye matched to an extensive vocabulary.
Read enough, and you gain the vocabulary.

• The “Genesee River” is a fairly large river that runs south-to-north across Western New York, runs through Rochester, including over falls, and empties into Lake Ontario. Houghton College is in its valley.