Remembering Bernie
Bernie was crude, vulgar, loud, obnoxious, sure to embarrass you in public, and an all-around pain in the ass ....and oh, how I miss him.
Bernie died in 1989 and it was like a part of me died with him. Before I met him, I'd never had a friend like that, and never since.
We first met in Atlantic City where I'd always lived and Bernie had come (from Philadelphia) to work for the summer. It was 1967 and we were all trying to get into this bar using our fake IDs, the descriptions on which in no way matched how we actually looked. But it was dark, and the bouncer didn't really care, so we all got in. It was a small group of friends and, when Bernie and I were introduced, we took an immediate dislike toward each other. He was so not like me, and represented all the things I didn't like in a person. He felt similarly. So, eventually, we became fast friends.
I remember once on a New York subway, we got into this laughing thing ...over something insignificant and silly. But we just couldn't stop laughing. All we had to do was glance at each other and it would start up again. It got so bad, we had to get off the subway and walk home, doubled over in laughter all the way. It was this sense of lightness that [he] brought to my life. With Bernie around, it was impossible for me to take myself seriously. Or if I did, he'd immediately put a stop to it. I guess he was my Peter Pan. After he was gone, I did seem to get much older very fast.
So, what sparked this flash of reminiscence? There was this program ...don't really remember what it was or even what it was about ...that showed a montage of old 70s commercials. One clip was the old 7-Up "un-cola nut" ad featuring Geoffrey Holder saying the words, "Juicier too, I'd say". But with his thick Trinidadian accent, it came out sounding like "Juicy Twotsy". "What the hell is he saying?", Bernie had asked. I explained, mouthing the words slowly, but all Bernie's brain would hear was juicy twotsy. We'd howl with laughter every time we'd drink 7-Up. This type of silliness was the kind of thing only [he] could make me appreciate.
He also had this thing where he couldn't pronounce the word "filthy". Similar to a English cockney brogue, he would either say "filfy" or "thilthy". His speech was peppered with many such unique expressions that were classic "Bernie". And then, there was the profanity! In a simple sentence of twelve or so words, four or five of them would be expletives. He was so totally irreverent and uncultured ...and the closest friend I ever had.
Unfortunately, those major differences between us did pose a problem in later life. I was "growing up" and he refused to do so. He never did get his act together. My "having" and his "not having" was always there, like a "white elephant" in the room. Sure, I'd always agree to that "loan?", but he always resented me for his having to ask ...and I him for the asking.
Our last encounter ended in a big fight over my not wanting him to accompany me the symphony. You see, I'd already made plans to go with some friends, and [he'd] just breezed into town from who knows where and shown up at my door with no advanced notice ...as was his habit. And no, you did not want to take Bernie to the S.F. Symphony. He was highly insulted. "Who the hell do you think you are?" He left and went back home to Philly, (where he'd returned to live with his Mom). I never heard from him again.
When his Mom called to tell me he'd died, I felt so terribly bad about how we'd left things, how I couldn't take back those last words or rewrite that last scenario. I don't really know if he knew just how much he meant to me.
Quote of the Week: "Happiness is not so much something you experience as it is something you remember."
Bernie died in 1989 and it was like a part of me died with him. Before I met him, I'd never had a friend like that, and never since.
We first met in Atlantic City where I'd always lived and Bernie had come (from Philadelphia) to work for the summer. It was 1967 and we were all trying to get into this bar using our fake IDs, the descriptions on which in no way matched how we actually looked. But it was dark, and the bouncer didn't really care, so we all got in. It was a small group of friends and, when Bernie and I were introduced, we took an immediate dislike toward each other. He was so not like me, and represented all the things I didn't like in a person. He felt similarly. So, eventually, we became fast friends.
I remember once on a New York subway, we got into this laughing thing ...over something insignificant and silly. But we just couldn't stop laughing. All we had to do was glance at each other and it would start up again. It got so bad, we had to get off the subway and walk home, doubled over in laughter all the way. It was this sense of lightness that [he] brought to my life. With Bernie around, it was impossible for me to take myself seriously. Or if I did, he'd immediately put a stop to it. I guess he was my Peter Pan. After he was gone, I did seem to get much older very fast.
So, what sparked this flash of reminiscence? There was this program ...don't really remember what it was or even what it was about ...that showed a montage of old 70s commercials. One clip was the old 7-Up "un-cola nut" ad featuring Geoffrey Holder saying the words, "Juicier too, I'd say". But with his thick Trinidadian accent, it came out sounding like "Juicy Twotsy". "What the hell is he saying?", Bernie had asked. I explained, mouthing the words slowly, but all Bernie's brain would hear was juicy twotsy. We'd howl with laughter every time we'd drink 7-Up. This type of silliness was the kind of thing only [he] could make me appreciate.
He also had this thing where he couldn't pronounce the word "filthy". Similar to a English cockney brogue, he would either say "filfy" or "thilthy". His speech was peppered with many such unique expressions that were classic "Bernie". And then, there was the profanity! In a simple sentence of twelve or so words, four or five of them would be expletives. He was so totally irreverent and uncultured ...and the closest friend I ever had.
Unfortunately, those major differences between us did pose a problem in later life. I was "growing up" and he refused to do so. He never did get his act together. My "having" and his "not having" was always there, like a "white elephant" in the room. Sure, I'd always agree to that "loan?", but he always resented me for his having to ask ...and I him for the asking.
Our last encounter ended in a big fight over my not wanting him to accompany me the symphony. You see, I'd already made plans to go with some friends, and [he'd] just breezed into town from who knows where and shown up at my door with no advanced notice ...as was his habit. And no, you did not want to take Bernie to the S.F. Symphony. He was highly insulted. "Who the hell do you think you are?" He left and went back home to Philly, (where he'd returned to live with his Mom). I never heard from him again.
When his Mom called to tell me he'd died, I felt so terribly bad about how we'd left things, how I couldn't take back those last words or rewrite that last scenario. I don't really know if he knew just how much he meant to me.
Quote of the Week: "Happiness is not so much something you experience as it is something you remember."
posted by gieau_sf (9:15:00 AM)
-- All non-relevant comments will be (have been) deleted!
4 Comment(s):
Ahhh,
The sorrow of an unresolved fight and the sorrow of loosing the person you fought with.
That is a tough lesson to learn. I know, because the day before my brother unexpectatly passed away 10 years ago, we had a major fight. We would have eventually made up, like we usually did... but fate wasn't on our side.
I focus on the positve memories as you seem to be doing with your friend.
I think that is what counts, focusing on the positive.
Yes, I agree.
It's funny though, I not only focus on the positive, those seem to be the strongest memories. All that other stuff seems so insignificant.
And, as with your brother, we would've eventually gotten past it were it not for fate.
Bernie sounds like my friend, Steve, who passed away many years ago. Steve and I spent our entire friendship engaged in an argument about something. I was slightly bitter because he was the pretty one who always got the white boys to take care of him, but I was the smart one who was usually right about EVERYTHING. He hated that.
One of the very last times we were together was in Atlantic City at a nasty little place called Studio 6... Ahh the good old days. I haven't thought about those days in a long time. Thanks for bringing it all back.
I got a warm fruzzy chuckle when I read the part about "being right".
I, too, always thought I was right ...and usually I was. Bernie both admired and hated me for that.
I bet you miss those arguments :)
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