Rant-Man's Notebook

By Jim "Rant-Man" MacQuarrie

Some Friends of Mine

One of the bigger flaws in my character is the fact that I'm a bit of a thoughtless bum where friends are concerned. I don't call people, I don't remember birthdays and stuff like that. It's unfortunate, but there it is.

For example, this week two of my oldest friends had birthdays, and I let them go right on by. And back in November, another of my old pals had his birthday, and it too went past without a single word from me. I do that sort of thing all the time. Heck, I have four brothers and two sisters, and none of them get birthday greetings either, or Christmas, Easter, Flag Day, Halloween or Groundhog Day notes, for that matter. I expect by now they're used to it.

Time: Almost 30 years ago. Place: A high school drama class. I was in my Junior year, but I was maybe five feet tall and looked about 11. We had moved over the summer to this new town, and there was some kind of mix-up with the school wich resulted in me missing the first day of classes. So on the second day of school, I wandered into the last-period drama class after a long and miserable day of trying to figure out where everything was and who to avoid. Of course I was late, having no idea where the class was (it was behind the cafeteria), and by the time I showed up, there was only one seat left, third row center behind some guy with an Abe Lincoln beard. I moved hesitantly to the desk in question, all eyes on me, when somebody said "He's so little! We can use him for an elf at Christmas!"

Immediately a voice from the back of the room yelled out "I got dibs on Santa!" and everyone laughed, taking the attention off me. That was my first encounter with Wally. He was exactly as advertised; he looked like Santa Claus. Five foot eight, 250 pounds, with dramatic muttonchop sideburns and a diverse collection of hats, he was the big loud cheerful guy of the classroom. (You may have noticed a little note in the corner of the last Fourth Wall cartoon. That's for Wally.)

Taking what was to become "my seat" for the rest of the year, I met the guy with the Lincoln beard, whose name was Bob. He was one of those people who radiated intelligence from every pore, with a piercing look that went right through you like Clark Kent's x-ray vision and a low authoritative voice that made everything he said sound like it was very important. Bob became my closest friend almost from the start, to the point that his mother considered adopting me. She might as well have, since I was at their house all the time.

Wally and I didn't become friends right away; he had a close circle of co-conspirators already, The MUGGs, and besides, his brother Larry was my older brother's best friend, so he obviously couldn't be trusted. It took me a few weeks to figure out that Wally and Larry might be related, and finally I asked him. He replied "don't hold it against me!"

We all survived high school together, along with a few others, most notably the other one whose birthday I mentioned earlier but ignored when it went by, my playwright friend Kevin, posessor of the sickest mind I know. Back in high school, Kev wrote a completely twisted musical-comedy about a televised lobotomy, the script to which is in my posession, and I've been threatening for a while to run it at Monkey Spit for your amusement.

Lobotomy!
Life is just a big lobotomy!
Lobotomy!
From my head they took a lot o' me!
Lobotomy!
Several plusses, few minuses!
Lobotomy!
Calms angry fusses, clears sinuses!

...and so on.

One of the high points for us that year was a production of the first act of Tom Stoppard's "Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead." Bob played Guildenstern, Wally was Rosenkrantz, Kevin was The Player, and I was Alfred, the boy who played all the girls' parts in the traveling theatre troupe. "...we have an exclusive and uncut performance of 'The Rape of the Sabine Women'... or rather, Woman... or rather, Alfred... get your skirt on, Alfred!" We also did a number of bits from "Beyond the Fringe," a pre-Monty Python example of goofy english humor by Peter Cook, Dudley Moore, Alan Bennett and John Miller. If you don't know who they are, go look them up. You won't be sorry.

These guys have remained my best friends since that theatre class back in 1975, though not always each others. I was in each of their weddings, they were all in mine. I have three decades of stories I could tell, but suffice it to say that getting up on stage with them and throwing silly bits of dialogue back and forth was the first time in my life that I felt like I fit in, like I belonged somewhere. I owe them for that.

Wally, Bob, happy birthday! Kev, sorry I missed yours. Thanks, guys.

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