“One of the reasons I liked Cal and Toby was that they liked me first. Cal was my favorite. Cal was short for Caleb, not Calvin, which he would immediately point out to anyone who ventured to expand his name beyond what he offered. Consistently making an issue out of this did backfire in the long run. In spite of his insistence, and because of his splotchy hair, the bigger kids called him Calico—in deliberate defiance of his desire for a more masculine moniker. This unwelcome renaming became the flashpoint for a considerable number of after school fights. Over time he began winning more and more of these encounters, not because of his size, but mainly due to the mechanical wisdom gained through repetition. The combat honors he acquired from winning eventually earned him respect, and he finally became known as ‘Cal.’ He accepted that as a victory of sorts—one well-deserved and hard-earned. The main difference was the tone of respect when they said ‘Cal,’ having dropped the high-pitched inflection on the first syllable they used with Calico. Whether it was due to geographical, economical, or social dictates, or maybe in spite of them, he did become part of a group of guys who hung together. It seems that no matter where you grow up there will always be a gang of people who naturally migrate to each other. The point I am circling around to is Cal’s pal, Toby Harley.
“Toby was also a part of this same group of friends, and for some unknown, arbitrary, and aggravating reason, Toby decided they should be both best friends and competitors. I think the primary reason he picked Cal as his adversary was because Cal was at a definite disadvantage. To put it bluntly, in local parlance, Cal was white trash. He lived in a trailer down by the underpass and, to make matters worse, he was a little small for his age in the early years.
“Toby lived in an upper middle-class neighborhood. His dad belonged to the country club, the Elks club, and all the other uptown social organizations that were evidence of having a successful business in town. Cal’s father was a boiler mechanic, made a meager living, and belonged to nothing while nothing belonged to him.
“Toby always had cool clothes, spending money, and was the first to have his own car. If you were to describe him today you might say he had swag. He looked European—Mediterranean, actually—and his lean body, light olive skin, and the way he moved in his imported clothes gave him an air of confident, casual charm. You just knew he would be driving a white Jaguar some day and be spending his summers in Aspen. Cal kept himself and his sales-bin duds clean, and he worked several jobs, saving every penny he earned for necessities. His appearance and manner was solid. If you wanted to narrow it down to a single description, it would be that he had rugged charm. His appearance suggested Scandinavian heritage, his blue eyes mesmerizing, especially when his gaze caught you straight on. It was the ruddy complexion, tousled brown-blond hair, and naturally kind manner that gave him the appearance of being real and someone you could depend on…even before he had uttered a single word.
“Despite all of his perceived limitations, Cal wanted to mix in, meld in, and sneak in to the ‘in crowd.’ Toby always made sure Cal and everyone around them knew that Cal was less privileged than most, just in case Cal started looking good due to hard-earned accomplishments or anything else that might have made him more acceptable. Yet, Toby and Cal were bonded by the proximities of gender and age. In spite of this vague, underlying drama, they were best friends, hanging out together in a tight-knit gang of sorts. Cal didn’t want to have a competition; he just wanted to gain some kind of momentum out of his common existence and be a part of the guys at school—not the purest of motives on his part, but being pals with Toby Harley did help. It was always there though—this jousting match between them—and, in time I became Robbie, the referee, in their lives. The dynamics of our three-way relationship were crazy, especially the fact that, deep down, it was our differences that became the glue that held us together. I had accepted long ago that no one would be looking at me when the three of us walked down the street. They walked in stride and were striking in their difference—Toby’s head tossed back with the beginning of a grin on his face and Cal, always looking straight ahead and sure, with his jaw and his expression fixed in a welcoming manner.
“Cal worked hard loading trucks at the local Coca-Cola distribution center part-time after school and full-time in the summers, and he grew to be stronger than Toby. As they got older, the only way he maintained some sense of status with Toby was by beating him in foot races, arm wrestling, and making the football team when Toby did not. But, while Cal was working until 3:00 a.m. at the local Chinese restaurant on weekends, Toby was getting a restful night’s sleep so he could wake refreshed to go golfing with his father on Sunday mornings at the country club.
“After working and saving his money over the years, Cal was finally able to buy an old, but well-kept pickup truck, while Toby’s dad bought him his second car—a shiny new pewter green Desoto convertible with white-wall balloon tires. The routine after ball games and weekend dances was to take their freshly waxed cars and trophy dates to the local hang out, Lou’s Drive-In. Toby would pull up with the top down, no matter what time of year it was, and smugly order a deluxe cheeseburger with double curly fries, a milk shake, and dusty donut holes for himself and his date. Cal usually ordered a small coke and a bag of chips, saying he wasn’t hungry while hoping his date didn’t have a big appetite. Because he was paying his own way for necessities in life, these were smaller luxuries he knew he had to forgo at the time.
“Toby made fun of Cal’s clothes in front of girls and often found a way to bring up his grease-stained father to make sure there was no comparison in their social standing. For good measure, he casually slipped in the difference in the location of their residences and his dad’s status as a successful downtown businessman just in case Cal was getting a little more attention from a girl than he was. Of course, these subtle slights stung, but Cal didn’t expend energy on the backhand annoyances, and it actually inspired him to work harder. His mom and dad made it very clear that nobody was ever going to give him anything. If he wanted something, then the natural attachment to that desire was giving up frivolous pleasures, and putting in long hours of hard, menial work.
“When Cal made his way out of town at the age of seventeen, not only was he escaping his station in life, but he was also distancing himself from Toby Harley and the niche he had inherited. He needed to shake the poor working-class badge of distinction Toby and some of the other townies had forced him to wear, though their competition did have a sudden death tournament ending on the day Cal left town on a bus heading south. With Cal gone, the game was called off due to lack of participants. He and I kept in touch, but it was ten years before I would see him again. I had been only an observer up to that point. To hear Cal tell it, the story goes something like this…
[CAL]
“I EXPERIENCED A LOT OF the usual growing up pain when I was young, but the odd thing about all of this is that as I look back at it over a half-century later, it seems I only remember the wonderful things of our energetic youth. I am not sure what actually drew Toby and me to each other and I admit he was a tough row to hoe as a friend at times; but, now my main memories are of midnight drag races with him and our other pals in the open wheat fields outside of town after they had been plowed and harrowed. The drag races and other contests were where our underlying competition really paid off. Even though he had the apparent advantages in our relationship, I was not the only one with insecurities, so we teamed up and our unified role became that of the daredevil duo. We were mutually crazy, needing attention. I wonder now if that’s what brought us together. Toby and I not only enjoyed the thrill of it all, but we liked the notoriety we shared in being the rogue champions of this category. Neither of us was very big, but together we stood tall among men when the risky challenges were thrown out into the middle of a boring day. The rest of the gang knew where to delve when a little excitement was needed.
“Toby and I often got into fistfights behind the Youth Ac
tivity Center, which, ironically, was built to keep us out of trouble. We sneaked our first smokes together in the bushes that bordered the park—where we were supposed to be doing research at the local library—and were busted by the librarian. We skipped school and got caught every time. We learned that crime doesn’t pay our first time out when we were arrested trying to siphon gas from delivery trucks behind the bakery. It had gotten to the point that if one of us got in trouble the other was automatically called into the principal’s office. Throwing water balloons at passing cars from the roof of the Five & Dime store on Main Street was considered a major crime wave. Nailing an open convertible operated by a local bigwig moved this act from a misdemeanor to a felony in the eyes of the small town Gestapo. But, this was as bad as it got in those days.
“My favorite memories are of warm summer evenings spent standing around a beach fire along a clear water river with Toby and the guys sharing our first ill-gotten beers. The roaring river flowing alongside our runnings at life bring a sweet smell and sound to my remembrances. Although the competition seemed underlying and central to our relationship, the majority of the time was spent in feeling our muscles grow and sharing new territory in our explorations of girls, neighboring towns, and rebel music. Looking back, I realize now that without Toby and a few other sidekicks that fill my memories, it would have been rather drab growing up in the middle of Nowheresville, USA.
“I was intrigued by California and escaped to that magical place through magazines and music before I was out of grade school. I knew things would be different for me there, so as soon as I graduated from high school, I headed south to live in the sparkling Golden State. It turned out to be a good fit for me. I did well, bought a nice house in the Hollywood Hills, and didn’t come back until our ten-year high school reunion. Everyone was there except Toby Harley. I asked around at the dinner dance and was told he still lived in town but had dropped out of the social scene after his dad died. I asked for his phone number but struck out until I found someone who was able to give me his work address. I was flying high in the entertainment business and basking in the glory of being a big star in my hometown in the middle of cowboy land at the time of the reunion. As close as we had been growing up, I was still harboring some old hurts against Toby over how he used to make me feel inferior in front of people. I sure didn’t want to waste this serendipitous moment without including an updated side-by-side comparison of our current accomplishments.
“Around noon the next day, I pulled up in my new Mercedes to the curb in front of the used car lot where Toby worked, with my new Hollywood starlet wife poised dramatically at my side. There he was—a polyester-clad salesman at a low-end, dingy, used-car lot in a small town. It was still Toby and Cal that day, but we both knew that high school was out. I didn’t stay too long—just long enough to see the anguish in his eyes.
“I had waited for that moment of sweet revenge for over a decade. All I remember now is the two of us looking at the ground as we talked, both of us aware of his dusty scuffed boots and my polished imports. As I drove away from that used car lot, I wondered why I didn’t feel good inside.
“I had dreamed about that moment for years, and when it finally happened there was absolutely no joy. I know now over the passage of years that revenge was not the key to my happiness. Because of the inherent goodness God has placed in each of us, I was thrown off-balance that day. We had been raised in the same stretch of real estate in a quiet corner of America, but Toby had been brought up with abundance and a lack of guidance that, in the long run, left him ill-prepared for the real world. When his family fortune fell apart, he could not maintain the lifestyle to which he was accustomed. By working for his dad when he felt like it, in a small town environment, he was left with few competitive skills when it came to making his way in the dog-eat-dog outside world. His main talent was participating in the excessive consumption of the family wealth. What I had seen as my lack was actually a gift, a common man’s work ethic that helped me understand that if I was going to participate in the harvest I had to plow in the cold. I had learned early in life that there would be no unearned gift baskets.
“As I reflect on our youthful rivalry, I realized that the time spent in heated encounters drew us deeper into each other’s souls. It was almost as if in our wrestling with each other we had mixed our sweat and blood in an unintended blood-brother ritual. I believe now that we unconsciously chose each other to struggle in the confused midst of our beginnings because deep down we trusted each other in some ethereal way. I had let his put downs and our grappling for identity fill my life with unresolved resentment for many years, but he was just spreading his wings as I was and making room for himself in the environment we had inherited. I am not sure now who the bad guy was in this situation—or if there was one.
“I realize I truly hurt him that day with my appearance and appearances. I am eternally sorry for that. I had returned to a special place of innocence and honesty, virtually strutting into what I now deemed a little backwater town. I came rolling in like a conquering hero displaying all of my shallow worldly treasures gathered from a darker place that I now called home. I had dragged my bad stuff into pristine remembrances—tainted tin trophies, tarnished by a new set of standards I had adopted from my life in a cutthroat world.
“The day I stood there in my old hometown in that used car lot, I thought I was on top of the world, not realizing I was actually at the bottom of what I was all about. I had blasphemed the significance of where I was blessed to spend my youth. I had taken everything about this beautiful place and boiled it down to the sad point of getting even. If this is what I had gotten out of all those years since I left my native soil, then I had destroyed its magnificence in my self-proclaimed advancement to royalty. I had been traveling to that moment since the day I left home. I should have stayed away.
“I was once told that every man God brings into my life is for a good purpose, and, in eternal matters, that no man is my enemy. Eventually each one is my friend. Today I thank Toby for the madness, the memories, and the moments we shared. He is a part of my history, and he did well.
“God bless you Toby Harley, wherever you are. I miss us.”
WOOD WINDS
[PHILCO]
I AM AWAKENED BY what sounds like a window banging at the mercy of the wind. I get up to check it out when I suddenly smell the fresh scent of pine filling the stark corners of my hotel room. I move over to the fluttering curtains, and instead of a hard wall with sky blue paint and faux puffy clouds, I find myself looking out into a three-dimensional canvas filled with a thousand shades of green and muted dark brown accents. As I stare into the woods outside this once solid portal, I feel the wind pulling away instead of blowing in. It is asking me to drift into its soaring promise of something fresh, and to experience finely woven adventure among the pines. I dress in a hurry, the smell of greenery and pine needles clinging to my nostrils, making sure I don’t lose sight of what lies ahead.
I am excited and I take the stairs down to the lobby two at a time. Once there, I wonder if I made a wrong turn at the end of my hall because I find myself in a large room with a massive stone fireplace, crackling fire, colorful blankets, and rugs strewn throughout. I look around the large, lodge-like room—no desk or clerk or dining room in sight—and head for the front door. I walk outside into the smells and wooded portrait I saw from my window, but when I turn around to look back at the lodge it is no longer there. I turn back to the trees and stare in wonder…
This must be a forest.
As I approach its interior, a certain calm engulfs me with a scented warmth and blanketed security. I am dwarfed by the tall trees that stand by my side—textured sentries guarding my arrival into their realm. Once again the wind has brought me somewhere unfamiliar, and I like being in this space. I have the underlying sense that it would be just fine to never move away from the padded pine needle floor beneath me. Everything has come to
a standstill. I remain silent still taking it all in, and my head begins to turn slowly from side to side as I try to pull together everything in my field of vision with deep clarity and consideration. I am new at this; but, because I am traveling with the wind, I know I am safe. I breathe in and fill my nostrils with the excitement and great anticipation for what lies within the depths of these woods.
My eyes slowly adjust, and it is almost as if my vision becomes educated by repeated scanning of the minutiae in this verdant enclosure. Details begin to emerge—the blur clears and the perimeter develops sharper edges. The woodland intricacy that encompasses me emerges through the more precisely defined elements. I notice a slender opening between the trunks and low limbs where I can make out what appears to be a clearing only yards away. I move for the first time, walking almost silently, except for a soft crunch as the years of needles and molded leaves beneath my feet cushion my way. It is a small clearing and a green field opens up ahead.
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