The Bob House Story.

A long, long time ago, and far, far away, a young boy sat poolside with his friend, at his friend's house, looking down the inside of a robe sleeve, and laughing, laughing until both boys had to be silenced with a stern warning from the friends mother, "Stop that noise, have you both gone insane?"

Bob House was my best friend in high school and we spent many summers laughing, running together doing what teenage boys do. He was always smooth and the girls loved him. Me very,

very uncomfortable as he swayed his way through the oceans of young lovely flesh.

By the summer of 1964 our time was about up and I asked him what he was going to do in the fall. Neither of us were off to college, so we were in need of a plan. He said, "I'm going into the Navy", and so it was we went together, on the buddy plan, to fight for our country in the Armed Forces. After training I never saw him, and with me in Boston, and New Mexico, it wasn't until early 1971 that Bob and I were together again. He had married his high school sweetheart, and they had done their Navy "thing" in Charleston, returning to Rochester about 1970. They had three kids and were living in pretty much the same area we'd all grown up in.

Like I said, Bob was always smooth and so it came as no surprise to me that he's been on to smoking grass for some time. I'd picked up the habit in the Navy and was in the process of perfecting it when Bob and I ran across each other again. One night Lynn, my wife at the time and eventual mother of my children, and I were playing cards at Bob and Nancy's, when smoking became something we did together. Bob and Nancy went to bed while I sat, holding a pan for Lynn to throw up in, literally. If I'd only been paying attention that early on, perhaps I could have had a glimpse of our future.

Bob and Nancy ended up getting a divorce, mostly with help from an old organization I remember as Marriage Encounter, which in their case, turned out very badly, indeed.

In any event, Bob and I had a final ski trip (didn't know I would see him again for almost thirty years) planned, and he picked me up one morning in January 1974. We were on our way to Swain Ski area, about fifty miles south east of Rochester. It was a beautiful day with nothing but good times to look forward to. We had an ounce of pot and a twelve pack of beer, driving through rural upstate New York farmlands, when it became apparent to me that Bob was not stopping at,

or paying any attention to the traffic signals which were engaged, telling him to stop on red, and such.

As we went through the first light, I believe I was taking a hit and having a beer and I thought, nah, must be my imagination.

The second time through I said to Bob, "Hey man, you're going through red lights, you know?”

He said, "I know, man, there's some guy downtown, running these traffic lights and he's out to get me, slow me down, ruin our good time and it's not going to happen".

He shifted in forth gear and cruised through another RED light.

We made it to Swain, running all the lights, drinking twelve beers and smoking about four joints, just as the snow started falling. We were almost alone with the whole mountain. That day we made over fifty runs down the mountain and it was the best ski day I think I ever had (except maybe for that time at Greek Peak/Song Mountain).

Shortly after that day Bob left town with his new girlfriend, and I didn't hear from him for thirty years.

Bob's wife Nancy had called me several times looking for Bob, and we all suspected he's gone to Ft. Meyers, where his family had moved after his father, Lloyd had retired from Eastman Kodak.

Nancy had looked for Bob there, and no one could find him.

I knew of Bob's interests in pot smoking and in knowing Bob you'd know he may not be the smartest person in the world, so I assumed he's fallen into a group of, shall we say, colorful people and probably had been bumped off by some extremely greedy Columbians, maybe not even seen it coming.

This is about where Carl comes in. Carl Losapio, the worlds tallest Italian and I play golf together

and have known each other since high school. Carl knows Bob from school as well, and as it turns out Bob's new wife, the one he ran off with to Florida, was Carls next-door neighbor when he was a kid. Carl's mother still lives there.

One day I said to Carl,"I wonder what ever happened to Bob House?" and he said, right out of

the blue, "He lives over on the corner of Alpine and Rumson".

I couldn't believe it, thinking he'd been dead for twenty-five years now and it turns out not only is he NOT dead but he lives in town. I took a drive to Adeline (got the wrong street) and Rumson, which do not intersect, and could not find Bob. The whole search went on hold, again.

One day Carl called up and wanted to play golf. We made a plan and he said, "Here's the latest update on the Bob House thing. He's working at Home Depot in the carpet department, days.

What time can you get out to play golf?"

We agreed on one o'clock and at nine in the morning, between meetings, I drove over to Home Depot to see my old friend Bob House, after twenty-five years.

I always get confused at places like Home Depot, so I wandered around for a bit, then asked someone who looked like they worked there, "Where's the Carpet Department?" I was standing right in front of it.

At a desk back towards the rear corner, was a man, bald, looking down at the desk, reading some papers and, my first thought was that that couldn't be Bob.

I walked over to him and he looked up and I knew it was Bob. He was bald on top, with his hair pulled back into a ponytail, which I guess everyone has to do if they've lived in or live in Florida, and as he looked at me I said to him,"I know you" and he looked puzzled, did not recognize me. He said, "So", and took a little step backwards. I showed him my pass and he read the name and he said, "Man, are you still there?" ,and I went around the desk and hugged him saying ,"I thought you were dead, I thought you were dead."

We talked for a few minutes. He had gone to Ft. Meyers after all, and had been with his family as his mother, and soon after father, had died of cancer.

He'd gone into business with his cousin Dick and they'd obtained, then lost a trailer park and ended up in what he described as "the flooring business".

He married Marie, as her name turns out to be, and for the past twenty years he's started a new family, had three children I believe, and had gone on, happily ever after.

He had moved back to Rochester in 1995, four years ago from Florida, and I didn't ask him why, but I suspect his wife was anxious to see her family from something other than long distance.

Bob said, "Now that you know where I am, come on over sometime and we'll talk some more."

I went back to work for a few hours, and then went to play golf with Carl thinking I'm glad Bob House is NOT dead, realizing how lucky I am to be able to add something back into my live while the more natural process, takes things away.

April 14th. 1999