Farewell, Schlep, You Were a Good Man

 

I woke up this morning to the very sad news that my friend Bryon Cole passed away yesterday. Bryon was a good guy, someone who I spent a lot of time with whenever I had a chance back before I moved over to Ireland. I’d drop up to his place in Huntington, and sit down and talk or go out somewhere, have a few beers, maybe meet up with some other people. You forget all those times until you get news like this, and then you sit back and remember all the things that went on and the time spent with friends.

And there are plenty of good times to remember. For instance when we were all juniors in high school there was a thing called “Senior Skip Day”. This was typically held at the tail end of May (seniors graduate well before the rest of the school year ends for underclassmen). Being juniors we didn’t see why the seniors should have a monopoly on such an outstanding idea - so a bunch of us got together and said, “Well, we ought to at least have a practice run at this”. You know – just so we were prepared for when the main event rolled around. So, in the interest of thorough training we arranged at the end of June to get a quarter keg of beer, a few bottles of the same just for variety and a bit of food. We then proceeded to have a bit of a barbeque in the woods up at Bryon’s place on a day when, according to a strict reading of the truancy laws, we were expected to be in school.

We spent the better part of the day up there just hanging out, a bunch of kids who had basically spent the last three years “just hanging out”, until we decided that we’d had enough of sitting around in the woods and getting bit by mosquitoes. Being the end of June and having not much else to do in the immediate area we decided to all pack it in and drive down to West Springfield and see a movie.

There was a little bit of debate over what we would see so we left Bryon’s house and got down to the parking lot in Showcase Cinemas. I think we flipped a coin. It came down to being between “Up the Academy,” which was a Mad Magazine parody, and “The Blues Brothers.” Thank goodness “The Blues Brothers” won. It was a great movie. But there is one scene that I never saw until about ten years later when I re-watched the whole thing.

It’s the part of the movie where Carrie Fisher has John Belushi trapped at gunpoint in a tunnel. I didn’t see it because there was a separate bit of comedy going on at the time. You see, someone had brought a beer into the theater and ended up accidentally kicking the empty over. We were seated at the back of the theater and the bottle proceeded to noisily roll down the incline. It made a slow, steady descent, bumping into a seat, then spinning and continuing down towards the front rows.

“Jingle, jingle jingle, jingle, CLANK. “Jingle, jingle jingle, jingle, CLANK.” “Jingle, jingle jingle, jingle, CLANK.” Each time it would pause, spin and then keep its momentum going down past each row. It just kept on and on.

And we’re all just choking laughing as this went on, no one more than Bryon. Eventually it stopped, but not before we missed the scene – it remains one of the funniest things I’ve ever experienced in a movie theater – I’m sure you had to be there, but if you were – you’d agree.

He was a funny guy and a fun guy, someone who you could spend a lot of time with just fishing or whatever. There would be a good few nights out that would stretch to the early hours. Thankfully there were always 24-hour restaurants to stop in – places that don’t even exist anymore. There was a Bickford’s in West Springfield – Bryon could put away a burger banquet.

And there are plenty of bars that don’t exist any longer, but we were there at one point or another. One time we went to this place called The Red Balloon which I’m sure is long gone. Bryon had been stewing about some girl that had come in with a guy he didn’t like. I could tell he just was ready to go off on this individual. So, I took him aside, went outdoors, and said, “Listen, you can’t do this. You’re going to get into trouble.” He shook his head and said, “I’m going to just hammer this guy. Can’t stand him.” I went back again, “Look, you can’t do it. You’re going to end up in trouble. If you’re going to take a swing at somebody, take a swing at me. Come on, hit me.” Bryon was for the most part a peaceful guy – which is generally a good thing for humanity at large because he was about 6’2” and three bills. And he said, “I’m not going to hit you. You’re my friend. But I am gonna hit that prick in there” I had to talk him down a bit, “Yeah, but look, I want you to get your frustrations out. Take a swing at me. I’ll know it’s coming, I can block most of the blow.”

So, eventually, he does.

He takes a half-hearted swing, but a 300-pound guy taking a half-hearted swing at you is still pretty damn hard. I duck away but he still kind of clocks me upside the head, and I think it kind of shocked him. Certainly - it shocked me a little bit but I shook it off. I looked at him and said, “Look, are you okay now?” He shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah. You all right?” I nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine,” even though my head was still ringing a little bit. That quieted things down, worked the anger out of him, we went back inside, and he managed to get through the rest of the night okay.

But those are the sorts of things that would go on – there weren’t too many dull nights. There was one that stands out a bit. One time we started out in Huntington, a bunch of us. Bryon, I think, was driving up there with his friend Gordon. We got bored in Huntington, and said, “Let’s go up to Chester.” So, off we go to this place called the Longhorn Saloon, and when we got there we found about four or five guys picking on this one guy sitting at the bar.

I think the guy had a stutter or something, and they were just giving him a really hard time. It was kind of sickening to see. They were throwing things at him, they’d tip his beer over, and then whack him upside the head. After a while we were all like - “Let’s get out of here this is ridiculous. I don’t want to watch this.” That meant we had to decide where to go next and someone said “Well, I think there’s a place just up the street. I’m not even sure if it’s open yet, but I think they’re going to try and license a bar up the road, right by the edge of the river. Let’s go see if that’s open yet.” So off we go and sure enough, there was this kind of half bar that had opened up in this house/inn at the end of the road by the river.

The place wasn’t even close to being finished. I don’t think they even had taps in yet. They would just serve you bottles of beer over the bar. The guy who was running it claimed he was good friends with the Rolling Stones, and he had another assistant who was, well, now you’d call them “little people”. Whatever - it was like being in a Fellini movie, walking around this half-lit bar being served beer by a hobbit. Things would soon get even stranger.

We sat there a while, drinking our beer and telling stories, and then heard tires racing down the road, screaming, brakes squealing and a crash. Of course we went running outside and you could see some sort of light down at the bottom of the embankment by the river, and a car was racing back up towards the Longhorn Saloon. Somebody was standing outside and said - “A car just went into the river.”

So, we went over towards the embankment and sure enough, there’s a car, the front end’s stuck in the river, and the taillights are sticking up in the air.

I scrambled down to the riverside and went to the driver’s side door. There’s a person in the car - the same guy they’d been picking on at the Longhorn. I wrenched the door open. He was in a bad way. He was conscious and everything, but he’d smashed his face up against the steering wheel, and his nose was broken. He was bleeding all over the place. He’d lost teeth. His mouth and forehead were cut. I got him out of the car, and then a couple more people came down, and we kind of half-carried him up the embankment and got him to the bar, and somebody said they’d already called the cops and had an ambulance on the way.

We got the fella inside and, like I said he was really messed up. The next thing I know the people who had been bullying him appeared in the doorway. I guess they had chased his car down the road with theirs and bumped him into the river. They came through the door, and started yelling at him, saying things like, “You say anything when these cops get here, we’ll kill you. You don’t say our name at all. Don’t bring us up.” Finally, I got up from tending to the injured guy and I told them to get the fuck out of there. Told ‘em they’d caused all this and they needed to leave the guy alone.

All that did was turn their attention to me “Who the fuck are you? You’re not involved in this. You weren’t there – you better shut up too”. Let’s just say it got to be a pretty heated back and forth. And then the sirens were coming, and they took off and went back down the road. The guy who’d been hurt was looking at me and saying, “Don’t tell them anything. Don’t tell them anything. Those guys will kill me. Those guys will kill me.” He was scared to death.

So, I didn’t know what to do with that, but before I could figure anything out they came in with a stretcher and took the guy away, put him in the back of the ambulance, and you could still hear him saying, “Don’t say anything.”

Bryon and his friend Gordon were still there – they’d both got between the injured guy and the bullies as well. After things settled down they’re like, “We got to get out of here now.” My shirt was covered with blood from the guy, and I was playing the hero, “We can’t leave. We got to go back down and take care of this.” And they’re both a bit more sensible, “No, no, don’t go down there. Not a good idea. Not a good idea.” I was pretty worked up, but they finally talked sense into me – it would not be a good idea to confront all those guys on their home ground. Things would get sorted without me playing Rambo. Don’t be stupid. So, after a while I agreed and we got in our cars.

Now, to get back to Blandford for me, I would go right onto Route 20 and then head up to North Street (Chester Road) over the mountain. The other two guys would go left and head towards Huntington. I got in my car (it was a different era – you wouldn’t do this now) and I turned and went up towards Blandford. They looked like they were heading towards Huntington. And I got back almost to where my turn was when my dumb ass mind started thinking too much and I began to get mad again.

There’s this sort of mausoleum, or tomb or something really strange looking on the side of the road there in Chester. When I got to that, I pulled in and said to myself “Screw it - I’m going back.” And I turned around. I was going back to the bar to get things straightened out with these guys who’d caused all the problems. At least that’s what I told myself. I was probably going back to get my ass kicked by four or five drunken rednecks.

Anyway, here I go back down Route 20 and just as I got to the turn where you would go back over the bridge into the center of Chester - these lights start flashing at me from the side of the road. Someone is waving me down. So, I pull over, and, of course, it’s Bryon. He’s there. He said, “I knew you’d come back. I can’t let you go in there.” – and we went through the whole thing again – and I argued with him again - and he talked me down again. That’s the kind of guy he was.

He wouldn’t leave a friend alone - he’d always have your back, always be ready to stand up when called to. And when he stood up - you noticed. But this giant of a man also always knew where the line was, used that size to keep the peace. People called him a “gentle giant”. People were right.

But look – it wasn’t like every night out ended with some kind of violence – 90% of the time it was just a shitload of fun to hang out with the guy. Listen - there was one time I remember when we went out to the Bonny Rig Tavern up in Becket (another bar that’s gone the way of the dodo), and there was a guy with a guitar playing a set. We were just sitting around having a few beers, listening to the music, and this guy was pretty good. Actually, he was really good. And he asked whether there were there any requests. And I turned to Bryon.

I said, “Hey, this guy probably could play some James Taylor or something like that.” Bryon jumped at the idea right away, but I don’t think he really knew who James Taylor was. So, he yells out and asked the guy to play “Jimmy Taylor”. And I’m looking at him going, “Jimmy Taylor?” And the guy who had the guitar up in the front, he looks at him, and he goes, “Jimmy Taylor? You mean James Taylor? What’s your favorite Jimmy Taylor song?” Bryon kind of blanked so I whispered to him and said, “You’ll know it when you hear it. Ask him to play “Fire and Rain”.” So, Bryon shouts out, “Fire and Rain.” And the guy looks at him and goes, “Well, that’s a bit of a downer. I don’t know if I’ll play that one, but I’ll play this one.” And he started playing “Sweet Baby James”, and Bryon looks over at me and goes, “Yeah, I know this one. I know this guy.” The performer hit it note perfect – I’m telling you - he was really good.

Then, I remember – he got to the part in the song where the lyrics go like this:

“Now the first of December is covered with snow, and so is the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston. And the Berkshires seemed dreamlike on account of that frosting, with ten miles behind me and 10,000 more to go.”

And sitting there in that bar I realized when old Jimmy Taylor was writing that song, he must have been on the turnpike in Becket – which is less than a mile away up the road. So, this guy’s playing that James Taylor song, (Jimmy Taylor song - I always half think of him as “Jimmy” now), and it’s pretty much about the place where we are sitting, right at that moment. That struck me as kind of cool.

I still remember listening to that song – and those are the kinds of things I want to remember. Hanging out in a bar with your friend Bryon while something like that just sort of magically comes up.

Here I am writing this down and talking about bars that don’t exist anymore and restaurants that are long gone, and now, sadly, people who aren’t there anymore. And you’d think I’d be kind of depressed, but I’m not really, because you can’t be when you think about the good times that you had with people like Bryon Cole. I’ve had fewer chances to see him recently, one of which was with a bunch of other friends a few years ago at the Russell Inn (which is still there, thank God). That’s the picture that’s attached. I’m sure all of them smile a bit when they too think of Bryon. That’s just the normal reaction.

He was a good guy, and may he rest in peace. He’s gone to a better place because he made this world a better place by just being here. Rockabye buddy, rockabye.