Randy and I were friends for the better part of half a century. We met in 1970, when we were freshmen at Brooklyn College, and shared so many things. We were in Abelard House together. We were on Kingsman together. We traveled together. We worked together, even, for a short time. Memories crowd my thoughts -- we had a joke (English majors, only): "I'm Henry the Fourth, Pt. 1," "I'm Henry the Fourth, Pt. 2," "We're Henry the Eighth." I remember going together to the audio library at Brooklyn College (in Whitehead) and thrilling together to the voice of Yeats himself reciting "The Lake Isle of Innisfree." I remember baking together in the kitchen of the apartment in Canarsie that her mother rented. We made a gingerbread house, one New Year's Eve, with Eric. We dubbed ourselves Karisto Construction for that masterpiece, with its off-kilter walls. I remember the two of us walking along Bellevue Avenue in Newport, Rhode Island, picking up change that had been dropped like breadcrumbs along the street. We had a better dinner that night, I think. I also remember going with Randy to the James Taylor concert in Madison Square Garden. We got sandwiches at the College Deli and ate them on the train. When we got there, we took a walk in the corridor because we had never heard of the first act and weren't interested. It was Carole King.
But, it wasn't all about fun. In 1975, when I was in Europe for an extended trip, my mother had to be hospitalized, and I flew home in a hurry. Randy and Susan worked out a plan to meet my plane, and it was Randy (with Henry) who was there at the airport when I landed, making sure I had a way home, and the comfort of a familiar face. Before that, Randy and Susan made regular visits to my mother while I was away, keeping her company as her other "daughters."
Randy and I were silly. We were serious. And, we were frequent traveling companions on a journey from adolescence to adulthood.
