Thirty Years of Clean Living

A few months ago, after many years of searching, I tracked down my friend Stanley Hanks.

I had last seen Stanley in Tucson, Arizona in September 1979, where we went to visit him, Nicole, and their infant daughter Jessica. For various reasons, I could not retrieve his address or phone number, and I simply lost track of him.

But the internet is a great thing, and I finally found him. We've had a few phone conversations over the last few months, and last week, I made the trip to Salem, Oregon to visit him.

I flew into Portland on Wednesday. My plan was to visit Mount St. Helens, site of the biggest volcanic event in American history. But the weather did not cooperate, so I turned around and headed south on Interstate 5 toward Salem.

I was southbound, going past central Portland, where a sign warned truckers that it is illegal for them to use the left lane. Just a few hundred yards later was a sign telling slower-moving traffic to keep right. I thought to myself: this is great. I have some pet peeves, and people hogging the passing lane is one of them. Interstate 5 around Portland is hilly, and there are many tight turns, so keeping the left lane open for people who are actually able to drive the speed limit was a welcome sight.

But it was not to be. I passed about a dozen semis loaded with raw pine logs, and they didn't seem to have read the sign. They were quite content in the left lane, which of course led to other drivers trying to zip around them to the right, and the result was mayhem.

I eventually got to Salem, where a sign informs you that you are crossing the 45th parallel - halfway between the North Pole and the equator. Once I arrived, I had some time to kill because I wouldn't see Stanley until Thursday at lunch time. We were to meet at a Denny's restaurant about 200 yards from my hotel.

I knew he drove a pick-up truck, and I saw one pull into the lot, and sure enough, it was Stanley. I started walking toward him, and he looked up at me, and then looked straight past me to the restaurant. I yelled out a greeting, and he looked at me and after a few seconds, he erupted in laughter. Then he laughed for the next ten minutes as he kept looking at my hairline. As demonstrated in the photo to the left, I once had a full head of hair.

So we spent the next two days reminiscing and catching up. He gave me a quick tour of Salem, including a stop at the Oregon Statehouse. Anytime I'm in a capitol city, I try to see the Statehouse, and I've managed to see about a dozen of them so far. I still think Ohio has one of the best.

Now, to get to the reason for the title of this post...

The picture at left was taken in 1976 or 1977 during one of our quasi-karaoke performances in the apartment in Luxembourg. I don't remember if Charlotte and I were still living there, or if Stanley and Nicole had already moved in, which is one reason I can't date the photo exactly. The picture at right was taken last week. Pity me, I didn't have an umbrella to use as a prop, so I had to use a bottle of Bud Light.



See the title of this post, and then you'll know the answer to the question: How did this happen?




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