After we lost one of our own, David Easterling, a little over a year and a half ago, our group committed to trying to be more intentional about getting together and seeing each other, as a group or two or three at a time. To tighten the circle, if you will. In some ways, it has worked and in some ways, it has not worked, at least in my view.
JP and I had a delightful visit with Neil Lynch and his wife, Cindy, in Columbus a year ago December, when we visited Ohio State and watched Tennessee get trounced in the college football playoff. I went to a Braves' game last fall with Doug Brown and stayed overnight with T.B., which was great. My family and I just missed Greg Westfall when we stayed at his house in the mountains outside Brevard, North Carolina, when were on spring break a couple of months ago.
Doug, ever the organizer, put together a trip to Louisville, Kentucky, and surrounding areas, in part because Louisville is relatively easy for all of us to get to. Plus, Mary Easterling, David's wife, lives here and it gave him a chance to visit with her. In attendance from Thursday - Sunday were Chris Reber (Fort Wayne, Indiana), Jay Miller (San Francisco), Neil Lynch (Columbus, Ohio), Mike Matteson (Nashville), Steve Buzzell (Nashville), Mike Corley (Sarasota, Florida), and Greg Westfall (Hilton Head, South Carolina). Those are some of my oldest friends dating back to junior high school at Northside.
It would have been easy, very easy, for me not to make the effort to drive up to Louisville, because I was not going to miss JP running the 1,600 and the 800 in the Region track meet on Friday, especially after he just missed qualifying for the State meet in the 3,200 on Monday night. Since the 800 was not scheduled until 8:20 p.m., my choices were to drive up after he ran, which would put me arriving well after midnight due to the time change or leave at 4:30 or 5 a.m. Saturday morning, so I could arrive in time for the 9:30 a.m. departure for the bourbon trail tour.
I chose the latter, as I did not want to miss a chance to see my guys, even if it was only for 24 hours. You know what? I am really glad I did, because it was so good to see everyone and it was great fun.
Doug rented an Airbnb - nine or 10 bedrooms - on the outskirts of Shelbyville, Kentucky. It has a swimming pool, unused by us, a gaming barn (pool table, ping pong table, darts, golf simulator, etc.), and an entertainment room, complete with a karaoke machine.
Aided by Chat GPT, Jay designed a round robin pool tournament over two days, which matched all of us up with different partners. Chat GPT kept up a running commentary after each game, which was hilarious. After winning my first two games - including one in which I unscrewed my cue stick and used to top half to make a difficult shot late in the game - I played poorly in the semi-finals and lost. Neil won the tournament, quietly, because of course he did.
As I mentioned, I arrived in time to depart by shuttle - shout out to our driver, Holly Wells - for a guided tour of Bourbon Trace. Now, my idea of fun is not to sample bourbon at 10:15 a.m., but the tours were relatively interesting. The early highlight was Doug being cut off during the tasting at the second stop on the tour, Four Roses. Somehow, he was already reasonably drunk but, mostly, just acted silly.
Holly quickly figured out that our group, with the exception of Jay, was less interested in touring actual bourbon making facilities than have a drink or two. Once that was established, we had a fantastic time sitting outside in Adirondack chairs at one stop whose name escapes me, talking and drinking mint juleps - my drink of choice for no apparent reason - beers, etc. At our next stop, we sat outside on the covered patio, talked more, then ordered four giant pizzas to take home for an early dinner. After we realized that Holly loved a lot our "our music" from the 80's in spite of our age difference, she played the Cars, exclusively, on the 30 minute drive home. Tremendous!
We ate an early dinner, finished the pool tournament, listened to music, and joked around with each other, like we've been doing for 45 years. It was damn near a perfect late afternoon and early evening.
As the sun set, and day turned to night, we settled in for the evening and, well, just sat and talked. We reminisced about the way things were and shared memories - a lot of memories - of times gone by and friends we have lost, by death or because they had drifted out of our lives. We gave each other a lot of grief in the comfortable, playful way old friends do, and we had serious talks about our families and lives, too.
A highlight of the evening was when I telephoned Tommy Campsey to confirm the details of a story Doug had told about Campsey, on patrol, catching him making out with Anita G. in a dead end in our subdivision in the early 80's. Tommy also regaled us with stories about policing in Brentwood in the late 70's and 80's, including a blow-by-blow recounting of the time he arrested George Jones for drunken driving on I-65 after receiving an anonymous tip. It was priceless!
Maybe the biggest highlight was when I was able to reach Rip Pewett, who is on a two-month trip to New Zealand. For sure, he's had his ups and downs the last few years, so it was a special moment for all of us to talk with him.
I ended the evening with a couple of bourbons (O.H. Ingram River Aged) on the back patio, sitting in front of a fire that Neil and Matteson built in the outdoor fireplace. I convinced Doug to have a serious conversation for 30 minutes, much to everyone's delight. I kept him on the clock and in spite of his heightened state of inebriation, he managed, for the most part, to talk seriously for a half hour before he began asking someone, anyone, to get on his shoulders.
For me, it was a needed respite from my incredibly busy personal and professional life. A chance to reconnect with the friends who have known me the longest. In many way, none of us have changed that much - or so it seems to me - in terms of our personalities. Everyone is pretty much the same, in the way, as they were 40 + years ago.
In the river of life, as you travel downstream, floating comfortably or, sometimes, paddling like hell, it's nice to to stop at an island every now and then, and spend some time with old friends. Time to reflect, to recharge, to remember, to laugh, to live.
That's exactly what we did, in a large, somewhat secluded house in a dead end in a neighborhood outside Shelbyville, Kentucky.
It was perfect.
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