Tomorrow, I may go visit an old friend. He's in his late 60's, at least. He was a former Catholic choir boy who later was the smallest football player on the team. Eventually, he bacame a Navy seal or a Marine, I can't remember at the moment. They can both be quite impressive. During the mid 60's, before all the fun in Viet Nam began, his job was to make trips in the middle of the night into Cambodian villages where he would kidnap communist advisors. He never said what happened after. He only told me that the best way to do this was to befriend the villagers, ask where the advisors stayed, then sneak in during the night with a big light from the bottom of a helicopter and shine it on them while they lie in their beds. He said they never made a peep.
He has a prosthetic leg. His leg wasn't taken by Asians, it was taken many years later in a mowing accident on his property.
The first time I met him I was house sitting for a friend. I came into the house, which I thought was empty... at night. There he stood, trying to adjust his fake leg. He was holding onto the sink, saw me and barked, "come over here".... grabbing my hand he said "put your hand right here" and proceeded to have me feel the bone right at the bottom of the ass where it connects with the leg. He said, "That bone hurts bad." There I was, feeling the most private of places on a strange old man.
That was my very first introduction to the Man who has a beautiful wife of more than 50 years. She was always there for him. They tried, but never had children and were fine with that.
I've always thought the best of Baxter. I hope he's ok. I bet he is, he's a mean bastard who taught me how to laugh as loud as I accidentally do from time to time, because it made me so happy to hear him.
I have a lot to tell him, which will probably only be said with one of those laughs we share and a hug.
