[Serious] I have to get this out

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BUGZILLA 57
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[Serious] I have to get this out

Glenn was 17 once.

I would have said something sooner, but it all happened so damn fast, compared to the span of a lifetime.
My only sibling, Glenn, had a stroke two weeks ago. He seemed to be getting better, but a second stroke killed him.
We burried him in Von Ormy, Tx. today down in Bill's stomping ground.
I would have called or something, Bill, but you have woes of your own. and it all happened so damn fast.
anyway, I wrote this down and managed to ad-lib my way through it. I tried to keep it funny. Even had 'em laughing. He always said I always try to make a joke out of everything.

It always helps when I talk to you guys.
And I gotta let this go.
And it's hard.
Glenn Sargent Thompson
Sept. 30, 1953
June 2, 2008

First off, let me tell you about the rule. There has always been only 1 rule for Glenn and I. “NOBODY talks bad about my brother.” That will be the rule until I die.
I’ve got chipped teeth and scars that might should have had stitches because someone broke that rule. The only exception to that rule is myself. So if you hear me make a disparaging remark, don’t make the mistake of thinking I’ll let you do it.
My eulogy is meant to be enlightening. A look at the joy and laughter he brought me. I hope you take it in that light. Glenn was my best friend. I want to tell you some of his story.
Sometimes Glenn had to tell me I was way out of line, and sometimes I had to tell him the same. Sometimes one of us would get so mad at the other we’d say, “Just wait till the next time I see you!” But the next time we’d get together, we always hugged and went on like before.
We knew each other’s fears and dreams. One of his dreams was that I be more of a family man. I was missing out on one of the best parts of life, he’d tell me. In addition to the long ride, his family was his greatest comfort He always worried about me being alone during my second set of bachelor years. One of his greatest fears was being alone.

Let me tell you about Panamanean frogs. Glenn was a security police in the air force, stationed in Panama Canal Zone. One day he was assigned to guard a red square painted on the ground in which sat an airplane. No one was to cross Glenn’s red square. I’m sure he was bored to tears, so when the base commander tried to take a shortcut across Glenn’s red square, Glenn drew down on him and arrested him.
It really pissed the guy off. Glenn, however, was absolutely correct in the charges and was supported by his commanding officers. Having pull, the big brass had Glenn assigned to guard an ammo dump in the middle of the swamps. By the second night Glenn had hotwired a forklift on the site, and was cutting doughnuts all over the concrete slab there. He left the machine stuck in the mud with a flat tire.
That ruffled a few feathers. Charges were brought up against him for destruction of Government property. In addition to the flat tire, they had pictures of the slab complete with skid marks and about a dozen small things circled.
“What are all of those circles?” Glenn asked the prosecuting officer.
“Those are FROGS, AIRMAN,” he yelled. “You killed those poor Panama frogs.”
Glenn, his lawyer, and his boss had a hard time not laughing. They all knew the person behind this. Glenn’s boss fast tracked the charges against the Full Bird Colonel. The prosecution changed his tune, and offered to drop charges against Glenn if he would drop his charge against the Colonel. Glenn’s lawyer said okay, IF you throw in an honorable discharge. Glenn came back to Texas.

When my first wife left me the first time, I was devastated. I needed time alone. The IRS was after me, and although gone, Rocky expected me to somehow still pay her rent. Glenn listened to all this with great alarm, thinking that my ‘needing to be alone’ were thoughts of suicide.
Within 15 minutes of that phone call, a C of C preacher and youth minister showed up at my door. I was touched. I talked to them a while, assuring them that it wasn’t ME that needed hurting. As they left, the preacher told me, “Oh, by the way, your brother is on the way here.” Sure enough, within a couple of hours, he had driven from Uvalde to Austin.
He listened to my account of everything up to his arrival. Satisfied that his missionary work was done, he suggested we go to a Gentleman’s club. What a guy.

Glenn gave me this vest back in the mid 80’s. Even after cutting out the sleeves, it was still too small for him. I could button it back then, I swear. I had no transportation at all, and my first wife had just left me for the last time. My first wife’s sister’s husband let me take his old Kawasaki Z-1A on a payment plan, and when I told Glenn, he was thrilled. He invited me on the upcoming Aardvark run. When I got there Glenn had a t-shirt that read, “Better a sister in a whore house than a brother on a Kawasaki”. Then he gave me this vest. That’s just how he was.

Various events in Glenn’s life compounded to the point where he was asked to be an extended guest of the state of Texas. After graduating that institution of moral education, Glenn was really ready to rebuild. He was running damn near empty, but he had a few resources left, including one of his most successful businesses still intact.
When his truck broke down, he was left with nothing but his Harley. He rejected offers of assistance from us saying he had to pick himself up alone this time. He told me we had all done way too much for him, and he needed to make this right
That old enemy, being alone, still plagued him. We talked about it. He felt almost desperate to have a significant other, but every potential girlfriend turned into a pumpkin at midnight. I reminded him how I had waited 10 years, had actually given up on finding Ms. Right. Glenn did the same. He gave up. Within weeks, he met Ruth. When he called to tell me about her, I could tell he was on to something wonderful.

Glenn was the best driver I have ever known. He has driven just about everything on wheels. Life is like a long ride. Glenn always found inner peace and solace in the long ride. Glenn lived the life he loved and loved the life he lived. He was never afraid of the long ride back home, either. This time, he just didn’t allow enough fuel to get all the way back.
Crank the throttle in heaven, my brother. Let ‘em know you’re there.
--
Las cucarachas entran, pero no pueden salir.


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