My Tears Blind Us Forward

These shoes... filled with the footsteps
of memories
from a life's friendships...
not to be trod
within again.

Deke's Note: My brother and good friend Henry Beasley has always counseled us not to drive with "diminished capacity". He's absolutely correct, but I failed to take that advice yesterday. Oh, I truly should have. What I'm about to impart to you all today will illustrate exactly why. Still, and all the way through this post, I sob in grief for one I loved so much.

My mind, soul and body are numb. Just over 18 hours ago, I learned just as I awoke that one of my closest, dearest friends... died. It was such a shock I threw my phone into a wall and sobbed a wail of anguish I hadn't felt since either of my parents took that final journey.

I shouldn't have driven a bus in my grief. However, the passengers who stepped up to soothe my pain were lifesavers. I couldn't score a TDA (Turn Down Assignment) for a lack of available operators, but I did gain some wonderful memories. One came from my Assistant Manager who was very understanding, comforting and patient during our phone call this morning. While I often bash management, my harshest critiques are for those occupying the highest reaches. Those who have done this job remember the intense pressure we face providing safe rides, especially when confronted with personal tragedy.

* * * * *

Wayne and I met each other in late 1984, just as my family's typography business was born. I was "It": VP, Business Manager, Typographer, Bookkeeper, Customer Service Rep, Maintenance Technician and Anything Else the business needed. My father helped by making deliveries and sales calls. Dad would bring them in with his good ol' fashioned honesty and hometown ease of making an acquaintance. It was my job to wow them with my ability to produce typography precisely for any print job.

One day, Dad brought in an order from a new customer: Wayne Kyle at Capitol Fastprint in downtown Tucson.

"He's quite a nice fellow," Dad told me, "I think you'll really like him. But he's never heard of you. Make sure you 'wow' him, and I think you'll have his steady business."

It was a simple business card order, which I had set in type many times before. Still, I took special care to give it that "Perfect Type Company" pizzaz. Probably spent more time on it than the $12 I charged him. Rather than wait for Dad to deliver it the next morning, I decided to deliver it myself after I closed up shop. Not only did I realize my craft was important in securing customers, but like Dad, I knew a personal touch could often close a deal.

I walked in to Capitol Fastprint on Pennington Street to find an intense-looking, well-dressed man running a printing press. Standing in the reception area, I knew better than to interrupt a printer while he was working. After a few minutes, he stopped the press. I coughed. Wayne turned around and smiled his best businessman-smile. He was a few years older than me, but not many.

"Hello there," he said, "give me a minute while I finish this up."

I nodded and continued waiting. All the while, I proofread my product for perhaps the tenth time that afternoon, not wanting to give it to him with any mistakes. Any errors in a new customer's job would surely be the stroke of death in Tucson's typography industry of the 1980s. There was a slight deviation from what he had given me, but I was betting he would understand.

Finally, Wayne came over, offering his hand. "Hi, I'm Wayne Kyle, owner and operator. How can I help you?" He was friendly, engaging and confident.

"Hey Wayne," I replied, "I'm Patrick. My dad stopped in earlier and you gave us a job, so I thought I'd deliver it personally."

"Wow!" Wayne exclaimed. "That was fast! Yeah, I remember your Dad. He was cool, that old guy. Said he plays guitar and sings. So do I! Hmm... let me look at this."

I fidgeted nervously as Wayne took the plastic bag with his order and my product to his desk and sat down. He glanced at the copy, then at my work, back at the copy again. He looked up at me.

"You didn't do it exactly as it was written," he said.

Here it was, my magic moment. "No Wayne, I didn't."

Wayne sat back in his chair and arched his back. "Why not?" The look in his eye was both curious and fun. He was testing me, but I was ready.

"Why wouldn't I?" I answered, my own eye-twinkle sparkling mischievously. "Your customer spelled his own street name wrong. Imagine everyone's embarrassment at that! He'd try and get you to re-do the cards for free, and you'd argue you weren't responsible for his mistake. If I brought you something less than perfect, then I would have felt like I cheated you. We all would have been screwed, someone would have lost a customer. Not cool. Nothing spelled incorrectly leaves my shop that way. Hence, our name. So, I fixed it."

Wayne arched back again in his chair, chuckling, rubbing his eyes. I could tell it had been a long day for him. It had been for me as well. The time was 6:00 p.m. and we had opened our respective businesses 12 hours before.

"Great answer," he said, settling back down and looking at me. "I noticed the error when your Dad stopped by, but this order isn't due for a few days yet and I was curious about the son he bragged about. He was right... you are good!"

Smiling, I reached out and shook his hand again. It was firm, quite a bit stronger than my own. This beast of a man could have crushed my hand, but he knew I depended upon them. It was his way of exerting that ages-old masculine superiority over me, but I didn't flinch and equally met his grasp.

"Thank you, Wayne," I said. "I was hoping you'd notice."

"You just won my business," he replied with a full grin, standing up and still gripping my hand. "It's closing time. Want a beer?"

We shared many beers that night, and hundreds more over the next several years. Wayne and I became close friends very quickly. He was strong, vibrant and confident. Several months later, he guided me through a dark depression when my marriage failed and left me a broken-hearted single father. Many an hour we shared discussing our failed marriages and what our future might bring for us and our beloved daughters. While we both harbored resentment toward our former spouses, we acknowledged the value each had brought to our lives. Somewhere along that year, we became brothers.

* * * * *

Wayne's sense of fun had no equal. His daughter Jennifer was his greatest love, and I came to adore the sparky 10-year-old redhead who hugged my toddler Anna like a big sister. She was his only child, and he gushed over her.

One Friday, Wayne called and told me we were going bar-hopping that evening. I certainly had nothing better to do, and eagerly agreed. As long as I was the one of us who got drunk, he could drive. As he rolled up Speedway Boulevard, Wayne spied a sign I hoped he would pass by. It was the Bashful Bandit, Tucson's infamous biker bar. He slowed his VW van and my heart rate doubled.

"You're not thinking..." I began.

"Fucking-A right," he laughed as he turned into the parking lot full of Harleys. "We're gonna crash a biker bar!"

"Oh dear Lord," I sighed. "You're wearing a pink shirt and tie! Are you suicidal or what?"

"I got your back," he chuckled.

My back wasn't in question here. My 150-pound scrawny ass wasn't nearly-adequate to back him up if trouble arose. And yeah, it surely would.

Wayne refused to shed his business attire. I could not have ever bravely-enough sported such bold clothing, but he feared nobody. He'd been a fighter his entire life; I had only been a lover. Still, he refused to allow me to "wuss out" so I followed him into that bar.

He no sooner stepped one foot into the threshold when a booming voice greeted us. "Take that fucking tie off!"

I froze; Wayne kept striding through the doorway. Lest the door slam me in the face, I stepped in behind him. My life began flashing before me. This was a widely-known no-man's land in the Old Pueblo. Enter at your own risk, or be thrown out with blood on your clothing.

As the door closed behind us, the bar became hushed except for the loud booming sounds of ZZ Top blaring from the jukebox. I held my breath as we both grew accustomed to the bar's darkness. Wayne actively searched for the source of challenge.

"Why don't you take it off for me?" he answered.

Lois, Wayne and I celebrate the completion
of our 1987 Calendar.

Oh shit, Wayne, I thought, you have killed us both! I had no idea where his inner badass had come from, but it was surely a place I had never visited. Now my buddy had challenged the toughest crowd in Tucson and I was but a coerced accomplice. With any luck, I'd score a few punches before being overwhelmed. My adrenalin rushed, my body poised to defend itself.

Wayne found his source of challenge in the darkest corner of that bar, and boldly strode up to the table. It was dominated by a large, smirking man surrounded by some very tough-looking hombres. They held those gazes only warriors primed for battle do. Then, I noticed a change in both their demeanors.

Wayne softened a bit from his battle-ready stance, tilting his head in recognition. A slight smile appeared on both faces.

"Hey," the biker said, "aren't you..."

"Wayne Kyle," my friend boldly announced, adding "and aren't you one of the Miller twins?"

"Yeah," the biker said, smiling. "I remember you from high school. Badass motherfucker you were then, and by the looks of things, still are, given your wardrobe choice in here. But dude... willya take off that damned tie? You'll give us a bad name." With that, Mr. Miller gave a great, booming laugh.

Wayne reached over the table and shook Miller's hand, laughing in recognition. Out of respect, he took his tie off.

"Only for you," he said, smiling while glancing at the still-menacing glares around that table, still challenging anyone else to insult his chosen fashion. Mr. Miller, regardless, introduced Wayne to his friends, while ignoring me.

For years, Wayne ribbed me about that incident. Conversely, I silently cursed him for almost ending my 20-something-year-old life. Even so, that moment showed me the fierce side of a personality I have always admired. His determination to prevail inspired respect in everything he did, be it work, personal beliefs or family love. He taught me to never fear any form of adversity; to always be true to myself and never doubt my inner strength.

* * * * *

We had many moments of hilarity together, most notably of the fiery kind.

One of many nights when we designed a calendar together with his trusty lady employees Lois and Suzie, Wayne decided we should use his cache of M-180 fireworks to light up the back alley. An empty-five gallon bucket was the prime target of his first (and only) blast of that evening. We lit the fuse and beat ass back to the back door of his printshop. Within seconds, a thunderous BOOM concussively-shook the shared walls on the block. In our drunken revelry, we shared a great laugh at the noise and bucket's destruction that moment resulted in. After a few minutes and a shot each of the shop tequila (with bottom-lurking worm) inherited with the printshop purchase, we decided to do it again.

As Wayne entered the back alley, he was followed by me, Lois and Suzie. We were immediately greeted with the flashing blues-and-reds of police cruisers and the sound of a circling helicopter overhead, Wayne's first instinct as he ran face-full into a cop was to palm the firework into my hand, which I instinctively-passed back down the line.

"Wow!" Wayne exclaimed, "did you hear THAT? What the hell?"

Wayne's reflexive exclamation proved vital to our presumed innocence. It was classic Wayne: the instigator feigned innocence via sheer bullshit. The cop was immediately convinced we were not to blame for the supposed "bomb".

"Please move back inside," the cop warned. "We're not sure what is going on here."

Once the door closed, we collapsed in laughter. As we continued our drunken revelry, the cops outside combed the area we tipped the famed tequila bottle in celebration of our cover-up.

* * * * *

Wayne constantly encouraged me to keep writing. While I never had the honor of visiting his personal library, I'm sure my book stood proudly upon his shelves, and I'm eternally grateful.

We all have friends. Some are fleeting, others linger a finite moment longer. The tiniest fraction of our personal encounters remain, constantly enriching our souls. Now that one of my most favorite souls has left us to rollerblade the heavens, it makes me fearful of losing any more.

Hans, Roger, Deb, Joel and REB, and (now) others who remain... please reach out more often. We're all gaining years more quickly than youth ever allowed us to imagine. Each moment we share together becomes constantly more precious.

To those of you who have helped boost me in this horrendously-vicious day of grief, thank you. Even though they could not relieve me, my Station Agent brothers and sisters surely gave it their best, but no Extra Board ops were available. To Angel, Jon and Lance, who saw me in my darkest depths of despair during my brief breaks, I hold you in my highest regards.

Angel saw me sobbing that night, stopping her time-constrained march to the restroom to offer a comforting hug. She has become one of my closest transit sisters this signup, and I truly appreciate her loving care. Lance reminded me we owe each other a Scotch-infused moment in time, and his true concern was touching. As usual, my first outbound follower Jon knew not of my soul's pain until we reached our collective destination. At that point, his shoulders sagged in sad recognition for my grief, and his words of support were truly appreciated even though I did not have the strength to properly appreciate them.

Most of all, I took great comfort from several passengers who noticed my suffering as I drove them home. As I've written the past week, my normal routine has included an additional Deke's touch, in the form of daily inspirational quotes. Thanks to my new and wonderful friend Tommy Transit, I've adopted "Deke's Inspirational Quotes for the Day" to my daily roll. Today's quote was punctuated by a noticeable tone of sadness.

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." -- Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Wayne always spoke about issues which matter. People didn't always agree with him, but he showed respect. Last summer he was very concerned a rally by white supremacists could turn violent. He went armed, but handed out water on a hot day, helping everyone remain hydrated. Prepared for trouble, he didn't seek it. Strongly opposed to discrimination, he disagreed with many gathered. However, he was more interested in learning why they believe as they do and hoped to change some minds. It was a touching gesture, displaying his optimistic belief in humanity.

Several weeks ago, Wayne and I shared a five-hour ramble on the phone together. It was so fun! We talked of our shared past, the pain and joys our friendship has seen each of us through, and what the future held for us. He was still haunted by the death of his beloved Janet some years before, yet happy Stacey and I celebrated our 25th anniversary in Scotland. He met my Beloved when our love was new, was present for our wedding and kept up with me (on and off) throughout our amazing union. Over the phone, we laughed, cried, drank copious amounts of booze. We grieved over those lost and envisioned old age together. It was truly memorable and life-affirming.

Wayne died this week, alone. As we often say to comfort ourselves, he lives on in us all. Given his wide-ranging love of many, it was a terribly unfitting end. He had vicious dogs who would not accept visitors, he warned. That didn't matter. Whenever I visited Tucson, he was there every time to greet me. We shared so many years of love and pain together, it was required we reunite whenever I visited. Wayne was always on my list of "must-sees". Now, I see his mischievously-twisted smile in tear-stained memories of our fellowship. With time, my vision will clear and his smile will remain.

For days, he lay lifeless while many of us believed he had once-again been thrown into the FaceBook "jail" he often occupied. Wayne had a boisterous voice and fearless proclamation for his beliefs in American freedoms. Even those who disagreed with Wayne knew he cared for them. Wayne was someone with whom you could intelligently-debate while finding common ground. If your only beef was political and you couldn't find anything which bound you, and your only response was to insult him he willingly (and sometimes forcefully) let you go. It didn't matter what you stated; he firmly believed our current political discourse pointed toward oligarchy and he was determined to help you understand. Wayne  explain himself from a position of knowledge. He agreed with me, in that our sense of debate without malice has all but disappeared from American political discourse, and it saddened him.

Wayne actually read the Constitution. He successfully-defended himself from lawsuits, even though not trained as an attorney. During my divorce proceedings, he constantly fed me valuable pointers in my desire to protect us from decisions which severely-limited the rights of fathers in the '80s. Because of his solid support, I won joint custody of my daughter.

The shocking departure of loved souls scars our souls forever, but their memory endures, inspiring us to seek new heights. It takes immense amounts of strength to push through these moments. I'm seeking the strength to persevere with the painful reality I can no longer call Wayne. Our last chat will last a lifetime, and I am thankful.

I mourn that Wayne can no longer share himself with the world. However, I know he's here with me now, as are the countless numbers of loved ones lost. Among them is my father, who instinctively saw the value of Wayne. Thanks again, Dad.

Rest in everlasting, dreamy peace, my rowdy pal. May God forgive your trespasses (and ours together), and shine His everlasting light upon your eternal rest. I'll find you among the stars I look upon each night I drive a bus. I'll see ya again someday, buddy. None of us emerge from this gig alive.

Thank you for the memories. I love you, and always will my brother. RIP, Wayne Kyle.