This is a posting that I never would have thought that I would have to write. Any faithful readers will know of my friend Randy. My oldest friend has become ill, and dreadfully so. I feel so helpless, knowing that I can't really do anything to stop it. He has cancer, and it has settled in his spine. He is in incredible pain, and I can do nothing but offer my love, friendship, and support to him. Some might say, "Roger, that's enough. It's all that you can do for him." And they might be right, but it ain't enough. I want him to be well. He and I still have way too many adventures and escapades ahead of us, and they may now never be realized. I went to visit him in the hospital earlier this week in Las Vegas, where he and his new bride have taken up residence. He was in good spirits, given the circumstances at the time. There was a fair amount of frustration on his (and my) part, as two of his doctors (surgeons) gave him two different opinions on how (and how much) surgery should take place. The tumors are affecting two of his vertebrae, and one doctor planned to go in through his chest, possibly deflate a lung to get it out of the way, and attack the tumors from the "front" of his spine. Then, after an indeterminate amount of recuperative time, go in from the back and remove the remainder of the tumors. Needless to say, this sounded like a terrible, although possibly necessary, option. A few hours later, another surgeon came in to talk with him. His option was to just go in and get it. Plain and simple. The previous doctor's option was discussed with him. His response was that although the other guy might be a good surgeon, he was not a "cancer only" surgeon, and might not have extensive enough experience in that area, whereas doctor #2 had been a cancer surgeon for twenty or more years. Obviously, doctor #2's news was received much better. During my far-too-brief stay with him, we talked about old times, and the possibilities for the future. He was making plans to move back to Florida where they could stay with his mom, or in a condo on the beach that his family owns. His wife could help his mother around the house, and Randy would keep himself occupied with little putterings in the garage, find something to do (he joked about being the oldest "Grit" salesman, a reference to the many comic book ads from our youth. He was well aware that his activity and mobility level would be severely hampered. He was making grown-up decisions, and thinking everything through, allowing for any necessary deviations or roadblocks regarding his future. I needed to return to Utah, and after shaking his hand and hugging them, I left Randy and his wife in the hospital room and drove home.
I had promised a mutual friend and his wife, also very close friends, that I would let them know about Randy's condition. I called him after my return home, and gave him my "report". He asked if I thought Randy might be up for a phone call. Knowing how close these friends were to Randy, I felt that Randy would appreciate hearing from them. About 15 minutes after we had gotten off the phone, I received a call from them, actually the wife, because he was not able to talk. They had gotten a call from Randy's wife telling them that they had talked with the doctors, and that the decision had been made to NOT perform any surgeries. Whether it was because it was "too risky", would not do any good, or both, I never heard. But I think it was both. Randy was given 3 to 5 months. I pray that he will have more than that, and at the same time my heart bleeds to think of him in pain. So, faithful reader, I'm going to tell you about one of the better people that I know.
Thanksgiving Day, 2012
I found out that Randy passed away this afternoon.When I left him only a week ago, I had no idea that it would be the last time I saw him.
RANDAL B. PARKER
October 3, 1954 – November 22, 2012
The remainder of this post is a collection of thoughts and memories.
The chronology is not necessarily in sequence.
I had moved from a small town that had a "lower" educational standard than the one in Florida. Prior to Missouri, we had been stationed in Tucson, Arizona, where the standard had been much higher. As a result, while in Missouri, I had become a bit lazy in regard to my school work. I was not challenged. I don't recall taking books home for homework very much, because I didn't need to. I seemed to be able to pull passing grades or better with little effort. So when I got to Florida, I had some poor study habits, and did not do well. One class, Civics, was difficult for me. I had it first period, and it was not the way to start my day. One interesting fact came to light rather quickly in that class. Our teacher, on test days in particular, would leave the room for fifteen to twenty or more minutes to go have a cup of coffee and a smoke. I know that, because he would have a coffee cup in his hand when he returned, and if he walked by you, the smell of fresh cigarettes smoke could be detected. One test day, he did his normal routine. I really think I knew all the answers. In fact, I finished my test in time to be able to copy the entire test, and what I thought the answers were, for my friend Randy, who had the same class during fourth period. I passed the copied test to Randy between classes.
Later that same day, during fourth period band class, the "squawk box" (PA system/intercom) interrupted our class. "Mr. Sills, do you have a Roger Fields in your class at this time?" Mr. Sills, the band director replied that yes, he did have a student by that name. "Could you have him report to my office, please?" It was the Principal and he wanted to see me. Completely oblivious as to the reason why, I made my way to the office. When I walked in, the secretary informed me that I should take a seat because the principal was not in his office at the moment. I sat on a chair, wondering what was going on. Suddenly, the door opened, and Mr. Peterson, the principal walked in. He glanced at me, asked if I was Roger Fields, and when I acknowledged my identity, he asked that I follow him. He walked into his office, and I followed, still bewildered as to the reason why. When I cleared the doorway, I saw Randy sitting in a chair, and on Mr. Peterson's desk was THE PAPER with all the test questions and answers in my handwriting. Randy looked up at me as I entered the room, gave me a quick "holy crap we're in trouble" look, and I took a seat for the inquisition. We had gotten caught cheating on a Civics six-weeks test. We both got Zeroes on the test score, and an "F" for that six-week term. As ashamed as I am of that incident, it also cemented our friendship forever.
As happens to all young men, we discovered girls around that time. I had a girlfriend, and so did Randy. But since Randy and I were almost inseparable, we would accompany each other to each other's girlfriend's house. Randy would frequently come along when I went to see my girlfriend, and vice-versa. It served to widen our social circles, and probably kept us in line, as well. This tradition continued through high school, and a few years beyond.
Randy and I got our driver's licenses during our junior year. Although neither of us had a car of our own, we did have occasional access to our family's cars. We used to dream about having our own cars so that we could "get the girls", much like we had dreamed that we would get them "once we got our licenses". In our senior year, Randy got his car, a 1960 Chevrolet BelAir that had belonged to a great-aunt, or something like that. It looked and smelled new, and had only 25000 miles on it. Not bad for an 11 or 12 year old car. She had literally been the "little old lady that drove it on Sunday". And she must have been a small lady, because there were 4-inch riser blocks of wood under the seat mounts so that she could see over the dash. As Christmas 1971 approached, Randy was chosen to drive to Missouri to pick up his grandmother and bring her back to Florida for the holidays. Randy asked if I could go along for company etc. I didn't think my mother would agree to it, especially as I would have to miss the last day of school before the holiday break, but was pleasantly surprised when she agreed. Randy and I took turns driving, while the other one would handle the 8-track tape player and navigate. I remember that the speedometer in the car was broken at the time, so I would watch for road signs indicating miles to a city and log the time. Then when we passed another sign, I would check my watch and compute the miles traveled in whatever time period had passed. I remember one time we drove an estimated 6 miles in 4 minutes. That computed out to 90 mph. Whether we were actually travelling that fast, I can't say for sure. But I'm sure we were still well over the speed limit.
We got to Dexter, Missouri safe and sound, and spent a night at his grandmother's house. This was the town that Randy had moved from, and we spent the next day driving around town and seeing some of Randy's old friends from there. We spent another night, and then Randy, Grandma, and I headed back to Florida. Grandma was content to sit in the back seat, and her only complaint was about our cigarette smoke. We tried to accommodate her by opening vents (remember those?) and it worked, a little. We made it back home safely, and Randy and his family enjoyed Christmas with his grandmother.
During the summer between our junior and senior year, I got my first motorcycle, and Randy had an old Honda 125 "Dream". We rode those things everywhere. City, Highway, and DIRT RIDING, although we called it "trail riding". We rode on dirt roads out on the military reservation. We could spend hours just exploring, and probably never get more than 20 miles from home. There were that many roads out there. I believe that he and I were better motorcyclists because of our experiences on dirt. We used to go out on the elementary school playground, which was just a huge flat expanse of red clay and sand. We would accelerate to 30 or 40 mph and slam on the brakes, just to practice sliding and skids. We got to where we could lock up both wheels at 40 mph and not crash. I think this experience probably saved our lives more than once in later years. In subsequent years, we got different bikes, bigger bikes, and continued to ride together whenever we could. Randy was one of the few people that I trusted to drive a bike with me on the back. I trusted and knew his abilities. I could actually relax and enjoy the ride. And he was a pleasure to have as a passenger, because he knew how much and when to lean when we turned. Oh, to have those days back!
Randy had taken drafting classes during our senior year. He and other students would board a bus and travel to the local Junior College to take their career training classes. I had always enjoyed drafting and mechanical drawing, but my poorer grades and my commitment to the high school band (probably the main reason that I even stayed in school) precluded my leaving campus for half a day. We graduated, and set forth into the world. Randy eventually secured a drafting job, a career he kept for many years. He moved around a little, and actually ended up working at the same company as I worked at for a while. I helped him move up to Greenville in one of the "Carolinas", but I don't remember which one. I think it was South Carolina, but there is a "Greenville" in both of them, evidently. Anyway, he packed his car with most of his belongings (he was now driving an MGB), and I put the remainder in my car, and we caravanned up there. I spent the night up there, unloaded his stuff from my car, and drove home. I know that he also moved to Louisville, Kentucky, and was up in Massachusetts for a while. I remember him settling in the Tampa area, but don't remember exactly when.
He joined the U.S. Navy, and applied to be a RIO (radar intercept officer) or as they were also known, "GIB" for 'guy in back'. I know that he attained the rank of Ensign, because he used to get teased about being "Ensign Parker", a character in "McHales Navy", a popular comedy show on television in the 60's and early 70's. But Randy had a hard time getting his radar intercept times down to the desired mark, evidently. He ended up leaving the Navy, although he did get to "see the world" a bit. I believe he stayed in the Naval Reserve for a number of years, as I remember he had yearly trips to the UK.
When another close mutual friend (Brad) and I got our first apartment, Randy was a frequent, no, make that "constant" visitor there. We let our hair grow, learned to drink (practice make perfect), and pretty much partied every night.
Randy would have been my best man at my (1st) wedding, but I had asked my father to fill that slot. But Randy was in our wedding party as one of my groomsmen. He sure looked sharp in that tux.
When I went back for my 30-year class reunion, Randy and I visited the Armament Museum at Eglin AFB, where our fathers had been stationed. Randy's father had flown the F-104, and mine had flown the F-4. They have an F-104 on static display, and Randy's father's name is painted on the side of the canopy. I know he was proud, I was proud. I find it a little comforting that in some way, our fathers' careers have been immortalized. Randy's father may very well have flown that very aircraft that has his name painted on it. And the plane that my father flew in VietNam is now on static display at Nellis AFB outside of Las Vegas. I have not personally "visited" the plane at Nellis. I had planned to, on the way out of Las Vegas last week, but I knew that Randy wanted to accompany me when I went. And at the time, he was not well enough. I figured that we would go together "next time".
Randy and his first wife, Lori, moved to St. George, Utah from Tampa. He started his own business installing satellite dishes. It must have been lucrative enough for him to make a living, but I think he grew tired of it. He and I have jet fuel running through our veins instead of blood, we used to say. I know that he wanted to be associated with aviation, as did I. So he dropped a chunk of money into taking training to be a dispatcher for airlines. He completed his training, and secured a job with SkyWest Airlines, a small airline based in St. George. He enjoyed his job, and the free (or reduced fare) airline travel afforded to him as an airline employee. Occasionally, he would get to travel in the cockpit along with the flight crew. He loved it. Once, he took his video camera and recorded the action in the cockpit, and burned a copy of it to DVD and sent it to me. This DVD has just now become one of my favorite movies. Randy and Lori decided to "call it quits" after 16 years or so of marriage. Randy, seeking new horizons, and a fresh start, applied for and received employment in Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirate. Somewhat saddened by the relocation of my friend, I nonetheless supported him in his venture. After all, he was going to make premium wages, and he planned to "bank" a good portion of his money. He spent roughly three or four years over there working for the airline "ETIHAD". After his first year there, he started fulfilling his dream of seeing the world. He also, to keep everyone entertained and informed, started a blog "Abu Dhabi Dispatches" which I read voraciously. Needless to say, I was envious of him and his travels. But I was also happy for him, and very impressed with his writing abilities. I was evidently not the only one, as he was also a contributor to a newsletter/magazine over there giving an "American's" perspective.
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These are a couple of the pictures from his "adventures" in the Middle East. The one on the left is, of course, Paris. The one to the right is in Abu Dhabi. The picture above is of Randy and the Jeep that he bought over there to get around. He also visited Moscow, Nepal, and Thailand among other exotic (to me, anyway) locations. He also managed to make it back to the States once a year for his "vacation" time. I managed to catch up with him once, while he was back here, but it was only on the phone. We never managed to get together face to face while he was on "leave". But we always wanted to. If you would like some entertaining reading, and a lot more pictures, you might search for his blog. It is still up, as far as I know. Look for "Abu Dhabi Dispatches". Randy grew a little dissatisfied with the situation in the Middle East, and decided to come home. He returned at the beginning of 2012, after securing a job in Las Vegas, working for a small airline there. He also had been cultivating a relationship, of sorts. A "girl" from our class had captured his attentions, and they had communicated and spent time together when possible. This relationship blossomed, and culminated in their marriage in July of this year. Now, let me explain something here: I have a lot of "friends", but there is a small number of people that are my "FRIENDS". More like family. And with each of these few friends (around as many as there are fingers on one hand, counting Randy), their spouses are loved by me unconditionally and are viewed as "sisters" to me. And all of us have an agreement that if something happens to any of us, his wife (our sister) is to look to us for anything. And if we have it, whether it be: support, help, comfort, or even money, if we have it to spare, all she has to do is ask. (Karen, I hope you don't mind that I "borrowed" a couple of pictures from you. Thank you for making Randy's life complete).
These are a couple of the pictures from his "adventures" in the Middle East. The one on the left is, of course, Paris. The one to the right is in Abu Dhabi. The picture above is of Randy and the Jeep that he bought over there to get around. He also visited Moscow, Nepal, and Thailand among other exotic (to me, anyway) locations. He also managed to make it back to the States once a year for his "vacation" time. I managed to catch up with him once, while he was back here, but it was only on the phone. We never managed to get together face to face while he was on "leave". But we always wanted to. If you would like some entertaining reading, and a lot more pictures, you might search for his blog. It is still up, as far as I know. Look for "Abu Dhabi Dispatches". Randy grew a little dissatisfied with the situation in the Middle East, and decided to come home. He returned at the beginning of 2012, after securing a job in Las Vegas, working for a small airline there. He also had been cultivating a relationship, of sorts. A "girl" from our class had captured his attentions, and they had communicated and spent time together when possible. This relationship blossomed, and culminated in their marriage in July of this year. Now, let me explain something here: I have a lot of "friends", but there is a small number of people that are my "FRIENDS". More like family. And with each of these few friends (around as many as there are fingers on one hand, counting Randy), their spouses are loved by me unconditionally and are viewed as "sisters" to me. And all of us have an agreement that if something happens to any of us, his wife (our sister) is to look to us for anything. And if we have it, whether it be: support, help, comfort, or even money, if we have it to spare, all she has to do is ask. (Karen, I hope you don't mind that I "borrowed" a couple of pictures from you. Thank you for making Randy's life complete).
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| The happy couple |
I will close this post for now, but rest assured that it will be added to. If not by me, by others.
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