I Remember Tommy

We didn't hang out much when we were kids. He lived in the neighborhood. I lived on 3rd Street, he lived on 2nd. He was two years older than me. He dressed cool with his khakis, blue suede shoes, and Sir Guy shirts. He had a great sense of humor, it seemed as if he was always making somebody laugh. He was a friendly, white "cholo" who started using drugs early in life. He was an Irish Catholic. He quit high school to join the Army. He got married young, divorced young and had two beautiful daughters. He went to prison on drug-related charges. It was the the late sixties and early seventies. He lived with his mom and older brother. He stayed high most of the time. He pretty-much introduced me to drug use. My first drugs were free. Later he charged me. After that, he charged me double. When we were just drinking beer, he was cool. But when it came to selling drugs; he was stern and cold-blooded. We drank way too much. We missed out on a portion of life. One night we were drinking at a bar called "The Round Up," in National City on Highland Avenue. I said to him: "I am getting so tired of this life, I'm sick of it." He asked me: "What are you going to do?" I said: "I don't know, but I gotta do something, maybe even go to church." "Your crazy!" He said. The irony of the story is evident. What actually happened is that I did start visiting Church; and I liked it. Some months passed. I got converted and became a Christian. I quit drinking and using drugs. I quit hanging out with Tommy but he called me once in a while. One day I got a call from his brother. Apparently Tommy had taken too many drugs and had temporarily lost his mind. His brother asked me to visit Tommy at "Four North," the psycho ward of Paradise Valley Hospital in National City. Tommy was the one that had told me I was crazy. There is much more to this story, but I will save it for another time.