Friends visited while in Colorado

By Curt Swarm

Bill was one of the old friends I looked up while Ginnie and I were in Loveland, Colorado. He had pretty much disappeared from the scene, like a rainbow come and gone. The phone number I had for him was no longer in service, but I was able to get his address from another friend. Bill and I had worked and partied hardy (or hearty) together. He lived with his brother in three front-to-back shotgun shacks on a narrow lot. Both Bill and his brother were hardcore bachelors.

Bill’s brother had died of alcoholism a couple of years before, and I knew Bill took it hard. I wanted to see Bill and see how he was doing. Bill was a gear head, always building hot rods, dune buggies and show cars.

It was the middle of a hot Colorado afternoon when Ginnie and I found Bill’s address. We couldn’t raise anyone at the first shack, so went to the second. Some elderly lady (Bill had a girlfriend?) said Bill was asleep, but if we went to his “office” he would meet us. We went to the third shack and waited. There were car parts, tools, machinery, and engine blocks scattered everywhere. Bill finally trooped out, barefooted and rubbing sleep from his eyes. How he could walk on that floor in bare feet, with drill bits, nuts and bolts and sharp objects all over the floor, I’ll never know. But he led us back to his “office,” sat down and we talked.

He told us the reason he was asleep was because he’d been to a car show that morning, chasing girls, and it wore him out. He also told us how his brother died. Bill, some of his family, and a few close friends had gotten together and attempted an intervention on Bill’s brother, telling him how his alcoholism impacted them. They wanted to take him to rehab right then. His brother said he would go, but wanted to wait until morning. During the night, Bill’s brother drank himself to death. Schnapps. Bill found him the next morning.

Bill also told us about a friend of his that rented a room from him in the third shack. The friend overdosed on Fentanyl and died. Bill found him, also.

Then there was the renter in the first shack. He was also a close friend of Bill’s. The friend had wild parties, got behind on rent, and Bill had to evict him. So much disappointment in Bill’s life.

But Bill’s attitude was good. He was fixing up the first shack to rent out again, building cars, and engine blowers for people. They called him Blower Bill. He has a 60’s Corvette and El Camino. All-in-all, I’m glad we took the time to dig Bill out. He told Ginnie to take good care of me. Ha!

Another person we looked up was an old high school buddy from Iowa, Tom. He and his wife now live in Ft. Collins. He was an all-state running back in football, I was a blocking lineman. One time I threw a block that sprang Tom loose for the end zone. He would have probably made it anyway, he was pretty fast, agile, and tough. Anywho, when we got back to the huddle, Tom pointed a finger at me and said, “The touchdown goes to you.” The QB hollered at him to shut up, for good reason. That touchdown was the result of a total team effort. I just threw the last block.

Tom was always a sharp dresser. He worked at clothing stores and retail outlets through high school and college. A cancer survivor, he became quite successful as a top executive for Walmart. I no longer had to throw blocks for Tom. He cut his own path.

On our last day in Colorado, Ginnie and I drove up the Cache la Poudre Canyon, another old friend. We saw the Big Narrows, Profile Rock, Elephant Mountain, and lunched at Glen Echo Resort, that used to be in what was called Rustic. The Poudre Canyon was peaceful, beautiful and relaxing—a perfect ending for a week of looking up old friends. You can’t be too thin, have too much money, or too many friends.

Have a good story? Call or text Curt Swarm in Mt. Pleasant at 319-217-0526 or email him at curtswarm@yahoo.com.