The Moe Man
I visited with the Moe man for a day and a half on this journey.
He has been a better friend to me than I have been to him. I love him for that. Despite my failings as a friend, he still calls me on my birthday, sends a card on the holidays, calls my wife and I on our anniversary. He shares his most intimate thoughts with me, bringing me in as one of his closest confidantes. I on the other hand rarely call anybody on their birthday, I no longer send out holiday cards and the only wedding anniversary date I am absolutely sure of is my own. My wife can vouch for me on that.
I often fail to call Moe back on a timely basis while he makes a point of being at every signicant milestone in my life. In so many ways, he is the devoted friend, he is the perfect friend. He has never passed judgement on me and never mocked me for failings or my idosynchracies.
He has that typical Irish wit and storytelling gift. I listen while he talks. He loves me for that. He can quote Shakespeare and then refer to a Myers-Briggs management style. He can’t pound a nail but he will try. With those skills he is lacking in, he has the savvy in getting others to help him out either for free or at a fair price. And when a project is done, he has either enhanced a relationship or he has made a new friend. Like most of us, he gets along with most everyone, but only holds a few close. My family and I are blessed with the good fortune of being some of those close few.
Before he was born, his mother and father separated. His father left, and his mother raised him and his older sisters for three years before the old man returned to find out he had a son. He grew up in the “projects” most of his life, but somehow managed avoid the pitfalls that comes with growing up poor. He and his family moved from one “project” to another. I met Moe when he moved to Black Rock, a lower class blue collar area on the north side of Buffalo. Even during his time in Black Rock he move d at least three times from one flat to another.
In my senior of high school, he received his draft notice. I sat in his bedroom with him, reviewing and re-reviewing the draft notice, while he strummed “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” on his cheap green semi hollow body elecric guitar. He made the decision to join the army in order to have some control as to where he would end up. He served in the army but with his skills, he was given an assignment that kept him out of combat. When he was discharged from the army he worked in a low level janitorial position at a federal building. He attended college, obtained an associate’s degree, and then a bachelor’s degree in business management, all while he was working. His mother passed while he was in the armed forces and his father passed while he was attending colleg and some how, some way, he continued. He has been the rock in his family, providing his siblings with emotional and financial support. Heworked his way up from the broom sweeper on the evening shift to a high mid level position with the government with high clearance and a respectable income. He moved where his employer sent him. He has been the dutiful soldier all the while he has been the devoted husband and father, and the dutiful friend. Now with his wife and children he lives in a house valuled at $450,000. He owns a Volvo, but prefers driving his 1993 Chevy S10, which has over 180,000 miles on it.
Not bad for a freckled face Irish kid from the projects. He is an enigma. My visit with him on this journey only reinspired me, as it should have. And why not, we are the closest of friends, and I love him for that.