The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other’s life. – Richard Bach
Crazy Jack with ever reclusive Jose Cruz and his big shiny grill
Over forty years ago, together we saved the Portland Indoor track meet.
I had Nike and he had a hammer and a saw and paint.
Jose built the beautiful banked beaver-orange duck-yellow track personally, by himself, all alone. Man worked tirelessly.
Me, not so much. But I had the Promo Dept. And suddenly I had Carl Lewis, et al.
Big success. No recognition.
But Jose and I recognized each other.
Tight ever since. A bond unbroken.
Admittedly, the man does have calves like cantaloupes. But generous doesn’t begin to describe him.
Best family man I have ever seen, including my own dad.
Jose and I used to meet in a Mexican cantina in Beaverton – all the best-looking waitresses wore free Nikes – to figure out how to cut back on our alcoholic intake.
Not easy.
Over the years, investigation was extensive.
Turns out, you are good up to two and a half drinks. Anything more and you are headed down a slippery slope.
Two drinks is rarely enough.
And nobody sells two and a half drinks.
A stronger man might only consume half of the third libation.
But that is asking just too much, we decided.
Research continues.
View from Jose’s back porch