IN MEMORIAL

Being an early riser and now a member of the fishing club, it came to be my morning ritual to drive down the hill to the harbor. I'd stop along my way at the McDonalds and order a small coffee and two Sausage McMuffins without egg. The clubhouse was not unlike going to a small town diner for breakfast. It was a place where gossip sugared the conversation amongst familiar faces. Upon arriving there I'd park in my designated spot. Fuzzy would pull up in his old Toyota pickup. His routine was to remove his Budweiser 12 pack from the bed with a Marlboro cigarette dangling from his mouth. He then unlocked the clubhouse entry gate and walked inside. I would follow him. "Good morning Charley Boy, how's it hangin'?" "Couldn't be better." He'd pop a cold one open and place the 11 others in the fridge. He had dark shoulder length hair. A slight belly protruded from his tank top. A handmade tattoo of a panther adorned his right wrist. He never sat, just walked from the head of the first table back and forth to the ice box. He chain smoked the Marlboros. I would set myself upon the picnic table opposite the one he stood at. There I'd sip my coffee and after one or two bites of my sausage muffin a couple of newer pickups would pull in front. One was a red Chevy, the other a dark green Dodge. Lionel plodded in followed by Wilson, two men equal height both with rectangular lard filled bodies. "Good morning gentlemen" always arrived in unison with bass voices. There was only one physical characteristic of difference between them. Wilson had a full beard. Lionel was clean shaved. Lionel marched to his regal seat at that same table Fuzzy stood beside, and would throw two packs of Virgina Slim Menthols upon the table. Wilson sat at the entry end of the table I sat upon, facing them. Just like clockwork, Kenny would enter. His salutation was very soft spoken. Unlike the rest of us wore shorts, he wore dark blue trousers and a club tee shirt with logo. The morning banter included assessments of people, vehicles passing out front as well as the boats that crossed the lagoon. After everything new had been voiced, old stories and jokes would rebound mostly between the competing Wilson and Lionel. They always laughed heartily as hearing it for the very first time. They both had retired from work at Pearl Harbor ship yard. Fuzzy was closing in on retirement but still worked there on the night shift. The reality was that he merely punched in then disappeared to some Korean hostess bar. His foreman would call him if an emergency arose or some higher up was on the prowl. Someone other then himself would punch him out. Lionel and Wilson would continually lam blast Fuzzy as a no good who would surely have been fired under their watches. "Well I don't work for you and I could give a shit" Fuzzy would retort. "I think I'll go fishing this weekend" Lionel would say. "You been sayin' that for a year" Kenny would counter. "See yah." Ken would either go to his boat or drive off.I too would hele on the following hour.
One morning I arrived to a new face at the clubhouse. His name was Fernando. He was about my age, but did not appear to be that well. After meeting him Lionel told me more. Fernando was an old friend who was way down on his luck. He lost his job, got booted out into the street and to top it off was recently diagnosed with terminal cancer. "Don't let on that you know." The guys had given him a key and told him he could use the facility and sleep in the shed. There was one shed that had a cot, TV, and air conditioner. It served the sometime off-island visitor or the occasional club member who drank one too many. Fernando really was a nice guy. He went about cleaning and pruning. The clubhouse sparkled under his watch. Two months later Fuzzy found him lying unconscious in front of the shed. He was rushed to the hospital. He died three days later. We called an impromptu meeting of members and unanimously decided to pay the hospital bill and arrange for his cremation and a good funeral. It was a Saturday when his relatives and the priest arrived. Every member was there. The family and the priest walked down the pier where they boarded the largest boat in our club. It motored slowly out of its berth and turned towards the channel. One by one all of our boats formed a line headed out towards the head buoy. We went two miles farther out. There we formed a circle, twenty boats in all, around a deep clear blue ocean. It was a windless day. The sun shone brightly. The priest read a bit of scripture and finished with, "Dear Lord accept this soul into your kingdom." The ashes floated out upon the water. One hundred flower leis were tossed from our boats. Ten or so men dove into that circle and swam, whooping sounds rising aloft. In slow movement the flotilla circled the spot three times. I shed tears and smiled all at once. The boats left the circle, formed a straight line and headed home to our harbor. At the clubhouse a celebration of food, drink, and Hawaiian music went on late into the night...ALOHA FERNANDO