TERRY MOSHER
TOP OF THE TOWN – We have lost two of the “Front Line” Moshers. My oldest brother left us in October 15 says after his birthday. Our oldest, my sister, passed away 12 years ago. We are down to three now, two of my older brothers and, of course, me. I have lost many friends, too many to count, although years ago I counted 21. One of my closest friends died, believe it or not, 61 years ago in a car accident that I predicted. We shared a studio apartment for awhile in Hermosa Beach, Calif. He left me one day when his family showed up. There was a knock on our door, he gathered his meager things in 10 minutes and he was gone, Didn’t even say goodbye. Just left. Two years later he was killed in a car accident in New York State, just as I thought he would. He was a Red Baron, drove fast, lived fast and died too young. He got a lot out of his short life. He loved every moment, every second. I still vividly remember riding with him in his Mercury up the Harbor Freeway in Los Angeles, going as fast the car would go, changing lanes right and left. Red Baron’s scarf was blowing in the wind as we roared up the freeway, a big grin on his face. I miss that thrill of defying death. He didn’t defy it two years later, and I still miss him. He was a great guy, and at 23 left too soon. But I knew he would. Two weeks after he left me in our studio apartment I left for Washington State by train and my brother’s car and leased a truck, worked in the pea harvest and that fall went back to school at Western Washington in Bellingham. Five years later they tossed me out, throwing me my degree in Political Science, Economics, History at me and shouting to never come back. I defied them and they must have changed their minds about me because they ask me for money all the time. My favorite poly sci professor left Western soon after I did and went to San Jose State. Like many of my friends, he, too, is gone. No more one question assay tests, I guess. Those tests are where I first learned I could write. I BSed through most of them and was graded not as a star student, but good enough to elicit a beer from my professor one day in a Bellingham tavern. I also learned from him that being educated didn’t stop the swearing. He was good at it. One day he walked into our 8-student upper level class, evenly split with male and female, and quietly wrote on the green board “F… Y..” I miss him as much as I miss Red Baron. Both lived in the moment. The army rejected me with a blip in my heart and I spend the next few years as an office manager, a business manager and an estimator. I became a sportswriter on Feb. 2, 1970 at the Bremerton Sun and am still writing for them, although the name has been changed to Kitsap Sun and has changed ownership several times. As you know the newspaper business has been slip slidin’ away (Paul Simon song) for years. Like my friend on the Harbor Freeway, my scarf is blowing in the wind as I continue to write, defying the final judgment day with a flourish. Some day it will end. Someday I will end and the front line of the Moshers will be down to two. Hey, stay safe. That’s it for today.
Be well pal.
Be careful out there.
Have a great day.
You are loved.
