Clay Pitcher

January 24, 2019  

“Gary and the Clay Pitcher”

            During one of his recent visits, Johnny, my friend since the second grade, gave me a clay pitcher that Gary made a few decades back. Gary was an artist. I really believe that God just up and gifted him with the ability to draw. And, apparently to sculpt.

            Gary was the best doodler I ever saw. During classes at Pasadena High School, I would glance over at him drawing a dragon in his notebook. Sometimes he’d do a landscape. Sometimes he’d draw from memory the likeness of someone. Without his gift, I don’t think he could’ve done that. I couldn’t. Of course, with the help of a sketch artist, I couldn’t describe enough features of Kay to come up with a good likeness.

            Gary never sketched me. I wanted him to, but thought it stupid to ask. – “Hey, Gary, draw me! Draw me, pleeeease!” -- See how stupid that sounds? -- I envied him. Envied a lot of people back then. Guys who could run fast or were smart or had no acne.

            Besides being good at art, Gary was fast. In high school, if you can run fast, you get to be a running back. Gary’s jersey number was “22,” Johnny’s was “32” and mine was “11”. I’m the only person on the planet who remembers that. I also remember that in one of our JV games, Gary had the ball and was running down the sidelines approaching a defense player who was crouching down getting ready to make the tackle. Gary jumped over him and kept going.

            After that Gary attempted to jump over many would be tacklers. Each one of ‘em tackled him. He always made an awkward landing. The coach finally told him to quit trying to jump over people. “Heck, you’re gonna kill yourself!” he said. Coach said “heck” a lot.  

            After we graduated from high school, Johnny, Gary and I enrolled at SFA and majored in forestry. A couple of you may remember the story about me writing something on an index card in sociology class that resulted in the three of us majoring in forestry. A crazy story, but true.

            My big brother Dennis joined the three of us at SFA, only he majored in Kinesiology so he could be a coach. I’m not even sure coaches know what Kinesiology is. Dennis and I shared one room and Johnny and Gary shared the room across from the bathroom. We lived a suite in the Units. The Units were three stretches of one-story rooms set in rows. Looked like a row of three cheap motels. We had some wild times while at the Units. By today’s standards, they would’ve been rather tame times. Seemed wild to us.

            We hung a pair of boxer underwear on the flagpole at the stadium one night. I’ve still got the picture of three of us saluting the boxer flag. We weren’t being disrespectful of the US flag, ‘cause it wasn’t anywhere around. It was the flagpole that held the butt of the joke. And, I have no idea what the joke was? We were just bored one night and decided to give a little respect to an old, ripped pair of boxer shorts.

            We went to all the “at home” Lumberjack basketball games. Attended most of the football games. Missed homecoming because along with half the campus, we came down with some kind of bug. I’m fairly sure it was food poisoning linked to hotdogs served in the cafeteria two days before. Every store in Nacogdoches sold out of Kaopectate that week. One whale of a homecoming it was.   

            It was a year of clowning around, going on forestry field trips and studying. Gary found it so fascinating that he didn’t return his sophomore year. I really don’t know where he went. I do know he lived in Austin for awhile. Johnny visited him once, and Gary gave him a clay pitcher that he had made. Johnny’s wife died about a year and half ago, and Johnny recently started letting go of a lot of stuff in the house. He figured I’d be the one who would most appreciate the clay pitcher. He was sure right about that. I consider it an exquisite piece of art. I’ve got it on the bookcase to my left. The sight of it sparked a desire for me to tell the story about how Gary was gifted. Did I mention that?

            A few months ago, I got on the computer and tried to find Gary. Found a person with his name, his facial features, born in the same year, living in the Austin area. His obituary told of a man well respected for his friendship and his talent.

            I showed the photo to Johnny, and he said that the photo did no good, because he couldn’t remember what Gary looked like. Can you believe that? Johnny knew him better than I did. And Gary thought enough of him to give him a clay pitcher he had designed and sculpted. You know what that tells me? Tells me that as bad as I am at remembering faces, I’m a lot better than Johnny.

             By the way, while Johnny and I both got degrees in forestry, he was the one who used his degree to the fullest. Had I not written “Forest Ranger or Cowboy” as my two career choices in Sociology class, no telling what Johnny and me would’ve majored in, or where he would’ve gone to college.

            Not only that, but if God had decided to gift me with an eye for art, there is no telling what I might’ve done. For one thing, I would be able to draw a portrait of Kay from memory. I could do that for sure.

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