Walking past the Central Library on 10th Avenue yesterday, I heard my name called.
I turned around and there was Russ. He was seated in front of the library on one of the sturdy concrete benches engraved with the names of dead authors that encircle the building on three sides.
Russ, plump and long-necked and bundled against the wind, was sitting on George Eliot. Next to him, Henry Fielding was unencumbered, but I didn't feel like sitting down.
No offense, Henry, if you can hear me.
I hadn't seen Russ in years, but I flashed on something immediately. The last time I'd seen him before yesterday he was sitting in that very spot, smoking a cigar.
The library's benches have for years served as landing zones for the homeless and eccentrics, and often times the eccentrically homeless, to be sure. Russ would qualify as an eccentric, but I knew he wasn't homeless because he had once told me he lived just a block from the library, on 10th and Salmon St.
Besides, Russ had a job and a small business that did well. Or so he had informed me several times. He was--he told me years ago when he was starting out in the profession--a dental lab technician. He made dentures.
I'd learned that about Russ long after our first meeting in the Goose Hollow Inn, the well-known tavern where I worked for a couple of years soon after arriving in Portland--so, counting it up here, it seems I've known him for forty years.
My, my, time does fly.
I didn't know what line of work Russ was in before he told me about his dental lab training, and I'd never asked.
What I did know about Russ, from my bartending experience, was that he could be irascible, argumentative, opinionated and as contrarian as they come, and he drank a lot of beer but never seemed to get drunk.
I always suspected he was a Republican, but I never asked him about that either.
Seeing Russ in his old spot surprised me.
Russ wasn't smoking a cigar this time, but he was curious about a distant cousin of mine who had been a friend of his. Had I seen James lately?
That reminded me of all the times Russ used to ask me about James, whom, like Russ, I'd never known well at all.
No, I said, not lately, which was true. I used to run into James and say hello on occasion, but as with Russ I hadn't given him much thought of late. A couple of years ago, maybe, I said.
Russ told me he'd retired and moved to San Diego six years ago. He bought a house to live in, but he grew unhappy there, he said.
No kidding, I said, thinking to myself. San Diego is pretty nice. Nice weather. The beach. The Padres and Chargers. I didn't mention it to Russ, but I've frequently thought about the advantages living in San Diego might offer.
I've been there just once, on Christmas Day in 1986. I was on my way to Mexico and it was 92 degrees outside. I liked it.
But here was Russ, telling me a man could grow tired of San Diego, even grow unhappy there.
Forever the contrarian, Russ.
He told me he is 74. I was surprised by that, too. I didn't think he was a full decade older than myself. Russ doesn't look his age. One of those guys, he's obviously been taking care of himself.
Must of cut out the cigars, and likely the beer.
He told me he is from San Diego originally, which I didn't know either. In all those times I'd served beer to Russ I'd never asked him about his roots, his home town, or his line of work. Imagine that.
Russ had returned to his home town and discovered it had changed drastically. Too many Mexicans, he said.
"Oh?" I said.
"Yeah," he said. He shook his head. The Mexicans were obviously bothersome to Russ for some reason, but I didn't ask why. I didn't have to.
"I wonder if it's because that area used to belong to Mexico," I told him, offering all the sage logic I had available to me at the moment.
"They're back," he said, clearly chagrined by the unwarranted injustice he'd confronted.
I didn't mention that the border was near there because I didn't want to start any trouble with Russ. With him being as contrarian as I remembered him to be, I figured why bother?
He'd tell me that was the problem, the border.
"I've got to get going, Russ. Good to see you."
"O.K.," he said. "If you see James tell him I'm back in Portland."
"I will," I said.
Seeing Russ sitting on his favorite bench was like seeing a long-lost street preacher returned to his favorite street corner.
Yes, I'm almost certain Russ is a Republican, but I'll never ask. Not in these volatile times.
TS
