We have been friends for 55 years and never once had a hic-cup or skipped a beat. He is not my friend so much as a brother, the one I never had. We met one winter day in January at the New York Institute of Technology in a design class, gravitating naturally to each other and have never left each other’s back.
We have laughed, cried, and comforted each other by our presence when we were needed most. Our friendship is a good lesson to my sons about friendship and love, brotherhood.
What glued us together is a cynical view of the school, life, politics, family, and the morays of society, otherwise, we were fine with everything. Mischief was our goal, if we could confuse, drive to distraction or otherwise take someone away from their comfort zone, we did, and were proud of it.
His name is Phil he is a maniac, a nut case, and my brother whom I love dearly.
Once, while we were in college, we went to the Bronx for a date with a couple of young ladies (They aren’t anymore) one Saturday night. As we drove along a road we realized we needed to get to a road that ran parallel to the one we were on. The problem was the street we had to turn on was a one-way, and it wasn’t the way we wanted. But Phil, the driver of the whole picture decided to go up the street anyway, and of course, we were immediately if not sooner, pulled over by either an oversized boy scout or the local polizia who informed Phil he was going the wrong way down a one-way street, and additionally, he was doing at least twice the speed limit. Mr. Phil considered all the evidence put forth by the long arm of the law and responded in his defense thus…
“Well, Orsiffer, (Yes, we were drinking) I didn’t plan on coming back this way and I figured since I wasn’t I could carry over the extra 30 mph’s!”
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