A Friend Indeed

One late 80's August afternoon I received a call from an old friend.

When we worked together at KNCO, John Cullen had been in sales. I was in programming. In radio, those two departments generally have different agendas and often aren't exactly on the same page. Kind of like a tabby and a terrier having to share the same food bowl, ccasioanlly there's conflict. Nevertheless, John was one of the first friends I made after moving to Grass Valley. A year into our friendship, though, John and KNCO had parted company. And it'd been twice that long since we'd last spoken. So hearing from him out of the blue sort of caught me by surprise. But as we caught up on each other's lives it was like we hadn't missed a beat, carrying on as if we'd just seen each other yesterday.

 

However, John did have a reason for calling, other than shooting the shit and eventually, 15 minutes into the conversation, he finally got around to it.

 

”Hey, I need a place to stay and was wondering if I crash at your place tonight.”

 

Pregnant pause.

 

It was Friday, but it wasn’t like I had any big plans; I never had big plans in those days. I did have to pull an early Saturday air shift meaning a 5 a.m. wake-up time. Plus, living alone and a long way from town, I didn’t generally have house guests. Unless it was a chick- and by then the prospects of that ever happening had completely dried up- why would I want anyone to stay overnight with me?  But he said it was only for the night and i tmight be kind of fun. Why not? If John was all right with me going to bed by 11 or so, then being my house guest was all right with me. So it was settled. Almost.

"Oh, there's just one more thing. I don't have a car so can you give me a lift?”

 

“Sure, I'm about to leave for the day anyway. Where are you?”

 

After a rather lengthy pause, John finally responded. “Jail.”

Now the pokey wasn't the first place I'd guess he'd be calling from. But knowing John, it wouldn't have been the last either. He was a bit of a scoundrel.

 

”Oh and I don't have any money for bail either. Can you float me a loan?”

 

The question produced another uncomfortable pause. It's not that I minded bailing him out. I just needed a moment to think about letting a felon sleep under my roof.

But John was a friend and needed my help. When I was new in town and new on the job, he’d taken me under his wing. He was always someone I could count on. And after all the hours he'd spent listening to me when I was homesick and heartsick, I felt I probably owed him. “I'll be right down. Don't go anywhere” I joked and John chuckled. But I'm not completely convinced he thought it was funny. A half hour later and with my checkbook 300 dollars lighter, John and I walked out of the Nevada County Jail. But it wasn’t until we were in the car, with the doors closed and driving away before he confessed his crime.

”DUI. And they've impounded my car.”

 

Like most good salespeople, John’s social skills were above par; whether coaxing a client into another week of spots or charming a lady into a drink after work hours. That first part served him well. The second, as a married man, not so much. It created a festering rift at home the entire time we worked together and sometime in the intervening two years since, his wife finally had enough. She left him and filed for divorce. John was back in town now, just to see his kids. “She knew I was coming, but took them to her parents this weekend and didn't tell me. When I showed up at the house last night, all I found was her note. A freaking note.”  He didn’t sound angry though. He sounded really sad. "So I went out and got sloshed, got pulled over, and became a guest of the County.”

As John's remorse hung in the air and I felt bad for him. We still had a far distance to drive, though, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep talking it out. When he didn’t say anything else, for what seemed like an eternity, I decided to change the subject and asked how he was making a living. ”Well, I'm in Stockton now, doing RV sales, making top commission. I've got a new girlfriend, we’re talking marriage and, except for last night I think I’m doing all right.” The particulars were different, but listening to how he described it it didn’t sound like his life was much different from how it’d been at KNCO.

 

There wasn't much food in the house so I stopped to buy some groceries. John wanted a steak but didn't have much money on him so offered to cook if I'd buy. I was hungry and would've settled for peanut butter or mac and cheese. But if John wanted to make a real dinner for us, that was okay by me. So we had rib-eyes a-la Cullen and he even cleaned up after. We watched some tube and talked a little, but by 10:30 I had to go to bed, promising to be quiet when I left. But John wanted to come and hang out with me at the radio station. "Like old times", he said. Crap. I didn't want him or anyone else hovering around for six hours. Not while I was working. But he insisted. So when I left for work next morning at 5:15, I didn't leave alone.

 

 He did make himself useful, though. After borrowing 5 bucks John walked down the street to a mini mart and brought back a box of donuts for breakfast. So he wasn't a complete nuisance. The rest of the time he read the morning paper, watched TV in the news room and left me alone. But at 11:30 he began to get a little antsy. “I need to get out of here. I don't want to be seen by anyone or have anyone seeing me.” The shift change was coming up at noon, but Steve Ramsey, the guy on after me, would be coming in at any minute. John hadn't even met him, but didn’t want to and didn't want to hang around the station anymore, either. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

 

That seemed like a good idea. While I wasn’t aware of any rules prohibiting allowing bailed-from-jail ex-employees in the office on a weekend, it didn’t mean there wasn’t one. So I flipped John my keys and suggested he wait in the car. When I found him there at 12:05, John was sound asleep and the inside of my car reeked of cigarettes. A long time smoker, John had refrained at the house, but after over 12 hours without one couldn't fight the urge anymore to light up. At least he'd put it out before dozing off, though the butt was still smoldering in the ashtray.

 

I tried to be quiet when I got in, but he woke up and slowly stretched “Good morning”, he greeted, sleepily. When I reminded him it was after noon, he handed the keys back and laughed. ”Us jailbirds have no concept of time”. I didn't know if he was really joking or speaking from more than one experience. ”But hey, I have one more favor to ask.”  Another one? Well, he was still technically my guest, so...okay.

 

”There's a bus leaving for Reno at 1:30. Can I borrow 80 bucks for the fare?  Don't worry. See this?" John unfolded a scrap of paper with $425 written on it. "I'm keeping a tab on what I owe you. For bailing me out, dinner, the bus fare, the donuts and the inconvenience of putting me up for a night I figured that amount should cover it. That sound okay?” Sure, but I wondered why Reno?

 

“I’ve got a big RV buyer meeting me over there and he and I are going to sign some papers on a new vehicle. I'll pay you from the commission.” John had always been a straight shooter with me, had never been untruthful, and there was no reason to doubt him now. Of course I'd help him get to Reno and, of course, whenever he could reimburse me would be great. So we had a quick lunch at McDonald's (I paid) and at 1:30 I saw him get on an eastbound Greyhound to Reno. And I never saw him again.

 

Or the 425 dollars.

 

I have no idea what John did in Reno or if he ever even got there. I don't know if John really worked in Stockton, really had a girlfriend, or ever got arrested again. I guess I really didn't know anything about the guy at all. The only thing I know for sure is I never got my money back. But I swear, same circumstances again, same guy even- even knowing he'd mooch and welsh on me- I'd probably do the same thing. I just wouldn’t be able to say no.

Ignoring what Shakespeare wrote and my mama taught- neither a borrower or lender be- I’d resort to what I know best, being a soft touch, a roll over, an easy mark. The living embodiment of a sucker born every minute.