The Gravel Pits
Still editing all-new 2-part post, and republishing this oldie about celebrating changes. Happy Independence Day, y’all!
My friend Skeeze was a dishwasher at our local watering hole, The Soda Fountain.
He was tall and gangly, fought the good fight against facial acne, and would’ve been considered awkward and shy if he wasn’t the best goddamn drummer in the entire school.
Along with band, Skeeze sang in the choir and later even joined the Pop Singers, our school’s vocal group.
He made a deal with his folks he’d stay away from drugs and alcohol. In exchange they bought him whatever drum kit equipment he needed.
Anything as long as he didn’t do drugs.
We became friends in 1976, just after I got my driver’s license. While Skeeze wasn’t the kind of guy who rode along in a friend’s mother’s car—he insisted on driving his dad’s Cadillac, picking me up for our regular trip to the 7-11 in Spring Park, where we bought peanut M&Ms and…
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