A Coffee with Bruce

Wilson Yang rang me up Thursday morning, asking me about Bruce Sylvia. Do you remember Bruce Sylvia, you class of ’67, Wareham gateway to Cape Cod, Massachusetts kids? My across-the-street neighbor? The call got me thinking. Also writing.

….Letter to Bruce S from your Brah across the street….

Bro!!! – Man, long time no see. I would totally dig getting together, hearing the hows and hows-it-been’s of life, remember that rock fight about four of us had in the neighborhood, all in fun, but still, I think it was you got plunked right in the forehead, beaucoup blood, though it could have been me, it would explain some stuff. Man, I could go on about the geography of our couple hundred yards of the old street, damn, has a slice of place mattered so much since then?, even though I rarely remember the swamp area down the bottom left of your backyard, a stand of trees heading off to the south there, a path that cut behind houses (the Kobrins, their relatives) and went up onto Morse Ave. Like a private adventureland. But when I do think of it the image comes throttling back into my mind, I can almost taste that clean shimmering air, see the electric afternoon, after-school sun streaming through the thin trunks of the trees, and allowed through the broken blanket of leaves, what kind (trees) were they I wonder, that they’d grow in so swampy a setting? Maybe I’ll look that up. Of course you were at Stang, taking the bus over to Dartmouth every morning so I cannot recall the exact time you returned to the street later afternoons, me and Butchie’d been running wild long before the Catholic bus let you out. Philly F may have cut out of school earlier than the rest of us, that’s if he hadn’t skipped, he’s your age back there, a year up on Butchie and me, and I never got close to him then, different circles, different stances, plus he was big into the music, with playable skills, I was more an appreciator of it, though if you remember I did hook up with a group of guys, a Hyde Park summer kid named Roy in Swifts Beach and Billy Stewart in the Navy (active duty in Newport so how’s that for a devoted lead guitar player?), and Wayne Lavalee on drums and we did most our practicing in his garage – so, yup, me in a garage band, all I did was sing, we did covers, I think our best song was ‘Time Won’t Let Me’ by The Outsiders, I’m sure that rings a bell. We (The Druids) had a couple of gigs and came in last at a battle of the (3) bands over at Tabor Academy, and so what, it was the doing it that was the thing. I do not recall Philly’s group, I think there was a kid from Mattapoisett on lead with his group, if you remember there was a music store on 6 in Mattapoisett center. That kid and Philly hung out there.

Anyway, Brah, we have got to get a coffee and catch some righteous remembering and checking-in time together and recall it all, because it surer’n shit was better then. Dig it. Me and Bruce Sylvia and some dark roast. Yeah – not too bad at all.

By the way, Butchie’s all over my new book (with cool nickname), pretty sure I gave you at least one mention along the way too. I never stop honoring those sweet, sweet friendships I had back then. I never will. So, yeah Bro, let’s get a coffee.