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And they didn't know what it was, but it was coming their way. And then they realized that it was Larry, and that he was really worked up over something. And then Fred's son started recounting the tale of belaying the burros down a snow covered avalanche shoot. How footsteps had been carved in the snow for the four burros, a half mile of belay rope was played out, how a series of kids sat on the ground to hold the rope. I was so amazed by the vividly minute detail and dazzling enthusiasm of young Fred's second-hand account of 30 years past that I had forgotten to tell him that I was there. I had, in fact, been one of the main participants! His mouth dropped when I told him. He was awed to speechlessness. After all, it's not every day that a legend comes back to life.

 

I guess I will never know if Fred's son knew anything about the 'mixing' of the Peanut Butter with the Jelly episode!

 

Thanks for everything Larry. It has meant a world to me.

 

Rich Kelso

 

Post Script

 

In early April of this year, I had an occasion to go to Alum Rock Park. It was an early weekday morning and I had the park mostly to myself as I stood in the open plaza in front of the old museum. A lot had changed. A lot was gone. I remember standing there, turning in circles, every direction bringing back multitudes of memories. The white gazebo with the smelly water is still there. The lion is not. The museum building, of course, is still there. Funny: I could remember hundreds of things about John Urrutia's and my bicycle trips to YSI, but I couldn't remember where we put and locked our bikes when we got there. I remember learning how to coil Larry's red perlyon climbing rope over on the lawn. And then I spotted the old arched stone foot bridge to the parking lot, something probably constructed by WPA in the 30's Depression. I had been standing in the same place some 40 years ago, with other YSI kids, when Larry pulled up to the bridge with his VW bus. I remembered Larry sticking his head out the window and yelling, "Do you think I will fit?". We all laughed at Larry's comic antics, because the bridge was way too small and it was obviously impossible. And then Larry drove the bus across the bridge. As I was standing there this April morning, remembering, a young couple passed between me and the bridge. "Hey', I yelled out to them, "Do you think a car could drive across that bridge?". They slowed a little and said, "No.". "I mean a Volks Wagon Micro Bus!", I said. "No." they said without slowing. I felt myself wanting to try again. But I resisted. They had better things to do than to converse with a daffy old man that was publicly postulating about the possibilities of various motor craft traversing an old stone foot bridge. "But, I saw it done!", I would have said. But they wouldn't have believed me. Even as I looked at the small bridge now, I could hardly imagine that it could be done.

 

It is wonderful to have so many memories. Memories of when the world was younger. Memories of anything on Earth being possible.