I once had a friend named
Eugene – – of course he would never let anyone called him Eugene,
except his grandparents and that was only his grandmother. I like,
everybody else called him Gene and actually after a while I called
him Geno. I cannot say we were close friends, though we kind of were
through friends by association. Geno and I were both quadriplegics,
breaking our next back in the mid-60s. We were both at Elks
Rehabilitation Hospital in Boise Idaho. Gene was just leaving the
institution as I was coming in. We overlapped a couple weeks. There
were three of us in the ward at the time Geno, Steve and me. I guess
they thought because we are all similar aged and similar diagnosed
that we should be together. Geno and Steve had been there months when
I arrived. You could say they are both bad boys, angry at life and
their disability and I gues I would've been angery too had I
sustaineda spinal cord injury as severe as there's. I did not
realize then a lot of their angst was a direct result of their
injuries. My cortical insult was bad, not only could I not walk or
control my bodily functions I had very limited use of my upper body
specifically my hands. Luckily, I could move my arms in a gross
manner I was very limited but these two guys were much more limited
than I, which I guess put things in perspective and perhaps was the
reason I seem to deal with my disability as well as I did. (The
relationship between these three folks is detailed further in the
upcoming volume: First Story on a Second Story World..
Gene and I became
associates primarily because we were both in wheelchairs and nobody
else knew what to do with us especially previous friends. So, I often
went to Gino's house on weekends. It was kind of weird Gene never
came to mine place, but that was okay I'm not sure what we would've
done had that been the case. Even at Gene's house house we really
just hung around his room. I really think I went over there more for
his parents than for Gene. His parents really liked to believe their
son was getting on with his life – which of course he was not the
case Gene was just sinking more and more into his depression. Later
in 1967 or 68 Gene disowned his family and moved into a nursing home
in downtown Boise. I continued to visit him at the nursing facility
every week. I thought he was so cool. Gene was living completely on
his own even if that place was a nursing home. Gene smoked
cigarettes, drank beer and hard liquor and had a subscription to the
Berkeley Barb, San Francisco's hippie newspaper.
I stopped seeing Gene as I became more involved in my life and high school.
Quite frankly Gene's acting out was really begin to bum me out. I
lost track and was shocked 10 or 15 years later when I learned of his
death. Really was a shame Gene had gone down the rabbit hole of
alcoholism and drug dependency and was just coming out. Gene dried
out moved out long-term care and got a college degree in accounting.
I don't know if Gene ever quit smoking he died of a respiratory
infection. It was a stupid thing and should not of killed him but
did. I didn't find out for about three or four months. I was then
married and living in Pocatello, Idaho.
On this weekend of the
dead I'm remembering Geno, I plan to visit the graveyard where there
is no one there I know and pretend one of them's Gene and think of
him.
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