Relics of the past

There is a photograph on my refrigerator of Roma with her mouth duct taped shut. Her eyes are wide and crazy as though she wants to kill somebody. One one of her shoulders is Jenny O with her eyes clasped shut and a broad late night grin. My happy face rests on the other shoulder, broad smile, happy eyes and wearing a black top hat.

I remember when Johnny O gave me the picture on New Year's Day. We'd gathered for breakfast and Bloody Mary's prior to the Polar Bear Plunge, the annual celebration of starting over by jumping into a cold ocean.

"You had a good time last night," Johnny O told me.

"Oh yeah?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," he smiled handing me the picture.

For as long as I've lived on this clump of sand I've been part of this group of crazy characters.  Beginning as a break off of The Beach Bums, we started a daily pool tournament anchored by Roma, Johnny O, Bill with two "L"'s, Tuttie, Joanie, myself and a cast of revolving visitors.

Oh and there was Bobby.

"You look great," Chicago Bob used to say. "Whose your Mortician?"

It was hard not to love Chicago Bob, even when he threw my Mother and Sister out of his house one night, because he lived one tremendous adventure. Once his wife was going out of town and admonished him to not smoke, drink or do anything crazy. He promised as he kissed her bye and sent her off.

Five minutes later she returned having forgotten something to find Bob sitting naked in the living room, smoking and drinking Scotch.

She turned and left again.

Trolley Joe came next, reflective and funny, alternating his life between driving tourists around downtown Savannah and gathering with us for the daily "Bored" meeting to celebrate life on the island.

Once I was walking to a meeting in downtown Savannah when a trolley full of tourisst stopped in the middle of the road while Trolley Joe announced on the microphone, "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is "The Rev." He's famous though for the life of me I don't know why. Let's give him a hand."

The trolley full of tourists burst into applause as I just stood in the middle of Liberty Street laughing my ass off.

Chicago Bob is no longer with us and when Johnny O and I dumped his ashes off the pier into the ocean with a cluster of fishing Hispanics looking on, the ocean breeze kicked up and Bobby's ashes went in two different directions. The Hispanics dropped on their knees still holding on to their poles with one hand while doing the sign of the cross with the other.

"That explains that," Roma said.

"What?" we asked.

"His schizophrenic personality."

We burst into laughter which is a great way to end a funeral.

Trolley Joe has died too and when Johnny O and I put his ashes in the ocean a dolphin jumped through them into the sky before falling back to the sea and sending Joseph's ashes in every direction.

"You don't see that every day," Roma said.

Luckily, Whitley, Essie, O John and O Judy, Swanny, Al and others have taken their seats at the daily "The Bored" meeting.

As Tybee continues to change, The Bored may become a relic of the past. Serious behavior has no place for spontaneous celebrations.

But for twenty-five years it's been an incredible gift of friends who love one another and find something to celebrate daily. Members have gone on to become angels leaving the rest of us missing them. But, the rest of us aren't dead yet ... and that's a damn good reason to celebrate.

Bobby, cue the music!