Walter and me

There comes a time, if you’re lucky, you meet a person and everything just fits, so naturally with never any awkwardness. A person from 5,000 miles away that I’d never seen before or even heard of except for maybe the day or two before.

As he got off his flight to Phoenix, I walked right up to him and said, “You must be Walter. Welcome to Phoenix!”

And Walter, in a sing-songy way of speaking English, asked, “How did you know it was me?”

Walter is from Bergen, Norway, and although tall and handsome, resembles a character in a Dr. Seuss book, with the high forehead, the fine sandy hair and a bit of a turned up nose.

Walter had been recently divorced, and being European had a lot of vacation time. He was in the States with a lot of time but not knowing where to go or what to do. A mutual friend had suggested he hang out with me. “But I do not know this Jeff,” he said. The friend assured him, “Don’t worry, you’ll like him.”

Anyway, I chuckled and with a smile said, “C’mon, let’s go.”

That was almost 30 years ago. And in those 30 years we’ve been actually together for eight days, maybe nine.

Yet a lifelong connection was made, rich from a genuine fondness that grew deeper as the years passed. I think of Walter and write this today because cancer has robbed him of his future. He’s hoping to see the new year and was grateful to make it to Christmas.

I remember everything. It was hearing John Prine’s song of that title that got me to thinking, because I do remember everything.

I gathered him up and took him to my little bungalow home in central Phoenix. He wanted to get right out into the sun, determined to return to Norway with a deeper than than anyone he knew. He basked in the light as he sat in a rattan chair that resembled a throne. After 20 minutes, he came inside, mopping his brow and giving out something that was the opposite of a gasp.

“Ooh, so hot!” he said, overcome by the 80-degree February heat.

I had to laugh.

Walter, I remembered, had been recently divorced, so I took him to the Hooters downtown. Hooters is a restaurant/bar that features young female servers attired, sort of, in very short orange jogging shorts and skin-tight, low-cut white T-shirt. Just the place. The “A’ team crew was patrolling the tables and as one left ours after the pleasantries were exchanged and our orders taken, I mentioned that she was the total package, smarts, looks, personality. You know, just about all two single guys care about.

Walter chewed the phrase over. “We don’t have “the total package” in Norway.

I knew he meant that it was the phrase that didn’t exist there. Still, I couldn’t resist, “Oh, I bet you do.”

He was so happy to find this out and try it once he got home. He liked American things. Country-western was his favorite music, a Jeep Grand Wagoneer his favorite car. He mentioned that his neighbor had one and it was a source of envy and aggravation. I ran down to the Democratic HQ and fetched him a Clinton/Gore T-shirt. He couldn’t wait to show that one off.

Walter had an extra suitcase. He wanted camouflage pants for his son and Levis for himself. I took him to an Army-Navy store on the city’s west side. After getting enough to fill his suitcase, he said he wanted to try Mexican food. I headed to a real one, Garcia’s on 35th Ave. He studied the menu . He had been part of a group attending a newspaper design conference in Miami and wanted to order for the entire group once they got back together, making sure it would be at a Mexican restaurant — one of those things that are important in an unimportant way.

I ordered a chicken burrito for him. He poked at it and nibbled away.

“Ooh, so hot,’ he said. Twenty minutes later I think he finally finished. It was the blandish choice on the menu.

The next day he had reserved a seat on a tour bus to the Grand Canyon.

“You don’t want to do that,” I said. “I’ll take you. I’ll just take the day off.”

We hopped into my little Mazda and off we went. We saw the red rocks of Sedona, the Grand Canyon and one of my favorite places, the Painted Desert. Walter had taken a video camera. He handed it to me and asked if I would narrate as I filmed. I had never used one and without thinking I operated it like any other camera, tilting it this way and that to capture the best angle. Even flipping it upside down.

I heard about this. Walter had invited friends and family to view this much anticipated video of his great trip to America and the response he got when the part about the Grand Canyon played. That’s the part I heard about. I can only imagine Walter trying to defend me for I’m sure they must have thought I was some kind of a nut.

Tired after our full day, we quietly drove back to Phoenix. At one point Walter looked at me and said, “This would not happen in Norway.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You! Doing all these things. Never would this happen.”

Walter left the net day. We kept in touch. He’d send provocative cards from his vacation spots, always warm and sunny. When you’re from Norway, that’s what you do. I’d sent him a subscription to Arizona Highways magazine so he could still have a way to enjoy my state’s incredible scenery.

He met a wonderful and beautiful woman named Lena, got married and came back with her to visit. She was pregnant with their first child, a son. It wasn’t a long stay. I remember that whatever it was I made for breakfast, Lena was glad for it not to be the usual dreadful scrambled eggs and things most motels offered. She told me about her friend Kiki, and urged me to visit to meet her. She was very beautiful, Lena said, adding, and the nights are very long. She would remind me of this over the years until one day she said, “Well, Jeff, you are too late. Kiki is getting married.”

Six years ago, my wife Marsha and I decided to visit Iceland and because the airline allowed a stopover, we could visit my friends for a few days in Norway. The wives were apprehensive. “It had been so long, maybe Jeff’s changed. I’d never met his wife,” Lena said. Marsha held the same way.

The scooped us up from the train station and hosted us at a nearby mountain retreat where we could enjoy nature hikes and hang out. They showed us the town and I insisted on making them a dinner that they’d never had but would really like. We met their sons, swapped stories about or lives, our friends and our families, learned even more about how great things are there in Norway, and we all laughed and made more memories.

When it was time to leave, our eyes welled up with tears. We hugged with the feeling that this would be our last time we’d all be together, and as it turns out it will be.

And that’s it. A little story about two guys who met by chance and became lifelong pals. And oddly enough, the fellow who made it possible for us to get together, we never heard from again. I’ll track him down and send him our thanks.