Story Shot 15, by Brian R. Wright PDF Version, 03 December 2020
Was writing a Christmas note to a friend of mine, Jack, and it went like this:
“Was going to call you Diamond Jack after one of the more colorful personalities in my Gentleman’s Drinking Club of Oakland County back in the ‘80s and ‘90s. [But I doubt you’re feeling like much more than an ordinary stone w/ the modern medicine-man treatments. (My friend, ‘Author’ Jack, has been taking radiation treatments.)]
“His real name was Jack <strong Irish surname>. I could write a long short story on this neon guy w/a heart of gold—even a novelette.
“He played the ponies. Michigan doesn’t have full horse-racing but does have a harness track in Northville, about four miles from me.
“So happens Jack was friends with my soon-to-be lady-boss’s boyfriend, and the couples—Jack and his wife, Clark and my soon-to-be-boss Cathy—were at the this Northville Downs that Jack and Clark liked to frequent. I had told Jack one night over at our club (EG Nicks of West Bloomfield) that my GM-EDS documentation group had just given me the bum’s rush outbound on a contract.
“Well, Cathy happened to be head of documentation for a an EDI (electronic data interchange—paperless business transactions software—which was just coming into its own in the early ‘90s) firm in Livonia… and the rest is history. Next week I’m working for her at $30/hour, a good rate at that time for technical writers.”
“Jack had represented me as literally the ‘best techwriter in history.’
“Jack wore more gold bracelets and necklaces than Vegas’ Elvis, whom he idolized… and actually resembled. He pounded his vodkas on the rocks like orange juice, and died a few years after I got the job—in his 50s as I recall. Apparently dead broke.
“He went out with a bang and always had a kind word for everyone.” Continue reading