My best friend since eighth grade’s birthday is May 1. When I messaged him to say Wally Conger had passed, I added, “You’re not allowed to move on to the next realm anytime soon; I can only handle one of these at a time.” (I wrote a similar message to my brother.)
He wrote back a single line: “I’ll die when I damn well feel like it!”
I expected nothing less. That’s who Ed is.
We bonded just as Wally and I had — over comic books. He was the new kid in school, as I had been 2-3 years earlier, and we both had strong opinions about Spider-Man and Fantastic Four and Challengers of the Unknown and Metal Men.
I have two regrets — When our high school yearbook came out, I signed his with the kind of empty-headed pap that everyone signed. He filled three pages of mine with artwork and an epistle about our friendship. I wish I’d done the same. Second, the last thing he said before we left for our respective colleges was, “I love you, man.” I wish I’d had the courage to say the same back to him; I remember sharing a hug, and maybe I mumbled, “Me too.”
I wrote a song about him in 1985 and called it “Blood Friends” because Bruce Springsteen had already done “Blood Brothers.” (Ed loved Bruce until, in his view, he “sold out” with that Born to Run thing.) My song was a slow ballad but I have contemplated recasting it as a rocker, like Springsteen’s “No Surrender” which has a similar feel. I’m pretty sure I never played it for Ed — here are the lyrics:
The Jersey shore, it shines at night — for miles you can see it glow,
And two boys can turn to men together listening to it roar.
Those girls we talked into loving us are grown to women now,
And I loved ’em hard each and every one, but there’s ways I loved you more.
I don’t know why they say 17 is anything less than hell.
God, it feels so good the first time you win, so bad the first time you lose.
Drove to Trenton one hurtin’ night, two of us locked in a shell;
We swore that night we wouldn’t fall in love again if it was ours to choose.
A boy has certain moments he has to live before he’s a man,
But most, he has to talk it through, someone to understand.
Through every dream of glory, through each romance that ends,
A man’s not quite a man till he shares it with a blood friend.
Well, now I hear you’re married, hear she’s got a 4-year-old son,
And I hope to hear real soon you’re gonna have you your own one,
And I hope they grow up brothers, and I hope they grow up strong,
And I hope they hear their pa in the words of this ol’ song.
(They had two absolutely gorgeous daughters, who did grow up strong.)
Happy birthday, Josh.
