Carlo

It was raining hard that day in Seattle. Nov. 10, 1990. Mom and I had a streak of five consecutive games going. She, the textbook coordinator at UCLA would score tix for the Bruins/Huskies game when they played in the Rose Bowl, and I would pull a similar coup when the Bruins came to the Dawg House. That year we were joined by sisters Kathy and Debbie (see photo). Carlo made the trip as well.

I won't bore you at this time with the game details, suffice it to say that we outplayed them all day only to lose 25-22, on one fluke play. That play (a 95 yard fullback dive by Bill Brown) cost us two consecutive National Championships. You might say it was a big play!

We sat in the rain all game long and everyone had fun. I got a little irritated late in the fourth quarter and kicked a coke cup that I thought was empty. Mom would tell me years later that it wasn't and that she wore coke stained pants home later that evening. I apologized profusely but never lost the guilt and embarrassment of being an out of control college football fan losing a big game (at home in the rain). Schmuck.

I bring all this up because Carlo is in the photo and he was diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer earlier this week. It's his fourth quarter.

Carlo was a painter. So was his father. Carlo inherited the compressor when his Dad died and continued to paint houses in Westchester and Playa del Rey until he moved to Sanoma a couple of years back. One of the leading causes of pancreatic cancer is petroleum related fumes. I don't know if there is a correlation, but it sure fired a flare when I read up on it. Carl is my age.

I first met Carlo in 1977. He was buddies with our bass player Steve (Kingelli) in a band that we put together to play for Debbie & Mario's wedding. We eventually named that band Big Al and the Fiends, Dock, the fiddle player would eventually marry sister Dianne. I could tangent off in any number of ways here but the focus is Carlo. Carlo loved to party. I think he saw the Gillis Beach sunrise more times than the gulls that patrolled the shoreline. He had a heart of gold and was friends with everybody. Nothing he wouldn't do for ya. He loved music, baseball, football, poker, girls and good times. He had a wicked sense of humor. He once approached Kurt Russell at a hockey game and asked him to (please) say his name from Carlo's favorite movie, Russell (who also played minor league baseball), took the cue, shook his shoulders, smoothed back his hair, looked Carlo straight in the eye and hissed, "Plisken, Snake Plisken". You could hear the roar all the way back to New York.

He came up to visit on many an occasion. One year with a lethal concoction he had invented after a stop on I-5 near Puyallup. I remember I was out cutting alfalfa and heard this rumble up on the road. It was a compact car of some sort with four people all singing a NRPS song at full throttle. Dust was everywhere when they skidded to a halt and piled out of the car. Carlo had a plastic milk jug and was passing it around with great ceremony. When he offered me a swig (it was just after noon), I quickly became the latest victim of the rhyme game. OMG, what is this stuff?

Mucklejuice.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the Native American tribes of the Pacific Northwest, The Muckleshoots have a long and proud history. I am not sure how they would have reacted to Carlo's naming a drink in their honor, but I am quite sure they would have loved his smile, humor, spirit and capacity to share.

Dear Carl. It was a pleasure my friend. I remember you as a brother. May you find the peace you deserve.

Salute.