Kidding

“Please don’t use a bad word when you can use a good word,” Jeff Pickles (Jim Carrey) in “Kidding”

The Showtimeseries “Kidding” was a tour de force for versatile actor Jim Carrey, who plays Jeff Piccirillo, host of a children’s TV show, “Mr. Pickles’ Puppet Time,” modeled after “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.”  In the course of ten episodes Jeff struggles to keep his sanity as a son dies in a car accident, his wife leaves him, and a second son starts smoking pot and displaying dangerously aggressive behavior.  When he tapes an episode about loved ones passing away, his father Seb, the show’s producer (a marvelous Frank Langella) refuses to air it because it might upset his young audience. One of the show’s fans is a killer on death row whose execution Jeff attends; the lethal injection enters the condemned man’s arm in the center of his tattoo, a fly modeled after a puppet on the show.  Later, when Jeff destroys his father’s office, we see that he now has the same tattoo on his arm.  I’ve re-watched every episode of “Kidding” and find subtleties I missed the first time, like all the witnesses to the execution having red hair like the victims. Voxreviewer Karen Han summed up the series perfectly when she called Carrey a marvel and “Kidding” “wonderful, terrifying, and heartbreaking at the same time.”  Mr. Pickles’ final advice to parents before his show went off the air: listen to your children.

 above, Ish Muhammad; below, Felix "Flex" Maldonado, Times photo by Joseph Pete

Toni and I attended John Cain’s 25th annual Holiday Reading, Truman Capote’s “A Christmas Memory,” at South Shore Arts in Munster.  Beforehand, we enjoyed the gallery exhibit “Windy Indy,” curated by self-taught artist Ish Muhammad and featuring several pieces by graffiti artist Felix Maldonado.  Donna Catelano, my book club companion and South Shore special projects director, greeted me. The second part of the Urban Legendsseries, “Haunts,” will open in February and highlight guerrilla explorers of such Gary architectural ruins as City Methodist Church, Union Station, Horace Mann School, and the Palace Theater.  Since I wrote the catalogue essay, Cain provided free tickets and wants me to return for a February talk and gallery tour that is part of the Art in Focus series.  I chatted with friends from IUN and Miller, including Al Renslow and Judy Ayers.  I told Nick Mantis, who is producing a documentary on Region bard Jean Shepherd, I was looking forward to his February Art in Focus lecture titled “The Making of Shep: A Filmmaker’s Progress.” 

below, Jim West and John Cain

Buddy and Sook

Cain told Post-Trib feature writer Philip Potempa: “I never met or saw Truman Capote in person. However, one of my prized keepsakes came when I was 30 years old and I purchased a used copy of ‘A Christmas Memory’ from a book store on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. The book not only turned out be a first edition, it was also signed by Capote, making it extra special.”Potempa summarized “A Christmas Memory” in this manner:

  Originally published as a feature article in Mademoisellemagazine in December 1956, “A Christmas Memory” captures the folksy atmosphere of Capote’s youth with the aroma of pecan pies and the flickering of candles in the windows of homes back in December of a 1930s Alabama. It follows the dreams of a young boy named Buddy (the name Capote used as a youth) and his friendship with his eccentric relatives, including his much older cousin and best friend, "Sook."  Capote lived with “a spinster aunt,” and one of his favorite traditions was helping mail fruitcakes [he helped Soot make] to everyone from actress Jean Harlow to President Franklin Roosevelt, as a means to feel a connection to the famous names of the day.

One humorous highlight is when Buddy accompanies Sook to a menacing bootlegger’s den in order to buy a bottle of whiskey for the fruitcakes. After finishing their labors, the cousin pours the remaining liquor into two glasses and they celebrate, much to the chagrin of uptight relatives.  At Christmas Soot imagines Mrs. Roosevelt serving their fruitcake at the White House.  Shortly after that holiday, Capote’s family sent him off to a military academy, but over the years he continued to receive fruitcakes from his beloved childhood companion.

I moved into a first-place tie in Fantasy Football by defeating nephew Garrett Okomski on the strength of 26 points from Eagles tight end Zach Ertz.  Needing a substitute kicker with mine on a bye week, I lucked out with former Bear Robbie Gould, who kicked 3 field goals for San Francisco, including one over 50 yards, on a weekend when Bears kicker Cody Parkey missed 2 3-pointers and 2 extra points.

The granddaughter of Elbert H. Gary’s brother visited the Archives in search of information about Bishop Herman Alerding, who founded a Gary settlement house for foreign-born Catholics that bore his name.  In 1920 Alerding wrote to U.S. Steel Board Chairman Elbert Gary appealing for money, using this rationale: “A Catholic settlement house would result in more and more amicable relations between employer and employee.  Americanization would be a good investment, an insurance not only against atheism, but against communism.”Judge Gary responded by donating $100,000.

On Jeopardy none of the high school contestants knew the sport African-American heavyweight champ Jack excelled in.  Incorrect answers included baseball and golf.  On the other hand, unlike me they knew all the Bodies of Water answers, but only one in three recognized that it was Betsy Ross ousted by the Quakers when she married an Episcopal upholsterer and subsequently took over his business after his death.

 Sara Teasdale

Post-Trib columnist Philip Potempa was judged a poetry recital at La Lumiere school in LaPorte. Winner Lauren Jordanich chose “Let It be Forgotten,” a 1924 poem by rebel and suicide victim Sara Teasdale:

Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,

Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold,

Let it be forgotten for ever and ever,

Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

If anyone asks, say it was forgotten

Long and long ago,

As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall

In a long forgotten snow.

Another student recited “The Days Gone By” by Hoosier poet James Whitcomb Riley. Its final verse goes: 

O the days gone by! O the days gone by! 

The music of the laughing lip, the luster of the eye; 

The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin’s magic ring— 

The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything,— 

When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh, 

In the golden olden glory of the days gone by.

 James Whitcomb Riley

In “The Winter of Trump’s Discontent,” Ray Smock wrote about the President’s latest display of embarrassing behavior:

  The president went to Paris to join other world leaders in commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the end of World War I. Unfortunately, he could not muster enough energy to go to an American cemetery where more than 6,000 American soldiers, mostly Marines, are buried in sweeping semi-circles of white crosses interspersed with rose bushes. These honored dead were the casualties of the Battle of Belleau Wood about 50 miles from Paris during the month of June 1918. President Trump blamed his absence on the rainy weather. Somehow other world leaders got there just fine. Later he blamed his protocol people for not telling him that a no-show was bad for his image. When he returned to the United States, this same president who castigates the patriotism of NFL players who kneel during the playing of the National Anthem in protest of civil rights violations could not muster the strength to visit Arlington Cemetery, just 2.1 miles from the White House, on Veteran’s Day. Clearly, the president is distracted by other things right now. 

From Martinsburg, West Virginia, Ray Smock attached this caption to a photo: “It’s elementary Watson! The suspect walked down the driveway, picked up the Washington Post, went to the mailbox, back-tracked to the garbage can, and wheeled it back to the house.”

Wildfires are out of control in California and a nor’easter has blanketed the East Coast. Back home in Chesterton, I shoveled two inches of wet snow (heart attack snow, Toni calls it) from the sidewalk and drove to IUN in preparation for a big day Friday.  In the morning I’ll interview 89-year-old jazz horn player Art Hoyle, who moved to Gary at age 13 with his mother and lived with an uncle, a pediatrician who insisted on discussing books Art was reading by the likes of Mark Twain and Charles Dickens at the dinner table.  At Gary Roosevelt Art came under the tutelage of music teacher Ernest Bennett and played in a jazz band that performed at school dances. His future wife attended Froebel and was part of a greeting committee that met Frank Sinatra prior to his performance at a Tolerance concert during the Froebel school strike.  At age 19, prior to joining the air force, Hoyle played in Thomas Crump’s orchestra in Calumet City and learned how properly to back up vocalists.  During a 70-year career that included stints with bands led by Sun Ra and Lionel Hampton and gigs in Europe and at Chicago’s best venues, Hoyle is still going strong. In 2010 he told Chicago Jazz Magazine: “I’m still working enough to keep the flies off.” 

 Alessandro Portelli

Preparing for the Art Hoyle interview, I re-read Sandro Portelli’s Oral History Review essay “Living Voices: The Oral History Interview as Dialogue and Experience.” Portelli wrote: “Our task is not only to extract information, but to open up narrative spaces.”  He argues that an interview is an exchange of gazes -  a co-created moment in a relationship between the past and the time of the telling.  Portelli recalled interviewing Kentucky civil rights activist Julia Cowans in 1983, who began by saying that she didn’t trust him because he was white and then spent many hours explaining why that was so.  Here is Portelli’s final paragraph:

  “Never trust a white school teacher,”says Baby Suggs, a character in Toni Morrison’s Beloved. So here I am, a white schoolteacher who learned the meaning of oral history because a black woman did not trust me, and because she trusted me enough to tell me why. 

 Ish Muhammad collage

In the evening I’ll attend an artists’ reception at South Shores Arts gallery for the exhibit “Indy Windy: A Love Story” and hope to give free copies of “Gary: A Pictorial History” to Ish Muhammad, who curated the show, and other Region artists who are in the book and the exhibit.  Beforehand, I’ll pay tribute to retiring colleague Chuck Gallmeier at an afternoon gathering of IUN faculty.  This is what I plan to say:

  The first time I recall conversing with Chuck was at a 2-day retreat Chancellor Peggy Elliott arranged at Avalon Manor in Chesterton.  I hadn’t known what to make of this tall, handsome, long-haired ladies man.  From our very first conversation I realized this was someone I wanted to know better. At lunch on the final day of the retreat, after a rather tedious morning, faculty and administrators dined in two adjacent rooms.  Chuck and I opted for the one without the bigwigs.  A waitress came to take drink orders; most folks ordered coke, sprite or lemonade.  Chuck and I opted for something stronger; immediately almost everyone else switched to beer, wine or a cocktail.  Five or 10 minutes later, a waiter entered carrying a tray of soft drinks.  “That must be for the other room,”Gallmeier said deadpan, drawing hearty laughs all around the table.  

  During the next quarter-century Chuck established himself not only as IUN’s most popular teacher but as one of the very best, right up there with Sociologist Bob Lovely, my former colleague Jerry Pierce, and English profs George Bodmer and Anne Balay.  When I talk with alumni about memorable professors, these names come up most frequently. 

  Chuck was much in demand to teach Swing Shift courses to steelworkers. Labor Studies staff member Mike Olszanski taped classes for those unable to attend.  Oz confided to me that Gallmeier normally let it all hang out and frequently used salty language; but one evening he noticed that Chuck had really toned things down.  During the break he realized why – a student had brought her 8-year-old daughter. That’s typical of his concern for students.

  Chuck once asked me to take over his class because of university obligations in Bloomington.  Beforehand, I watched him in action and found the experience scintillating.  When my turn came, a fair share of students had read the assignment -  about the Central Park 5 case - and were both eager to hear what I had to say on the subject and prepared to engage meaningfully with each other.  Chuck had primed them to assume an active role in the learning experience but to stay within the boundaries of mutual respect. 

  As a longtime chair of the Faculty Organization Gallmeier was a worthy successor to such distinguished predecessors as “Founding Fathers” Jack Buehner and Bill Neil, soft-spoken Fred Chary and John Ban, union activists Lew Ciminillo and Esther Nicksic, erudite Bill Reilly, curmudgeons George Roberts and George Bodmer, no-nonsense IUN grad Linda Rooda, and diplomat Mary Russell. I can think of nobody who has devoted more time and energy than Chuck in providing necessary faculty input to administrators.  He and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye on university matters – he was more the pragmatist while I was more outspoken in criticizing questionable actions of our “Old Boys” network.  While faculty can often be petty about holding grudges, Chuck never, ever let university matters ruin our friendship.

   Several years ago, Bill Neil, IUN’s first elected Faculty Org chair, who hired me, spoke to this body about a recently deceased colleague, George Thoma, I think, or perhaps Herman Feldman.  Bill confessed that what he most missed about the university was the collegiality.  So do many of us, and that is one reason why I suspect that we will continue to see my good friend around campus for many years to come.  Let’s hope so. I can’t imagine IUN without him.

Into the Woods

“I was raised to be charming, not sincere.” Prince Charming, in “Into the Woods”

Lisa Woodruff Hedin, Michael Glorioso and Colleen Peluso; below, Troy Wendell

Dick and Cheryl Hagelberg, back from a Baltic Sea cruise, drove us to Memorial Opera House in Valpo for the presentation of “Into the Woods.”  Last year I saw James and Becca (as the Baker and the Witch) in a one-act version of the Stephen Sondheim musical, which had a happy ending that suited me just fine.  In Act II we learn that the characters are not as good or evil as they seem.  Prince Charming (played by John Peluso), for instance, seduces the Baker’s wife (Colleen Peluso).  The beanstalk giant’s widow kills several characters, seeking revenge on Jack.  The main point, I gathered, was be careful what you wish for.  My favorite character was Little Red Riding Hood (Danielle Scampini-Linn), a tough cookie who wore a cape made from the wolf’s skin.  She sang, “Do not put your faith in a cape and a hood, they will not protect you the way that they should. And take extra care with strangers, even flowers have their dangers, and though scary is exciting, nice is different than good.”  From the third row I saw from time to time the baton of Maestro Troy Webdell, conducting a 14-piece orchestra in the pit.  As I gradually lost interest in following the dialogue, I came to enjoy the music more and more.

At West Beach a “Dunes Blowout” commemorated the fiftieth anniversary of Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore and the National Park Service’s centennial.  Among the performers were singer Patti Shaffner, the Emerson Jazz Tornadoes, and the South Shore Dance Alliance.  When we lived not far from West Beach I’d to go into the woods to collect firewood. The plentiful sassafras trees only survived a few years in the sandy soil and their logs gave off a pleasant aroma as well as little sparks.  Unfortunately, poison ivy was also plentiful and not always avoidable.  Terry Jenkins and I had a fort in the woods across the street from his house, where I first took a drag on a cigarette and almost choked.   I’ve been wary of woods since attacked and bitten by yellow jackets as a kid stumbling across their hive. When Toni and I were in the Poconos years ago, she enjoyed being temporarily lost in the woods while it made me uncomfortable.

Granddaughter Becca went to Chesterton’s football game (a loss to Portage) and then on Saturday to the homecoming dance.  Her date’s mother arranged for a photo shoot on Ogden Dunes beach beforehand.  When a high school senior, my job was to introduce the homecoming court during halftime of Upper Dublin’s football game.  I knew in advance that Wendy Henry had been elected queen and would be riding in the last convertible.  Unable to see very well, I jumped the gun.  Does anyone still remember – or care?

 Door Prairie Barn

Kaske House

Sunday’s Post-Trib highlighted Chicagoland suburban landmarks, including a half-dozen in Northwest Indiana: the Michigan City lighthouse, Lake County Courthouse in Crown Point, Valparaiso University’s Heritage Hall, Door Prairie Barn in LaPorte, Collier Lodge in Kouts (the only one not refurbished), and Kaske House in Munster, originally an inn and now a museum. It was acquired in 1986 by the Munster Park Board. Built in 1845 and originally named the Brass Tavern, it had six bedrooms, the tap room, a dining room and a sitting room.  Philip Potempa wrote:

  In 1864 the property, called, was sold by Allan and Julia Watkins Brass to Johann an Wilhelmina Stallbohm and renamed Stallbohm’s Inn, which featured the addition of a wire telegraph service.  The first news of the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln was delivered to residents of the area after sent by wire to Stallbohm’s Inn.

  In the 1890s, when the business, and the health of the owners, declined, the inn closed.  Johann died in 1899 and Wilhelmina in 1901.  Their daughter, Wilhelmina Kaske, moved in with her husband and converted it into the family home.  In 1909, much of the original structure was destroyed by fire and had to be rebuilt.

Golf legend Arnold Palmer passed away at age 87, and Miami Marlons ace José Fernandez died from a boating accident.  The Cubs beat the Cardinals for win number 99 on a David Ross home run after Wrigley Field fans had given the 39 year-old catcher a standing ovation on his final regular season home game of his stellar career.  The Eagles surprisingly are 3-0 after trouncing the Steelers, while the Bears not surprisingly are 0-3.  The former made me a winner in the CBS office pool.  Also I won my Fantasy Football game despite zero points from tight end Rob Gronkowski while my backup, Zach Miller, garnered 19.  In fact, my bench outscored the Jimbo Jammer starters 110 to 89 despite being without a kicker or defense.

Rolling Stone ranked the top 100 TV shows of all time.  Runnerup, behind “The Sopranos,” was “The Wire,” which I had never seen.  The next four: “Breaking Bad,” “Mad Men,” “Seinfeld,” and “The Simpsons.”  “Curb Your Enthusiasm” made the list but not “The Big Bang Theory.”  I’d have put “Saturday Night Live” in the top five rather than ninth, as well as “Sesame Street,” just 31st. “The Wire,” I discovered, examined the flawed law enforcement system in Baltimore, where almost everyone was out to protect his ass, and the drug trade flourished in the inner city. The most interesting character is a black lesbian cop.  The series premier soundtrack included “Way Down in the Hole” by Tom Waits and “Love Is Strange’ by Mickey and Sylvia, a 1956 hit with a calypso beat.

By the end of 1956 Rock and Roll was here to stay.  Elvis Presley was churning out number 1 hits such as “Hound Dog,” a cover of “Big Mama” Thornton’s blues saga about a cheating man, not a hunting dog.  Teenagers were starting to prefer black singers such as Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, Little Richard, and Ray Charles and groups such as the Spaniels, the Cadillacs, the Five Satins, and Frankie Lyman and the Teenagers over lame cover artists like the Crewcuts, the McGuire sisters and Pat Boone (shudder).  The novelty hit of 1956, “Stranded in the Jungle,” was first recorded by a black doo wop group, the Jayhawks, and then covered by another black group, the Cadets.  As Shirley and Lee put it in their hit record, “Let the Good Times Roll.”  Long live Rock and Roll.

 Louis VII, Conrad III, and Baldwin III at Jerusalem Council

After examining the Crusades from the Byzantine perspective, this week David Parnell concentrated on the Muslim point of view, using the twelfth century “Book of Contemplation” by Usama ibn Munqidh.  Muslim fragmentation enabled the First Crusaders to seize control of Jerusalem, Antioch, and Edessa, but mistreatment of their non-Christian subjects led to the rise of a defender of Islam, Imad ad-Din Zengi.  Forces loyal to Zengi recaptured Edessa, which in turn caused Pope Eugenius to call for another Crusade. King Louis VII and Holy Roman Emperor Conrad III enlisted.  Accompanying Louis was his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine, whose uncle was Prince Raymond of Antioch. Conrad’s army was annihilated at Dorylaeum in 1147 and the French army a year later at Damascus.  While in Antioch, Queen Eleanor evidently became overly intimate with Raymond, precipitating a rupture in her marriage to Louis. She wed the future English King Henry II and bore him eight children.  Imprisoned 16 years for plotting with her eldest son against her husband, Eleanor was England’s regent while son Richard I went off on the Third Crusade. Katherine Hepburn played Eleanor in “The Lion in Winter” (1968).

Robert Arnaud of Swiss radio interviewed me about the history of Gary after meeting with Mayor Karen Freeman-Wilson and Chamber of Commerce Executive Director Chuck Hughes.  For the program Robert plans to dub my voice in French.  He promised to send me a copy.  I gave him “Gary’s First Hundred Years” and told him to watch Blandine Huk and Frederic Cousseau’s 2014 film “My Name Is Gary.”

I bought a 14-pound Columbia 300 Nitrous bowling ball at Ray’s Lanes.  The pro shop owner gave me good deal. He suggested a fingertip grip, but I stayed with what I was familiar with.  I plan to keep my 30 year-old, 15-pound polyurethane dinosaur in case I need it to pick up ten-pins.

Hillary Clinton took it to The Donald in the first presidential debate and, as Chris Matthews put it, “cleaned Trump’s clock.” Here’s what Ray Smock wrote:

  I have watched all the presidential debates since Nixon/Kennedy [but] have never seen anything like what I witnessed tonight.  [As] Steve Schmidt, the former campaign director for Republican John McCain, said, Donald Trump ran out of gas and degenerated into “incoherence and babble,” especially on national security. He was totally unprepared on the issues. He uttered nothing but campaign slogans and statements that said how bad off America is. The fact checkers will have a field day with his lies and misstatements of fact. He is totally in his own head and could not stop talking about himself and how successful he is. You could feel and taste his egomania. 


Hillary was Hillary. She was prepared. She studied up for the debate. She came with vast experience that Trump tried to denigrate. She did not cower before the bully who kept interrupting her. She smiled. But she also showed she could dish it out as well as take it. We don't expect our presidents to be shrinking violets. We expect them to have resolve, judgment, temperament, and confidence in their ability. She demonstrated all these qualities.

Cara Kelly wrote about her step-dad Brian Saule (above), who grew up in St. John.  He smoked his first joint in woods down from his house and hid bottles of liquor there that cops later confiscated.  Kelly wrote:

In 1981 Brian’s mother forced him to attend Andrean.  The 14-year-old freshman arrived with a home-made bull cut and Colorado work boots.  He tried several times to get expelled by fighting so he could be at Lake Central with his friends.  The first time he smoked marijuana was with his older brother, who had a fort in the woods.  The joint made him so messed up, he went home and started cooking meatloaf.  His mother and sister sat in the kitchen laughing at him; they knew something was wrong but weren’t sure what.  Instead of using the oven, he cooked on the stovetop. The meatloaf turned out very bad, but he still ate it.  When his step-dad got home, he was not pleased.

In 1982 Brian went to a sock hop in Andrean’s gym.  His friend Andy told the DJ it was his birthday, so the guy told all the women to form a circle and dance with hi, including the homecoming queen, Jackie. In fact, he and Jackie became friends because of this.  Brian told me, “I didn’t drive until I was 17 but my sister gave me my first car when I was 16, a 1977 Camaro. It mainly sat in the yard until I got my driver’s license, but I would sneak it out occasionally.  I used to have to take the bus to school.  They’d pick me up at St. Michaels Church in Schererville, and we’d take old Seventy-Third and cross a bridge.  It actually went down, and the road dipped down pretty far.  One day it was raining hard and water built up on the bridge.  The brakes failed and the bus went in the water.  A car was totally submerged next to us.  We ended up having to swim out; my cigarettes got wet, which was the most disturbing thing to me during this experience.  In the year book we were dubbed the Andrean swim team.”                                                                                     

1984, Brian’s senior year, he got his license, started dating, and went to the prom.  He had gotten over not being able to go to Lake Central but usually didn’t shrink from a fight.  He got into a confrontation with a new guy named Darren, who ended up his best friend.  He recalled: “Darren was talking bad about my friend Mike so I decided I was going to confront him but got nervous and backed down.  I tried to look intimidating, but he said, ‘You have something on your face’ and wiped off my face.  That very same day I missed my bus and asked Darren for a ride home.  He eventually said yes and that’s how we became best friends.” 

Miller kids from Andrean knew of a liquor store that had burned down, but tons of booze remained inside.  Brian and two friends loaded up a big Suburban with bottles whose labels were slightly burned and on the way home got pulled over by a police officer, but they didn’t get caught.  They hid the bottles in the woods near Brian’s house.  Cops found the booze and kept it for themselves.  Years later when he was friends with a St. John police officer, Brian noticed a liquor bottle on a shelf with a burnt label.  He put two and two together.  The booze was never reported missing, so nobody got into trouble.

In 1985, after graduating from high school, Brian went to Purdue Cal in Hammond but got sick and couldn’t finish the semester.  He worked at Marciano’s Pizza in St. John.  Across the street was a K-Mart.  On day 32 year-old James Koslow entered the store with a large gun and killed three people and wounded others before police officer Richard Conaway gunned him down

St. John in the 80’s was very rural.  There wasn’t much to do except go to a strip mall and then nothing but corn fields. Everyone wanted to be in everyone else’s business. In 1986 Brian had a shirt that said, “New Kids Suck,” a reference to the boy band New Kids on the Block.  That year Brian went to his first concert to see Pete Gabriel.

  In 1986 he turned 19 and his favorite pastime was going to Omni 41, the rolling rink, which my parents also hung out there a lot but had never met Brian.  “We all went to Omni 41. Tuesdays was ladies night and Saturdays was all night skate," Brian recalled.

  In an about face, Brian now claims he wouldn’t have wanted to grow up anywhere else, but when he sees people from the past they remind him of the stupid things he did with his friends.  Iit does make him feel nostalgic in a bittersweet way.