There's a picture of me and Bill
in Fort Lauderdale. This was before
Dad went overseas. He got a direct commission
in the Navy. He was a 90-day wonder. As compared to
ROTC or one of the service academies. His war
was very hard on Pop Cason. He could have driven
a gas truck at Port Everglades for the duration,
but how would he have faced his neighbors?
His old classmates? The congregation of his church?
When he ran for mayor of Delray Beach in 1949,
the voters? It was an adventure. Dashing naval officer.
Munda, New Georgia. The Solomon Islands. He had a hat
he wore to football games in the Orange Bowl. A fedora.
Dad ran Pop's business for him. They drove to Miami
together and parked in a yard and walked to the stadium.
You'd be so grand at the game. Fathers and sons.
Grandsons, stepfathers. Brothers.
Bill died sober, more or less.
Lung cancer. The chemo whipped his ass.
They said it would give him a better quality of life
but it killed him. There are no guarantees.
At least he didn't die of acute alcoholism,
or cirrhosis of the liver. Hemorrhaging
esophageal varices. Your body wears out.