In Memory of Danny Bales, by Greg Jones“Wild Horses,” for Dan (October, 2017)
On September 22, 2017, Dan Bales, a friend for 47 years, passed on from this world due to cancer . . . In 1970, 11th grade at Palos Verdes High, in the south bay, Los Angeles, 16 years old, Dan Bales sat behind me in Mr. Flagler’s English class. Mr. Flagler, “Flagler,” we called him, was a child of the 60s—tall, bespectacled with more hair than most teachers, a dark beard, and a distinct, quizzical smile that beckoned us to join him in the understanding of the English language and literature. We all loved Flagler, because he so obviously loved what he was doing—he loved books and stories and sharing his enthusiasm; he instilled enthusiasm in us. Dan and I, however, weren’t the best of students. We were, one might say, distracted. I was new to the school, carrying the baggage of being a “new guy” in a school full of kids who had grown up together, struggling to be happy and confident when deep down I was heartbroken having moved across the country and left my old friends behind. But this casual, friendly guy, Dan Bales, sat behind me the first day in Flagler’s class. Dan had a distinct, quizzical smile of his own, and jet blue eyes, and impressive long dark sideburns for an 11th-grader. We’d soon meet again at basketball tryouts, where we both made the JV team. Dan had perfected a certain laissez-faire approach to academics that I admired, even aspired to, though as an out-of-state transfer student, our family new to the community, I was hoping not to flunk out and spare my parents that embarrassment. Dan was always in class, but he spent most of his time talking about the lovely southern California beach girls who surrounded us, Jerry West and Wilt Chamberlain and the Lakers, and the Rolling Stones. Dan would also provide a surf report each morning, which for me, being from Fort Worth, Texas, I knew nor understood nothing about. “Lunada Bay is breaking peeling green barrels on the incoming tide,” Dan would say, “and I see that Liza Piccolo’s black slash mini-skirt is revealing the exquisite length of her legs.” Mr. Flagler would come down the aisle to collect homework assignments, and Dan, empty-handed, would say, “I’m working on it, Flagler, trust me, in a day or so. It’s gotta be just right, per-fect, you understand.” “Bales,” Flagler would say and shake his head. “Baaales.” “C’mon Flag, you know I’m good for it, man.” “Every day it’s late, Bales, one letter grade off, that’s the deal.” “You can subtract from my grade, Mr. Flagler, but not the value of my insights. Remember, Wild Horses, couldn’t drag me away.” “Whatever, Bales, whatever.” Dan could have been Jeff Spicolli in the movie, “Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” except Dan was cooler, smarter, and funnier. If a pizza would have been delivered to Dan in the classroom, however, no one would not have been surprised. The Rolling Stones had put out one of their greatest albums that year, “Sticky Fingers,” that featured, on the cover, a crotch of real blue jeans with an actual, functioning zipper. Dan was obsessed with the album, which would become the anthem for our class—the songs that we danced to into the wee hours of the night at countless high school parties and dances: “Brown Sugar,” “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking,” “Dead Flowers,” “Wild Horses” . . . Dan was particularly obsessed with one song, “Wild Horses,” a beautiful ballad, and later in the year, in a short story Dan wrote that probably saved his grade in the class, titled, of course, “Wild Horses,” Dan wrote about a young dreamer who made his way through high school each day quoting and affixing specific lyrics from the song “Wild Horses” to everyday events and encounters. In class, every day, Dan would sit behind me and sing verses from “Wild Horses,” sotto voce, while Flagler pontificated on the sublime tone and understatement in Hemingway’s short story, “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place.” Dan would sing, “Grace-less lady, you know who I am You know I can't let you, sliiide through my hands . . . “ Flagler would read a Hemingway passage, and I’d close my eyes and try to concentrate. And Dan would sing, “I know I've dreamed you, a sin and a lie “I have my freedom, but I don't have much time.” Flagler would pace in front of the room, staring at the ceiling, searching for enlightenment. And Dan would sing, “Wiiild horses, couldn't drag me awaaay “Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day.” And so Dan and I became friends, and teammates on a JV team that won about 20 games, and we rode home with the Villa Park tournament championship trophy, singing “Wild Horses” on the bus with our teammates . . . Later, for a while, Dan and I were roommates in college in San Diego, and then we went on our separate ways in life, and we both lucked out and married wonderful, soulful women, found our professions, fathered children, and became responsible family men, etc. But we stayed in touch over the years, and always managed to get together occasionally for some laughs, some brotherhood. What I learned from Dan back in 1970 is that a few kind words to a new guy, a stranger, can make a difference in his life, and that once you were a friend of Dan’s, you were a friend for life. Following is an acoustic version of “Wild Horses,” and I should warn you, it may make you cry. But tears are healing, and for those of us who had the pleasure of knowing and spending time with Dan, who loved Dan, we’re going to need a lot of that, always . . . Wild Horses "Acoustic" - The Rolling Stones Version recorded in 1995 appeared on the album Stripped YOUTUBE.COM
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RL "Bob" Morgan I am writing this note on behalf of my friend, Bob Morgan. Bob left this earthly realm a few years ago and he is sorely missed by many. I met Bob on Halloween night, 1957. He was a skeleton and I was a devil in our costumes. We stayed friends throughout our lives together. Again, he is sorely missed. As many of you know Bob had a brilliant mind and he went to Harvard University after PVHS, but please also remember that he was very funny, kind and loving to others, and generous to everyone.
Bob wore many hats in his days--- clarinet player at Malaga Cove and Valmonte schools; a rock crusher in Leadville, Colorado; a concertina player and student of music; a punk rock and LA theater stagehand and photographer; an expert baker of sourdough bread; and a highly successful scholar in the computing field at Stanford University and University of Washington. Bob was a lot of fun to be around, you could talk to him about anything and he would be surprisingly knowledgeable about at least some aspect of the topic. Bob left behind a beautiful wife and two high-achieving daughters, still living in the family home in Seattle. LINK to OBIT -- https://anthonycollinsfilm.com/rl-bob-morgan |