We few, we happy few, we band of brothers – Shakespeare
Will Holmes, Donny Laing, Crazy Dan & Yours Truly (thumbs up) in the Coastal Mountains of Santa Barbara – 1984 (self portrait, Nikon F)
Introduction
This is not so much a story about Donny Laing, my dear friend from high school, as there is so much about him that I will never know. It is more about the memories and influence, both positive and negative, that he had on so many of us when he was still around.
It is also a story of how the horrific effects of alcohol abuse can be so detrimental and ultimately lead to unnecessary tragedy. The experiences were bitter, as they were sweet during that tumultuous time on the Central California Coast in the early 1980’s.
As uncertain and desperate as those times were for me, unable to find a job of any kind, I can’t help thinking that there would be a real sense of mystery missing from my life had I not, by chance or fate, met up with Donny twelve years after our high school days.
Part 1 – First Meeting after 10 Years
Sheboygan North High near the Shores of Lake Michigan
I can only vaguely recall when I first met Donny in high school. I was a junior, and he a year younger. I think he spent some time in a private school, and it was rumored (or he bragged) that he was kicked out.
He was an Eastsider (rich kid) but didn’t fit in with that crowd. In class he was always respectful but devilish behind the scenes — kind of an Eddie Haskell but with a bit more style.
I think that we started hanging out together because of our mutual interest in music (and pot) — stuff that drifted from the normal “Top 40” — Moby Grape, Blue Cheer, and the early Grateful Dead.
He didn’t drive yet, as punishment for screwing up at private school. So, we started going to Y dances together, listening to groups like Raw Meat and OX while making feeble attempts at picking up girls.
As our techniques improved, we’d do double dates, ending the night parked at North Point steaming up the windows in my dad’s new canary yellow Plymouth. Girls seemed comfortable on “doubles” and my dad was super cool about letting me use his car!
A turning point in becoming best buds, he and I hitchhiked to Madison, the state’s capital, to see a Jimi Hendrix concert. It amazes me that our parents would allow us to do such a thing, but I distinctly recall their approval: I spent the night before at Don’s place. His mom cooked us an incredible breakfast with stern warnings to be safe before hitching to Madison.
It was a great adventure. We stayed at a friend’s apartment that had graduated before us and was attending UW for his first year. We discovered that our friend was gay. His apartment was a total mess, with dishes that had not best washed for weeks. The concert was magical (we dropped some acid). We ended up with little sleep until we got safely home.
After high school I spent my first year at the local university, so we still hung out, but far less. When he graduated, he was off to St. Norbert College, I think. I lost touch for over the years, never expecting or even thinking we’d meet again.
Palos Verdes Looking North to Los Angeles
During Christmas of 1982 I was living in the hills of Palos Verdes, California and working a “black” nuclear missile program called the “peacekeeper.” The program was coming to an end, and I feared for my job.
I flew home to Sheboygan for Christmas and was doing some last-minute shopping at Pranges Department Store when I ran into another old high school buddy, Danny Stubler. We called him Stubby back in high school, and I guess the name stuck.
I was surprised Stubby was still in town, as he was one of the first to venture off to California after high school. When he came back, his parents wouldn’t let him stay at home, so he stayed with me for a week or so until things were mended.
Waelderhaus – Kohler, Wisconsin
To my delight, he told me Donny was in town as well staying at the Waelderhaus. I guess his dad retired early and was curator or some such thing. So, I called the museum and got Don Sr. on the line. He quizzed me in his normal gruff voice as to why I wanted to talk to his “only” son. Halfway through the discussion it dawned on him who I was, and the phone was immediately passed on to Donny Jr.
I assumed Don would have become an attorney or be running some slick business, but he told me he was kicked out of St. Norbert College. After that, he hid out at his parent’s cottage in Sturgeon Bay and started working as an apprentice shipwright for Palmer Johnson, the mega-yacht builder. Then he apprenticed with some old wooden boat builder who was landed-locked somewhere in Wisconsin. That’s where Don really gained his skills.
We agreed to meet at the Horse & Plow, a posh tavern in the Five-Diamond American Club enclave. Donny still had good taste!
We met, we drank imported beers and even smoked cigars and caught up on ten long years. We closed the place down and me, not wanting (or able) to drive, was the invited guest at the Waelderhaus. Don’s mom graciously prepared breakfast for us once again the next morning. Deja Vu.
Before we both headed back after the holidays, we agreed to meet when back in California, although no firm date was made. An extreme winter storm up on the Central Coast, and me experiencing my second layoff in aerospace in LA would firm up that date.
Next: Our First Meeting in California