A childhood friend died on June 19: Carl William Kimes, aged 71, of a stroke in Bethesda, Md.

I knew him by three names during his lifetime, Billy, his name during our childhood, Koonie, his nickname as a teen-ager, and Carl, his given name, by which he was known as an adult. To me, of course, and to his other friends from childhood, he was always Billy Kimes, although later we took to using his nickname of ‘Koonie’, how acquired a mystery to all.

Billy was an easygoing little boy, always amenable, always ready for any adventure. We did all the things boys in that Huckleberry Finn period before adolescence do: we rode our bicycles exploring the town we lived in, Leesburg, Virginia, then a little Southern village, now threatening to become a metropolis with strip malls covering our fields of play. 

Billy was exceptionally smart with an inclination towards science, and even as a boy he was an expert on geology ; he knew the names and ages of rocks and could find a gem as well as arrowheads in the dirt without much trouble. He was an good boy scout and with a skill I envied, could make maps with the aid of a compass almost before he could read. 

We were avid science fiction fans, devouring every copy of Amazing Planets we could find. We dreamt of a future with aliens threatening from the skies, automated cars and robots stalking the land, a future strangely devoid of people, economics or politics. But if Billy was disappointed by the future we later found ourselves in, a future, pretty much like the past, embroiled in politics and wars, he never let on. In fact, he seemed content  with the American bubble we inhabited; he had his two cars and his house more than four times the size of the house he grew up in, and he was obviously pleased with that aspect of the American dream.

 Billy grew up in what we would call marginal circumstances today although he and his family seemed unburdened by their situation. In the 50s his father, a skilled carpenter,  had a new car every other year; they fed themselves from an ample vegetable garden, and they owned a house. But it was a small bungalow, four rooms essentially, and Billy spent most of his childhood sharing a room with his grandfather, a circumstance about which he never once complained. I can tell you it made me a bit more circumspect about complaining about my own family situation – at least I had a room to myself.

However, I mention this because I think it had something to do with his life choices. He dropped out of college after a year, and went to work for Ma Bell, as the C&P telephone company was popularly known. When I asked why he didn’t stay in college, he said he was going to work his way up in the telephone company so he could retire at the age of 55. He was 17 years old when he plotted out this future, and sure enough, I found myself at his retirement party some 36 years later. He was 53.  I often think his years in that bedroom with his grandfather had a lot to do with that life decision when he put security ahead of risk. I never passed judgment because had I grown up in the same circumstances who’s to say I wouldn’t have done the same?

 We didn’t see much of one another as teen agers, our lives had gone in diffeent directions, but once in a while in a while we‘d get together and chase girls who always seemed to be a step ahead of us. Billy, by then known as Koonie, was not lucky in love. Nevertheless , he later managed two marriages and two sons and a daughter and  perhaps he found that kind of love a more than adequate substitute for the yearnings of romance.  

 As adults , we saw even less of one another as our lives, tastes, politics, and circumstances had almost completely diverged and all we really had in common,  if truth be known, were those few years in our  Huckleberry Finn childhood. But in the last decade or so, Koonie, ever the loyal friend, stayed in touch and when we would infrequently get together, most of our talk would be about those years which had entered into myth.

Koonie was found in his driveway, the victim of a severe stroke. I envy him his manner of death, fearful myself of a stay in those institutions which postpone death as long as possible. He was a few weeks older than me and of course, also lying in that driveway was part of my childhood.  

Koonie was not much of a sportsman, although he enjoyed fishing once in a while. He played golf in a manner which suggested he was scoring a 65 instead of the 100 plus recorded on his scoresheet. He was equally determined about tennis which he played as if the game was baseball. In other words, a good deal of time was spent looking in the woods for lost balls.  Koonie fervently believed in the second amendment and he had an impressive collection of firearms. Once in a while, he’d come out to our farm in Virginia and shoot up some targets with his black powder musket.

 

Here he is on one such day ( ca 1995) standing in front of my 8×10 camera with his son, Austin.

 

Carl ‘Koonie’ Kimes and Austin Kimes  

 

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