November 8, 2023
Have you ever had a friend as constant as the Rock of Gibraltar? I had such a friend. He was a mentor; the Big Brother I never had; a conscience; and, the only person who would say to my face: \”Well that\’s fucking stupid.\” The family called him Uncle Mark. The bowling team nicknamed him MWNB: Man With No Buns.
Mark resided on the same floor as Wife #2 and I did — in a condo complex on Buckingham Parkway, Culver City.
He was an intimidating presence — a body on a 6\’4\” frame hosting anorexia. His goatee and golden earring (we replaced this with a diamond stud on his 40th birthday) made him look like a musketeer!
I would see him in the parking garage mostly. I didn\’t dare speak to him for fear of angering this fellow who did not smile. Then one day I asked him an innocuous question of why our collective garbage wasn\’t being picked up. In smooth, deep, easy-going voice — that belied how much mileage he\’d but on that then, 38-year-old body: he replied that the city collectors were trying to get a new contract. This led us into conversation that let us know we were both neat freaks (He more so than me) and that we would get along fine with each other.
He would lie by the pool all day long on the weekends with his buddy Dick (who lived in the 5th floor penthouse) to work on their savage tans while Mark chain smoked (which is what killed him in the end) and drank beers. Wife #2 would join the-two-of-them whenever she could–as she enjoyed chain smoking and drinking beer as well.
I would join them when I could — but as an English teacher (Mark was a teacher as well) — I never got to enjoy the sun quite like the others — because I always had papers to grade. Working with the \”troubled\” kids in the Santa Monica school district, Mark never had to grade — he just had to maintain these students in his classroom during the school day.
We had an interesting ritual on most Friday Nights (when I wasn\’t rehearsing, gigging or going out to see local bands) — and that — was getting stoned and going down to our local Blockbuster and finding the trippiest monster movies (usually some bizarre vampire flick) — to watch over the weekend nights when the Lakers weren\’t playing.
On nights that I did perform, Mark would always come out to see — and though I always felt like the least talented on stage — he would always tell me I was the best performer that night. These might have been the only times he lied to me.
Mark was above all else, an animal lover (as were we). He had 3 cats to our dog (Rummy) and cat (Bagheera). He would always take care of our pets when we went away — but only allowed me to take care of his cats once. Even though I fed them correctly — I didn\’t deal with the litter boxes correctly. That lost me my position! Only one chance to get it right with Uncle Mark!
And speaking of critters — Mark became known as the Snake Man (handle: mslither). At one point he had 86 reptiles (spiders and fish as well) with some very large pythons, boa constrictors — and I seem to remember an anaconda. And for good measure his dog, Kayla, and 6 cats (when his handle was: msixcats)!
The interior of his home resembled the reptile house of a zoo — except for the bedrooms and bathrooms of course. One of my favorite photos of myself is holding a twelve foot python.
This reptile husbandry began when another old friend and his wife had their first child and the wife had to give up her 4-foot boa constrictor, Clio, for adoption. Mark gladly took Clio in and began rescuing and/or purchasing critters whenever the mood struck him.
It seems that his critters were his passion, his loves. The story goes that he was once deeply in love and was jilted — and subsequently decided that he would never again pursue a \”love\” relationship with a human being (the aforementioned Los Angeles Lakers excepted). He was loved by many, however.
Mark tried everything this life had to offer — whether he rode with the Hell\’s Angels as an Independent; or lived on a houseboat for a time. He did surprise me one night when he brought over a stranger to a dinner party at our place. Something was said (I have no recollection what) and this guest put a loaded gun to my cheek. Mark had no recollection of this event.
We always wished each other Happy Birthday (mine is in July) — and though he was 10 years my Senior — he would always refer to me as The Old Man.
In July he informed me that he was dying of COPD.
I thought he was indestructible. I thought I\’d get to see the world\’s ultimate curmudgeon one more time. Even had my bookings for a November 4th visit to Tucson. But things happened quickly in October and he lost battle with COPD on October 25th.
Don\’t worry about all his critters — he had made arrangements to find them safe havens. In fact when we chatted in July, only a cat and dog remained.
A photo of Mark opens up on my desktop each day. I also have a bevy of photographs that remind me of a true friendship.
He has an open invitation to the Silver Ship — which he can attend any time. I have a strange feeling that he is currently working on establishing the ultimate zoo in the hereafter.
God Bless, Uncle Mark. Thank you for always making my path clearer and introducing me to Bob Marley and the reggae…