Dating : Spirit in the Sky

Looking back on the premature death of my brother

It’s hard to know where to begin. My memory skips like a bad 45 record when I think of my brother Hal. My most distinctive memory was probably around 1965.

Hal was living large in Hollywood, leading a privileged life, laced with too many women, lots of booze and a medley of pills. On weekends, his pack of friends would roam the hills of Mulholland Drive on motorcycles, careening the canyons for whatever denomination of pleasure they were seeking.

One Saturday evening, twenty Harleys pulled onto our street, their sleek chrome bright like shiny badges. The pack swirled around the cul-de-sac. My twin sister Teresa and I were awestruck by the power exuded by my older brother and his tribe. They were invincible as they rode up Laurel Canyon, the vibrant exhaust of their engines spewing like the breath of a dragon.

His Porsche soon followed where his Harley left off. We, at 13, had our first driving lesson on a stick shift. Hal would perch us upon his lap, and pilot his keen instrument with nimble feet, while Teresa and I took turns pioneering the road. It was exciting, being at the helm with our oldest brother solely in charge of our destiny.

Hal, despite his fast living, always had time for such flights of fancy. Perhaps he didn’t really belong in the fast crowd with whom he associated. He was always overly sensitive, perhaps even too sensitive for the cruel and unforgiving world that surrounded him working in the garment district.

He got engaged, but his fiance dumped him three weeks before the wedding. Booze, pills and unemployment followed him, until he got cancer at the age of 54. It came quickly. In a few months, he was gone.

Although he’s passed on, perhaps he visits each of us in his own special way. Was he sitting next to me when I was driving too fast on the freeway? Did my girlfriend Erika really see Hal crossing the sidewalk in Studio City a few weeks after he died, dressed in his uniform of baggy jeans and a sweatshirt? Does he play tricks on us when the lights flicker or some other freak of nature presents itself?

Hal’s departure has made us all a bit closer. Like concentric circles, death gets nearer as we age. At first it’s the circle farthest away. Maybe it strikes as the death of a grandfather, a friend’s relative, or a neighbor’s dog. Then, like slow moving lava it rolls closer, burning bits of all of those who are in its path.

Hal’s death came too early. Death always comes too early for those who remain, for we are never really prepared for it. Afterwards, we are left slightly altered. Perhaps we reassess our lives. Some of us take work a little less seriously. Some of us give license to our shelved dreams. Hopefully we tell those who matter to us that we love them, and we try to enjoy the pleasures we have today, while we still have them.