Vineyard Press

I drove to Bakersfield for my nephew’s wedding reception the other day. I saw the old crowd from my high school years in Delano. We hugged a lot, reminisced a lot, and generally renewed old friendships. When I saw Bishop Ron Holgate, walk in with two beautiful little girls, I wondered who they were. He said, “Rex, I want you to meet Kevin’s granddaughters.”

Kevin had granddaughters? But he was my age! I guess he did marry earlier than I. Bishop Holgate’s only son Kevin was my friend, brother, roommate. And now he had two sweet little granddaughters. I smiled at his legacy.

I have tried to write this story for many years, but I didn’t know how. Who could gather inspiration from this story? But this is my gift to Kevin. I write it to thank him for being a good example to me. I couldn’t say thank you when I was a child. But now is the time to put away childish things. Thirty five years have passed, and it’s time to honor Kevin.
You see, I met Kevin when my father drove down to Delano from Humboldt County in search of a new home. Dad had landed his first job since graduating from Humboldt State on his G.I. Bill. The move would be traumatic for my parents and their ten children, for we had grown to love Northern California. I accompanied my father on the scouting trip to Delano. The heat was oppressive. Vineyards covered the landscape. Dad took me to enroll at Delano High School. Finally we met our local church leader, Branch President Ronald Holgate. I didn’t hear my father’s conversation with him, but I was later told that it would be better to stay with the Holgates while Dad returned home to Eureka. That way I could begin school on time and wait for my family to make the move south. I was to stay with the Holgates for almost two months. The Holgate family consisted of father Ron, his wife Sharon, son Kevin, and daughters Merilee, Marci and Michelle. Mexican maid Rosa and dog Fifi rounded out the household. These people had it all! They lived on the rich side of town, had a swimming pool, a maid, central air conditioning, and a manicured Bermuda lawn. I would miss my family, but not too much. I wouldn’t have to eat fast and fight for a second serving at the dinner table. The Holgates were wonderful hosts. The girls were a blast, but Kevin was the prince of this household. I slept in his room, where he taught me everything there was to know about my new town and its history. He was a conscientious mentor- never missing a thing. He especially helped me prepare for the social scene that we were about to experience as freshmen on our first day at Delano High. Kevin and I both had type A personalities. We had both been leaders in our respective schools and church congregations. I was struck at Kevin’s ambition. He told me right off that when he was a senior, he would be Student Body President. Darn! That’s what I had always dreamed of. I wasn’t crazy about his smearing saliva on the TV screen when Rosa tried to watch her Spanish-language soap operas, but hey; we were young. The only weakness I ever saw in him wasn’t his fault. He was color blind. When we played darts out by the pool, I would help him retrieve the light-green dart that landed in the darker evergreen bush when he overthrew his target. He couldn’t differentiate between shades of green and some other colors- like blue. I always felt he could have been a Cowboy’s fan if he could appreciate their beautiful metallic blue helmets. Colors were the only thing I could help Kevin with. He was the master of all else. And I was happy to follow. This was his turf. For a few months, I was the brother he never had. We swam in the pool, watched TV, and when the sun went down, I would join the family on a barefoot stroll down to Thrifty, where President Holgate bought everyone an ice-cream cone. Walking home, polishing off our cones, Ron taught me the differences between black grapes, red grapes, and Thompson seedless. This was a slice of small farm town America. I would come to rely on Kevin’s guidance; he would be the only person I would hang out with during the first week of school.
School began on a hot day in early September. I knew almost no one. I felt so alone during the first four periods of class. At lunchtime, I met Kevin at a pre-appointed location- the corner of Cecil and Norwalk. Kevin thought the cool thing to do would be to go off campus to get a burger at the stand across the street. I must have been a bore—too shy to speak. When I think about it now, Kevin gave up seeing a lot of friends to be by my side before school, during lunch, and after school. At least Kevin could mix it up when football practice started at the end of the school day. On one such practice day, I tried to walk home in 100-degree heat, but went the wrong direction and ended up in a vineyard on County Line Road, one mile in the exact opposite direction. I staggered into the pool when I arrived at the house 45 minutes later. It wasn’t like me to be so dependent, but I was lost. I just needed some time to meet new people and make the difficult adjustment to a new environment.

Well, I didn’t see it coming. I was too naive and stupid. Or maybe Kevin needed to teach me an important lesson. For whatever reason, Kevin didn’t show up on the corner for Wednesday’s lunch. Flustered, I felt like running home. Home? What home? I stood there waiting on the sidewalk for several minutes, then returned to campus. I shouldn’t have been embarrassed, because no one knew me. But for some reason, I was greatly offended. I was on my own now, ready or not. For a long time, I refused to forgive Kevin. Our differences became more pronounced, as we developed a condition resembling a sibling rivalry. I loathed his UCLA Bruin basketball team- led by an ugly, lanky clod named Bill Walton. That may have been one of the reasons I embraced USC’s Trojans, enrolling at the school four years later. Kevin loved Johnny Hadl and the Los Angeles Rams. I cheered for the Dallas Cowboys. Kevin idolized Elton John. I hated the guy. Rushing to get ready for school, Kevin’s color blindness was probably the reason he mistook a bottle of Lysol for Listerine, and chugged it down. While he spit out the car window all the way to school, I should have been sympathetic, but instead I laughed to myself. In short, I was jealous of Kevin’s standing, his popularity, and his self-assuredness. I was all those things once, but I had lost it all. I was in a different element now, and after days of dejection, I resolved to forge my own road again. More than anything else, I was determined to challenge Kevin for President of the Student Body.
Lest you think otherwise, I will say that Kevin and I usually got along, and we did a lot of things together. Because we shared a small church congregation in a small town, Kevin and I got along well enough to be friends. But he became closer to my older brothers, who shared his musical talent. I never lost that desire to get out of Kevin’s shadow and make my own mark.

Kevin got his letterman’s jacket in football. He was an accomplished musician, though not quite up to Elton John standards. He held all the leadership positions in church. When we neared the end of our junior year in high school, I announced that I would run for Student Body President. Kevin walked up to me and said he was sorry, but that he had to run too. After a spirited campaign, our Student Body Adviser put his arms around our shoulders, and said, “You both did really well, but Rex did better. He’ll be our next student body president.” My joy was tempered by Kevin’s sad countenance. We congratulated each other too formally. What should have been a hug was a muted salutation and a handshake. I heard that Kevin cried that day as he walked home alone. I could have done more to ease his pain, but those were the times of childish things.
After high school, I went to USC. Kevin moved on too. He married younger than I, and went on to father six children. I saw him from time to time, but never took the opportunity to renew our once-close relationship. We both grew up. I would hear from time to time that Kevin suffered from a severe degenerative disease. He suffered quietly for most of his adult life. However, I was skeptical; never believing Kevin could be kept from his dreams.

One day, I got a call from Delano. Kevin had died, leaving his wife and kids to walk this dreary life alone. I remembered all the fun times we shared. His parents and sisters didn’t deserve to lose their prince so soon. I also thought of my insecurities, and my petty rivalries. Kevin probably wondered what happened to make me so sour, but in his goodness he never reciprocated. He was never spiteful. He tolerated my imperfections. I fondly think of Kevin when I see the Rams play football, or when I watch Luke Walton or his dad Bill; or when I hear Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.” Kevin is achieving all his dreams in heaven right now. He‘s not suffering. And he’s not colorblind! He can see all shades of green, and maybe even appreciate Cowboy metallic blue. I’ll tell his granddaughters what Kevin meant to me, because I have since put away those childish things. Kevin, you deserved to beat me on that election day in 1976. But maybe you learned some lesson, just like you taught me by leaving me on my own that third day of school. Kevin, I’m sorry for being childish. I didn’t know how to be bigger. It took me some time to learn. But I believe you taught me. “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But when I became a man, I put away childish things.” Kevin, when we meet, face to face, we will have a greater understanding. And we’ll renew our friendship. I hope I won’t go in the wrong direction this time; but that I’ll make it home, a little bit farther down the yellow brick road.