Bob wrote this very touching story about his good friend Steve, who died in July 2003. It’s funny, poignant read, and a wonderful tribute.
Growing up in Queens I was a scared kid. At home I hid my eyes when my dad watched monster movies but that only made the scary noises worse. In the city I was scared of the punks, girls with Mohawks, guys with safety pins through their cheeks. They were hardcore. And when we moved from the East Coast to rural Minnesota, I was terrified. Y’all have cows and chickens and shit here.
So it only figured that at high school orientation the upperclassman assigned to me was Moldy.
Moldy was a punk, a big, broad shouldered kid in a leather jacket with a surly attitude who could say more with his middle finger than my Nona could with both hands. He had clearly been roped into orientation duty as punishment for eating puppies… or freshmen. At lunchtime I sat with the new kids and spazzes while Moldy sat with other punks and read “Fangoria,” the gory full-color magazine for monster movie aficionados. Moldy embodied all the things that terrified me the most. When he learned I didn’t like punk rock music and monster movies Moldy shook his head in disgust. Continue reading