When I was in the Army I met a guy named Tony Olivares. He was from El Monte, California... Hacienda Heights actually I think. I assumed he was Mexican but one night we were out drinking and someone called him a Mexican. Not all that good an idea. Tony was Spanish, Castillian, pure blood. When Spain sold California to the US, his family's ranch in the San Jacquin Valley was not included. So yeah, Tony was Spanish. We were not really all that friendly at first, in fact we almost came to  blows one day but we got to be good friends, maybe Best Friends. I hung out with him and his buddies in El Monte, "You're the only white guy within 10 miles of here" and the first time I went to Mexico was with Tony. We got his VW van stuck on the beach south of Encinada for 3 days until some Marinas came along and asked us what the hell we were doing there for 3 days, we told them "We're stuck!" and they pushed us out of the sand and up onto the road.

After I got out of the Army I moved to Denver but Tony and I fell out of touch. I used to have lunch pretty much on a daily basis at the Star Market at University and Evans and one afternoon I was having a sandwich and clam chowder and up walks my brother Tony. I said "I don't know if they let Mexicans around here" and he just smiled. Hadn't seen him in two years and there he was. Small world.

Tony had gotten out of the service and married an Army Brat who's parents were stationed at Fort Carson and they had gone to the post to visit. Tony and his wife were just going to drive up to Denver because, well, it's Denver but at the last minute, his mother in law asked his wife to help her do something so Tony decided to drive up anyhow and enjoy the front range and the weather. It was a picture perfect Colorado afternoon and Tony, never having been there and knowing nothing about it other than it's location and name, decided to get off at the next exit and he did. He decided to go left and two blocks from the freeway, he got a red light and was just waiting for the light to change, looking around and he saw me coming out of the Market and sitting down. He went and parked and walked up and Boom! Time didn't matter, we were instantly best friends again. We spent the afternoon driving around Denver and ended up at Malibu Grand Prix to take some laps. AJ Foyt had been there when they opened the track and they had his best time posted up on the board and I was within 3/100ths of a second 4 or 5 times. I asked the pit man "Damn how come I can't break the record!?" and he said "You're about 240 pounds. AJ is about 185" and that was that. We did about 20 laps each, Tony gave me a ride home and he headed back down to Colorado Springs. It was the last time I saw my friend. We spoke often over the years after that, and when I was working as a mud engineer we kept missing each other's call for about a week. When I finally got through it was someone telling me that Tony Olivares, Castillian Spaniard and my best friend had shot himself and had died. But I always remember that day in Denver where he just walked up to me completely out of the blue and said hello, and the smile on his face as he waved goodbye and headed back down to Fort Carson.