Where's Waldo?

 I am happy to say that some eighteen years ago I had the good taste and cleverness to write a little piece here about what Reader's Digest used to refer to as "My Most Unforgettable Character." That person's name was James Walton. Those close to him referred to him as Waldo. 

My initial contact with Waldo was as an employee under his supervision at one of the three Arby's restaurants he supervised. He split his time between the three stores, but I knew which one was his favorite. Because he told me. The quirky group of young people who were finding their way into adulthood by working shifts in a fast food joint were all the more quirky because of the leadership they enjoyed. Working a lunch shift with Waldo was always easier than any other day because it was entertaining. I knew that he too had started out as a "Tuna" as new recruits were called. He had worked the counter and cleaned the shake machine and wrapped more Beef 'n' Cheddars than I would see in a lifetime. He had made a career out of what for so many was a summer job. 

And all of that would have made him one of my favorite bosses, but the fact that he invited me into his life as he was trying to fine-tune his role as husband, father and grownup gave me a real leg up on what was ahead of me. He had made his way through the University of Colorado where I was trying to find a path of my own to a degree. He told me stories about getting stoned and sitting down in front of Star Trek reruns with a set of colored pens to do his Egyptology homework. Waldo told me his professor  was so impressed with his hieroglyphics that he was offered a major in archaeology. Another time he spun a tale about dropping acid with a friend and riding in the front seat of Mister Twister at Elitch Gardens. Each time the roller coaster came to a stop, they handed the guy running the ride another handful of tickets, insisting that they weren't ready to get out just yet. 

As I said, he did find his way to marriage and fatherhood, and eventually divorced fatherhood. It was his discovery as divorced dad that you didn't have to form the meatloaf into just a loaf. He made his into a bunny, which allowed him to ask his pre-teen daughters to "please pass daddy an ear." It was around this time that he gave up being manager of a fast food franchise and became the owner of a fast food franchise. On Tuesday evenings, I would drop by the mall which housed his Taco John's and have a churro, but only after stopping next door for a couple slices of pepperoni and a large cola product at the pizza place he ran as well. The price I paid for this pit stop? An hour or so of witty conversation, and a series of cartoons I drew on paper plates that would eventually adorn the service area of the pizzeria. 

Waldo was there at my thirtieth birthday party. He brought along the crew from his fast food palaces, with whom I had become friendly from my weekly visits. This was also my bon voyage soiree as well, preparing to make that jump to California and whatever adulting I might encounter with my girlfriend and the rest of my life. But we didn't part ways exactly. My mother, who had just recently become a divorced person herself, was happy when Waldo became a car salesman and was able to be the friendly face when her Dodge Neon wasn't cooperating. 

It was in that showroom that we encountered one another last. On a visit back to Colorado, I brought my son to meet the man who had been such a guiding light in my life. Waldo was happy to share the wonders of the automotive world with my nascent gear head. Our chat was like no time had passed between us even though the circumstances certainly suggested otherwise. 

This past Sunday I got the news that James Walton had passed away. My older brother sent me the news. At first it was hard to imagine. This giddy force of nature, the man who taught me that carrying a clipboard is what made you a manager, and that no matter what the price you should always put the word "only" before it. "That will be only five hundred and twenty-nine dollars," was gone. 

Because he's not, really. He lives on in the hearts and minds of anyone who has sat still long enough for me to tell any of these stories. His stomping on the Terra made me aspire to do just the same. And oh my, yes, he will be missed. 

Aloha, Waldo.