The Unauthorized Biography of Rosco P. Coltrane

When it's my moment in the sun, I won't forget that I am blessed, but every hero walks alone, thinking of more things to confess

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Location: Owensboro, Kentucky, United States


Monday, March 07, 2005

Monday the 7th, 27th day of Lent

There is a guy that I went to high school with that is in the pen. Which isn't to unusual. There are probably a lot of people that have former classmates in the pen. I am sure that if I show up to my 10 years class reunion this summer that I will find out about more people that are presently incarcerated.

But Ike was always a different sort of guy. I didn't know Ike well. But he was a friend of my best friend, so to me that qualifies him as a friend. I always liked Ike. I understood that he sometimes made poor decisions. We all make poor decisions, but Ike always seemed to make poor decisions that led him into the back of a squad car.

I usually got updates from my friend about Ike after high school. They were always updates that were not very good. Jail, on the run, etc.

So last night when I was talking with my father, he told me that Ike was having an art exhibition at the local college this weekend, I was intrigued. So I looked on the local newspaper's and found a nice article about the gallery show and about what's been happening with Ike (it seems he has two more years to serve).

I called my friend who was close to Ike and he said that it was really good. He ought to know since he is married to an artist and goes to gallery shows and what not. Well, I asked him if he had talked to Ike lately he said no. I told him that he ought to write him a letter. He said that he thought about going to visit him one time. He gave me all the reasons why he ought not contact him, the baggage and what not. But I told him that the main reason he ought to try and contact Ike is to encourage him and to be a friend. We both know that Ike was always a very talented person in high school. He was good at art and music and all the other things that people don't celebrate like they do a ball going into a hoop.

I hope my friend writes Ike a letter. I might too, though I feel a bit uncomfortable about it. As I said, I didn't know him that well.

But if I were to write him a letter, I would say this. For the past week I have been trying to find a movie, book, album, and anything to just floor me. I want to be inspired, I want to be moved. And when I looked at that painting on-line this morning. I was moved. I understood what that painting meant. I know the way that old man feels with his head down and an empty drink in his hand while the entire world seems to be celebrating and having fun. I was so moved that I called the college and left a message with a professor on how I might see more of his paintings, who knows, if the price were reasonable, I might even buy one.


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