27 July 2002: Dear Old Bear

Moly is going away. Moving to North Carolina tomorrow, to get his Ph.D. in Mathematics. I first lured him out here nine years ago. He showed up with a B.A. in Literature; he’s leaving with an M.S. in Mathematics and a black belt in aikido (the first one ever awarded in Aikido Shusekai, if one doesn’t count the honorary one that I presumably accrued by founding the style). I have known his mind and become drunk upon its contents. I have known his soul and its alien beauty has filled me with wonder. I have known his heart and I can tell you with absolute certainty that he is the Very Dearest of Dear Old Bears.

Last night, I went to a farewell dinner for him. Today, after helping him pack the last of his stuff, we had a farewell brunch: me and him, Aleph, Taarna, Galahad, Grace, Zebra, the Khan, and Speaks Like Silence. Then I hung out with him and Aleph on his front porch for a while, helping him wait for the movers. And then I came home, and I’ll not see the Dear Old Bear again until the New Year’s Quickening.

Moly’s going-away party was actually held a week ago. Aleph hosted it. The most delightful parties I have ever been to have been at Aleph’s house. And of all of those, this one, for me, was the best one yet. It wasn’t raucous, and the joint wasn’t jumping, but I count myself as blessed to have had the privilege of spending an evening in a place with that much love in the air. Not just the love that we all felt for Moly, but the love in every interaction, the loving way that each person there connected with each other person.

I don’t know if Bobby Sheehan, late great bass player of Blues Traveler, invented the Statue of Liberty Shot himself, or if the Devil, walking the Earth in human form, ran into Bobby in some underground dive bar in the Village and, recognizing a kindred spirit, taught the custom to him and charged him with the mission of spreading it among mortals. But what I do know is that after Bobby’s funeral, some of those who knew and loved him, including Moly, went out on the town and kept the infernal tradition alive by doing many, many Statue of Liberty Shots in Bobby’s name.

To do a Statue of Liberty Shot, you need at least a double shots’ worth of Sambuca, a glass big enough to hold it, a cigarette lighter, match, blowtorch, or other fire source, and a friend who has as little common sense as you do. Pour the Sambuca into the glass. Holding the glass in one hand, make a fist with the other hand and stick out the index and middle fingers. Thoroughly marinate those two fingers in the Sambuca. As soon as you remove them from your glass, your friend uses the fire source to set your fingers on fire. You must then hold your flaming fingers up in the air like Liberty’s torch, as you down the shot. You may do nothing to extinguish the fire until you have finished downing the shot (because it’s surprisingly difficult to stand there with your hand on fire and suppress the instinct to put it out, you may have to try it several times before you get it right).

At the party, out on Aleph’s porch where he’s led so many sing-alongs over the past few years, Moly prevailed upon a few of us (me, Argus, Titan, and the Khan) to do some Statue of Liberty Shots with him as a gesture of friendship and farewell. I’ve got a nice little burn scar on the side of my left middle finger now, by which to remember Moly in the weeks to come. I’ve decided I rather like the tradition of saying goodbye by doing Statue of Liberty Shots. Moly got a better deal than Bobby, because, being still alive, he actually had the pleasure of watching his friends set themselves on fire. On the other hand, I do like to believe that we live in a just and beautiful universe with a loving God, and if that is truly the case, then perhaps Bobby, wherever he was, was also allowed to watch.

For many years, I have known that when I die, I want my loved ones to cook me and eat me, preferably as a well-spiced curry, and then to sit and hold a Bone Council, using my skull as the Bone. Now, I hope that after the meal, and before sitting down to the Council, a few of those present will think to break out a bottle of Sambuca, and raise two flaming fingers in farewell.