I’ve known three friends in my life
named John White…one just died.
I lived with my first John White in two
different shared houses two different
times in Boulder. He married and moved
to Thailand. We have the same birthday.
The third John White is my poet/writer buddy
I met through Keith Dowman. You live in
Kentucky, don’t you…somewhere south
anyway.
The Second John White, the one who just died,
I met here in Tepoztlan shortly after I arrived
thirteen years ago, almost to the day. He,
our friend, Barry, and I were frequent
companions in the first few years I was here…
outrageous drinking buddies who had our own
little “salon” atop Barry’s roof, where we got to
know each other very quickly, with added
guests that wandered in and out of the “scene”.
This John White was cantankerously into the
Buddhist “scene” in Tepoztlan, but his wisdom
was Taoist. This John White opened a brothel
in Cuernavaca when he was sixteen (it was only
open part of a night, until the real criminals came
in with their guns and the game was over). This
John White studied law in California until he
tried marijuana, and decide…..nah. This John
White was a ski bum in Switzerland for years.
This John White had a failing heart valve and
knew he was going to die. This John White told
us he was ready to die, that he knew how
he wanted to go out, and, listening to him, he
sounded like one of the sanest men I had ever
heard.
Sombre De Sabina was the restaurant where
this John White, myself, Barry, and others
would gather to have brunch on Fridays.
Honestly, these last few months, this John
White was more cheerful than I’d ever known
him. The restaurant closed just a few weeks
ago, and we no longer had a place to meet.
My only regret is that this John White never
told me what he thought about the MDMA.
