Sometimers, Lazard, New Orleans, Bucky Brock - Circa: 1970-1971

Having 'Sometimers' rather than 'Alzheimer's' at 90 ½ is great.

90 1/2? Yeah, when you're a kid you are 6 ½, 7 ½, etc. When you cross the 90 year old threshold then halves become important in the race between looking down at the grass and looking up at the grass. But then as Jack LaLanne who died at age 97, famously said, ‘I can't afford to die. It would ruin my image. '

Getting to be 90 ½ doesn't necessarily mean a clean living, kickback life. As a heavy, 4 packs a day smoker and an over the top, sincere fucking drinker, until age 50, I am living proof that God does indeed take care of drunks and fools.

Guilty on both counts, though my not drinking or smoking for the last 40 years may have helped me to continue to look down at the grass. Genes, schemes, "A bi gezunt!"

And then there was Bucky Brock, a ,a 5'10", 390 pound, New Orleans oil and gas engineer and a real gee whiz asshole. Bucky suffered severely from the NIH (Not Invented Here) syndrome. Bucky had a hair trigger temper and when he got pissed off he was a sight to see. His formidable jowls trembled and his whole fat, obscene body literally shook. Bucky told me that he slept on the floor and hadn't had sex with his wife in years. My bet is that he had a hell of time just finding his schlong to piss with much less have sex with it.

Bucky's wife was, predictably, quite a bit nuts. She had lived through Bucky's practicing alcoholic stage which in itself would test anyone's sanity. (The Princess, were she not looking up at the grass, would bitterly confirm that). Bucky, who prided himself on his newly found sobriety, located his office in downtown New Orleans, down the street from a historic Catholic Church.

Mrs. Brock was the bookkeeper for Brock Exploration and went to Mass every single fucking morning on her way to work. Lightening would have struck had Bucky gone inside the church. She, along with Bucky had a monumental temper. Bad pair to draw to. Mrs. Brock really detested me but I didn't much care. I didn't think a whole hell of a lot of her.

Overriding all his 'assets' Bucky suffered from Italian Alzheimer's where you forget everything except the grudge. Hate was in his DNA.

New Orleans and hard living went hand in hand. Drawing a sober breath while in New Orleans was not my thing but being in New Orleans often was my thing. Being on the Board of Directors of Brock was a fucking joke and pretty stupid of me. Bucky ran the show, made all the decisions while brooking no independent opinions. But it was a great excuse for me to get away from the Princess, get blind fucking drunk and recover lounging by the pool the next day with an exploding head. All paid for by Brock Exploration.

I met Bucky through a senior partner of Lazard Freres, when Lazard was a very prestigious partnership (a long gone reputation).They barely let me in the front door in those days. I was too no-class for those big time snobs.

Peter Corcoran was one of the few non-Jewish Senior Partners at Lazard at the time. He, with another non-Jew, Ed Kennedy, ran Lazard's oil and gas business. How those two snuck in without circumcisions always escaped me. Anyhow, Peter's recommendation of crazy fat Bucky convinced me that Bucky, in spite of being crazy fat and all, would be okay.

That was before I had gone from being a little paranoid to being totally paranoid about being fucked without being kissed by independent oil and gas men and investment bankers. Genres that are narcissistic, powerless over their own bull shit and would fuck you for practice, even if it didn't do them any good.

Plaza Petroleum was the name of the piece of shit before I made the mistake of causing it to be merged with Brock. It had been named, by me, Plaza after the hotel in NY. A name was needed at that point in time. I was blind fucking drunk, in the genius stage of drunkenness at that moment in time, at the bar of the Sherry Netherlands Hotel in the Big Apple. The Plaza Hotel came into my line of sight through the window of the bar and I thought, 'What a great name.’ so Plaza Petroleum it was.

Yeah being 90 ½ gives great memories. All of which grow richer with time. You learn that you never arrive. You’re always looking to get somewhere. Unless you've traded ‘Sometimers’ for Alzheimer's...