On The Death Of A Brother

My brother Tony was kind, generous to a fault,

tough as nails with a tender heart, and the

best bullshit detector I ever saw or knew.

It pains me to think he will’ve been gone 40 years. (4/18/22)

He seemed to be in possession of a suit

of armor, invisible, but none the weaker for

that. Horse hockey flew off that thing like

it were shot from a cannon. Barnyard biscuits

rocketed off into the distance in a flash. Cow Pat-

ties were flung mercilessly onward to land in

some unknown clump, of, something.

Tony saw it for what it was, and let you know

about it right now. Pronto Tonto.

Bigots may have been his most joyously exposed

“victims”. Those fool enough to use a racial slur

in front of Tony! Even at 12, he called out

a large Kansas City cowboy on a train to Wyoming for

using the “N” word. Wow! I was meeked into stunned

silence. Tony was piqued to give this hick a drawing

down, of the sincere, verbal variety he employed.

“You’re just another prejudiced stud.” my calm and

collected big brother proclaimed.

It was at that moment-like the one after a huge explosion-

where I sat and stared at my brother, awed, frozen in a

void, and was sure I caught a glimpse of something

barely visible enveloping his persona, clothing him

in a shield, of, something.

No bull, Tony caught it all before it landed, keeping

his area clean, his morals on top. Setting an example

of peaceful protest in 1970, as a poor white boy on

a train because mom had gotten ill again. I see now

that I was the entire reason behind this train incident!

He had a little brother to protect, and damned right

not one ounce of bullshit would land on that head!

Tony died on his motorcycle at 24 back in 1982, so

at that point in 1970, he was at his midpoint already.

Halfway through this life’s journey at 12, and exhibiting

the true character, resolve and commitment of those

far more educated and mature than he. A shiny star in a steaming

mound of buffalo chips covered with excrement salsa. A clean

clarion of the truth who never asked for anything in return.

Tony was a brother like no other, a singularity of purpose and

dedication. He has been, and will continue to be sorely missed.

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Dan started writing in the early 70's, barely a teen. Reading spurred a desire to write, which in turn led to more reading. And, more writing still.

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Daniel J Schaller

Daniel J Schaller

Dan started writing in the early 70's, barely a teen. Reading spurred a desire to write, which in turn led to more reading. And, more writing still.

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