A very good run of friendship

I have an old Peace Corps friend visiting for a few days. In 1972 we met in New Orleans, along with a group of 160 other new volunteers. The orientation took five days, then they put us on a chartered plane for Brazil.

I don't remember how we picked each other out of the bunch of bright-eyed, naive, innocent others, but it didn't take long. Bruce and I were older than the horde of recent Purdue graduates, and the only ones who had military service in their background. The military had inculcated in us our cynicism and jaded way of viewing the goings on of the world, and that stood us apart from the rest.

We soon picked up a fellow traveler who shared our point of view. Nolan died a few years ago, ending the triad we enjoyed. The three of us encouraged each other in our thinking as well as in our social behavior. We shouldn't have been allowed in public without an escort.

We roomed together during the five months of language and cultural training, then some of us were sent to the state of Mato Grosso for more language school and eventual location to our respective towns for the next two years.

Bruce was sent to the south of Mato Grosso, but Nolan and I stayed in the northern region. We lost touch in late 1972, but through other volunteers each of us stayed informed about the other two.

They sent Bruce to Ponta Porã, a town on the Paraguay border, where the division between the countries run down the middle of the main street. The place supported itself then, as it does now, with smuggling. I've been told it's insane with drugs and contraband and shootings.

Bruce convinced the Peace Corps to send him to northeastern Brazil, but things didn't work out for him, and he went back to the U.S. in 1973. I wouldn't talk to him again until 1984 when I spent some hours on the telephone and hunted him down.

In this interim, Bruce published a couple books and had a career managing and writing for country newspapers in the midwest. His father operated a huge wheat farm in northwest Kansas, but the man could be a despot at times.

After his father died, Bruce took over the property and did really well for a number of years. But the farm and family dynamics made the farm into an emotional onus, so it was sold, making Bruce and his sister wealthy people.

After the farm was gone, Bruce moved his family to Corpus Christi, Texas, with easy access to ocean fishing and to Mexico, where he spends a couple of months every year.

When he was editing newspapers I visited him and his family in two different towns and states and he came to Montana once or twice. Now, he comes to almost Montana every other year, and even with only limited contact, we've maintained a relaxed but close and comfortable friendship, which is reassuring.

We trust each other's intelligence and motives. It's easy for me to accept negatives from Bruce, and I think it's the same for him in that respect.

We're both in our dotage (Bruce is 75, I'm 72), so the relationship is becoming more valuable to both of us. We still maintain the iconoclasm and skepticism that marked us as Peace Corps volunteers.

When I was in Brazil this last time, the director of our training back then was in the country, and we spent an afternoon visiting. He told me that Bruce, Nolan and I kept the administration concerned with our immoral and drunken antics after training hours.

Nixon was still in office, and like now, any doubts expressed about the government or its personalities were seen as a minor form of treason. The language school staff were asked to keep a close eye on us and report any untoward behavior. They were looking for a way to send the three of us home before we corrupted the glossy-eyed dreamers from Purdue University, but we were careful and didn't get terminated early. It turned out that Nolan and I who stayed the longest in Brazil, doing more substantial work than any of the others.

Bruce and I enjoy a relaxed but strong camaraderie, and there is no competition between us. We each think that the other is the more intelligent of the duo, and that makes the bonds between us stronger.

When we meet after years of separation, there is no back slapping or handshaking; we act like it's only been a few weeks. This isn't contrived behavior, it's a sign that we take each other for granted due to mutual trust.

At our respective ages, every time we part ways neither of us expects to see the other again. I'm comfortable with that. It's been a very good run, and I was lucky to meet and make the effort to retain the friendship of an excellent, iconoclast and doubter of the qualities of our human race.