Listen now (24 min) | Chip Kime was an utterly unique young man who was a huge presence in my life once, then he became an abstraction when our paths diverged in our 20s, and now he’s gone. But not really.
Thank you for sharing this Chris. Your loosely structured sentimental introspectives are as meaningful to me as those films that don’t have a clear plot, but still resonate deeply. So although I’ve been an outsider to social media my whole life, and I also roll my eyes thinking of all the public displays on the internet these days...what you and other writer/podcasters are doing may be in a realm of their own. I guess your hot takes, vulnerable introspectives, and stories are essentially just art eh? Would you feel more secure in sharing if you saw it as artistic expression? I believe you’ve done a beautiful thing by spreading the spirit of Chip and striking a deep chord in many with your articulations of feelings we all grapple with.
This was great, Chris. And that photo is fantastic. I know exactly what you mean about nothing changing but feeling a sense of loss nonetheless.
I love the stories of Chip and his car. It was a 1967 Buick Riviera. It had a 454 cubic-inch engine with a 4-barrel carburetor (whatever that means; I only know it because I heard Chip repeat it so many times). I do know the car was FAST.
(You with your Cutlass and Chip with the Riviera were the peak of muscle car glory in our crew; Al was driving an early 60s Dodge Dart: I had a Ford Pinto and Pat had a Dodge Omni. Nothing bitchin’ about our rides.)
Chip, Al and I used to duck out of school in the Riviera and smoke cigars. Before we left the grounds (which we weren’t supposed to do), Chip would often cruise by the back of the building, revving that massive motor and leaping over a series of speed bumps outside the classroom windows.
Running around the school neighborhood with the windows down was great. Sometimes we’d hit McDonald’s or Duchess (remember Duchess, Chris? It’s still there). For a long stretch our regular stop was a pizza joint near the school that had a Playboy pinball machine. We got absurdly good at the game and eventually could kill an hour on just a couple of quarters. We played it so often that I used to hear its theme music in my dreams.
Chip used to crank Earth, Wind & Fire or The Commodores on his car’s 8-track player. That’s a forgotten medium these days, but each tape had four “sides” that you could switch among as the tape played, and Chip knew the exact point in any track to punch over to the start of his favorite tunes--The Commodores’ Brick House or EWF’s Serpentine Fire or Fantasy.
The calculus teacher who starred in Chip’s comics was Stewart Washburn. He died in October, age 94, and his obituary indicates he was much cooler than I’d have ever guessed. He was a jazz drummer and taught math in Juneau for a time. He’d apparently been ill for many years--often obituary-speak for dementia--but he outlived Chip by a month or so.
Thank you for sharing this Chris. Your loosely structured sentimental introspectives are as meaningful to me as those films that don’t have a clear plot, but still resonate deeply. So although I’ve been an outsider to social media my whole life, and I also roll my eyes thinking of all the public displays on the internet these days...what you and other writer/podcasters are doing may be in a realm of their own. I guess your hot takes, vulnerable introspectives, and stories are essentially just art eh? Would you feel more secure in sharing if you saw it as artistic expression? I believe you’ve done a beautiful thing by spreading the spirit of Chip and striking a deep chord in many with your articulations of feelings we all grapple with.
Sorry for your loss. Descanse en Paz.
This was great, Chris. And that photo is fantastic. I know exactly what you mean about nothing changing but feeling a sense of loss nonetheless.
I love the stories of Chip and his car. It was a 1967 Buick Riviera. It had a 454 cubic-inch engine with a 4-barrel carburetor (whatever that means; I only know it because I heard Chip repeat it so many times). I do know the car was FAST.
(You with your Cutlass and Chip with the Riviera were the peak of muscle car glory in our crew; Al was driving an early 60s Dodge Dart: I had a Ford Pinto and Pat had a Dodge Omni. Nothing bitchin’ about our rides.)
Chip, Al and I used to duck out of school in the Riviera and smoke cigars. Before we left the grounds (which we weren’t supposed to do), Chip would often cruise by the back of the building, revving that massive motor and leaping over a series of speed bumps outside the classroom windows.
Running around the school neighborhood with the windows down was great. Sometimes we’d hit McDonald’s or Duchess (remember Duchess, Chris? It’s still there). For a long stretch our regular stop was a pizza joint near the school that had a Playboy pinball machine. We got absurdly good at the game and eventually could kill an hour on just a couple of quarters. We played it so often that I used to hear its theme music in my dreams.
Chip used to crank Earth, Wind & Fire or The Commodores on his car’s 8-track player. That’s a forgotten medium these days, but each tape had four “sides” that you could switch among as the tape played, and Chip knew the exact point in any track to punch over to the start of his favorite tunes--The Commodores’ Brick House or EWF’s Serpentine Fire or Fantasy.
The calculus teacher who starred in Chip’s comics was Stewart Washburn. He died in October, age 94, and his obituary indicates he was much cooler than I’d have ever guessed. He was a jazz drummer and taught math in Juneau for a time. He’d apparently been ill for many years--often obituary-speak for dementia--but he outlived Chip by a month or so.
I'm sorry for the loss of your friend, Chris. It sounds like you two had a special friendship.