The Great Ones-J. Quade
“You ain’t got a hair on your
ass if you don’t call her.”
Words of encouragement from a
co-worker are always the highlights of my day. J. Quade and I had been working
at Coastal Ag for about 2 years. I had recently moved to Seguin, Texas and had
met one of his customers at Callahan General Store. I was contemplating calling
her for a date but was chicken as usual. J. and I were sitting in the Coastal
Ag offices waiting for the phone to ring (remember that Junior Jordan?) when
J’s soothing words were spoken. That ego-lifting soliloquy got the best of me
and I made the call. Thank you J. because I ended up marrying her.
J. Quade was a good friend of
mine a long time ago. We both took different career turns and didn’t see each
other much over the last 20 or so years. I ran in to him from time to time and
we always had a good visit, but we kind of grew apart. Being in the same
industry, we had many mutual friends and in a round about sort of way, we kept
in touch.
One of these mutual friends
is Brett Davis. Brett and J. worked at Bayer together and I met Brett when I
moved to California in 2005. Brett and J. had become great friends over the
years and we used to tell Quade stories when we were together. Brett told me
that J. called him out of the blue and said he had tickets for Brett and
Brett’s brother Chad P. at a Van Halen concert in Fresno, CA. the next day.
Brett and Chad met J. at the airport and drove to the concert. J. must have
been in a meeting or some such before he flew because he was dressed very
business like when they went to the concert. Khaki’s don’t mix too well with
Van Halen. J. left his seat and when he returned, he slowly paused at the
bottom of the steps going up to their seats. With a true act of rock & roll
rebellion, he raised his fist in defiance and bowed his head in reverence to
the rock gods. Rock on Quade…
Going with the rock concert
theme, we continue. I sold tack while I worked at Coastal Ag and J. had a
territory for Coastal in the Texas Hill Country near Austin, TX. I was working
in J.’s area one week and he asked me to stay with him and his wife Kelley
while I was working the area. When I arrived back at their house the last night
I stayed with them, J. had a true Quade moment. He said, “ Molly Hatchet is
playing at Cheatham Street Warehouse in San Marcos tonight. We’re there dude.”
This was the early 90’s and Molly Hatchet had not been relevant since the mid
80’s, but hell yeah I’ll go see Molly Hatchet! We drove down to San Marcos from
Wimberley and pulled into the full parking lot. We were a little late and we
asked the longhaired guy selling tickets when the band was going to start. He
looked our cowboy asses up one side and down the other and said, “No problem
man. You still got time to go back to the parking’ lot and burn one.” Good
times. After the show, (awesome to say the least,) we were driving back to
Wimberley and J. saw these three skateboard punk burnouts walking on the side
of the road and he told me to slow down. He hung out the window and hollered,
“Soundgarden rules! Yeah!!!” More good times. We got to bed around 2:00 AM and
had to get up at 5:00 AM to meet the Coastal driver in Seguin to pick up J.’s
orders from that week. Oh to be young again…
I think the only person more
gullible and believing than me is my Mom. I love you Mom, but it’s true. Before
Susie and I were married, we had our rehearsal dinner at a San Marcos, Texas restaurant.
J. and his wife Kelley were some of the people we asked to attend. My Mom was
introducing herself to people and she walked up to J. and started a
conversation. She asked J. his name and he must have seen this coming because
he answered very seriously, “Mike Tyson. Pleased to meet you ma'am.” My Mom
didn’t think twice and said, “Oh hello Mike. How long have you known Tim?”
Can you hear me hitting my
forehead with my palm?
Our wedding was huge and
predominately attended by Susie’s large, extended family. I only knew about 30
or 40 people and they were mostly my friends and family. One of the traditions
for Hispanic weddings is the dollar dance. Wedding guest’s pay a dollar or more
to dance with either the bride or groom. During the dance I saw a lot of my
friends dancing with Susie, J. included. I had stepped on enough feet during my
dances and I looked to see who the next victim is. Standing with his dollar in
hand with a big shit-eating grin on his face is none other than Quade. I knew
that him and Wilke had indulged largely that night, but I never thought that I
would ever dance with a man. Not to mention a slow dance with a man. With 300 people watching. I played along and we began swaying slowly to
the left and right. J. was actually a great dancer, very light on his feet. We
were both laughing and a stupid idea crept into my head. With my left hand
holding J.s, I slowly lowered my right hand down his back to his waist and then
thought, “What the hell.” I planted my hand squarely and firmly (but still with
that oh so gentle touch) on J.’s left butt cheek. All J. could say was, “Whoa dude! Take it
easy. My wife might see us.”
Being in the animal heath
industry brings people together in the craziest ways. Brandon Manning is a great
friend from college and the ag industry. I was a groomsman at his wedding and
when he introduced me to his future wife Betty Powell, she and her maid of
honor Carman Reed (the future wife of another good friend Brian Mannen) said,
“He looks just like J. Quade.” Weird, but a nice compliment none the same.
J. had a very unique sense of
humor also. He affectionately named our Coastal Ag company trucks “Fur Trappers”.
I asked him where in the world that came from and he said that the camper top
and the headache rack on top of the camper would be the perfect vehicle for a
Canadian outdoorsman. He said, “All you have to do is strap your canoe to the
rack, throw your traps in back and you’re in business.” He even told me that he
drove his company truck to a friend’s house and the guy came out and said,
“Don’t park that in front of my house! The neighbors might think you’re here to
fix my plumbing!”
J. was everybody’s friend. He
had the kind of personality that drew people to him. His slow, methodical way
of talking to people showed that he carefully thought about every word he
spoke. I always wanted to be like J. I tried to emulate him and follow his
every move. To me, J. was a walking success story. I looked at J. and saw a man
who had it made. Family, job, friends; he had it all. You can look up “family
man” in the dictionary and see J. front and center. He was so proud of Dani and
Peden and all of their accomplishments. His wife Kelley was his world and will
forever be.
I suffer from the same crappy
hand that J. was dealt. The vast majority of days are great, but every once in
a great while, it can be tough. J. was able to hide this from most people just
like I have done. I would have never known J. was sick if this terrible tragedy
had never happened. I wish he had talked about it more because then, with his
many friend’s help and encouragement, he might still be here. Plain and simple,
depression sucks.
This is the third person I
have known that has taken their life by their own hand. The other two certainly
had depression issues. Unfortunately the un-deserved stigma of this illness
makes it difficult to discuss, even with your family and closest friends. I
have only talked about this with a few people and I would have rather taken an
ass beating than talk about my issues.
I wish my friend J. was still
here. If he were, I would squeeze his ass again. Maybe with both hands.
Miss you bud. I’ll be seeing
you….
