Well, there goes my career in politics.

This was taken in 1971 or 1972 at, I believe, Teddy’s birthday. That’s his home, I think.

Our birthdays were about a week and a half apart from each other—eleven days to be exact, my favorite number—which helped cement the feeling that we were "the most bestest buddies for ever and ever and nothing could ever, ever come betw . . .” (record scratching) But then my family moved to Oregon . . . (sad trombone song).

A year or so after we had moved to I-be-gone, I visited Teddy in Santa Ana and spent the night at his house. Not having any pajamas on me at the time, I slept in my skivvies, which that day happened to be white "superman underwear". Well, Teddy and his older brother John just laughed and laughed and laughed. No one in So Cal, at least no kid with any sense of sense of dignity, would be caught dead in such ugly things. Hell, you're just begging for a wedgie.

Teddy and John were, of course, wearing boxers, which is what I also wore before we moved to Woebegone, where I discovered that those rugged mountain men were wore tight-fitting Fruit of the Loom skivvies under their denim coveralls when they cut down trees.