This just out: Gabriel John Bradley of Tacoma, Wash.!

- - - -

From Trevor Bradley, Chef:

�we had our little gabriel john bradley on april 8th, which would seem bizarre as it appears your friends had their little bundle on the same day (Derek and Alexis and little Olivia.). any way, i guess little may not be the proper term for the kid he was 23” long and 9lb10oz. as of the 18th he was already 10lb6oz. that�s 12 oz in 10 days! the boy eats like dad and is definitely a boob man.�

Well Trevor, good news, indeed. Congrats to you and the little lady on the new arrival. May he grow up big and strong, and smart, and resilient, and coy, and cunning, and all that.

I�m touched with all the news of these new arrivals. “Cycle of life” kinda stuff. (“The Lion King” drumbeats and shit in my head.)

- - - -

About Trevor Bradley:

Man, this one goes way back to 1996, my first Alaskan summer. Trevor was a chef. I was a dishwasher. Respect had to be earned. Trevor, like myself, is a man of size, and let me tell you, he commanded that goddamn train kitchen with his girth, his voice, his tall tales and his famous marsala sauce.

One time, in an act of �take one for the team� heroism, Trevor had to �dive� for a skillet of prized marsala sauce, a near casualty of one of the train�s violent, random bumps and jerks. Legend is that he saved the sauce.

He could make this whistling/buzzing noise that would bum out the dramatic servers. He took no shit from them, either. It was war in that kitchen, and man, he put up one hell of a fight.

He was on another crew, so we didn�t know each other too well in the beginning of the summer. I subbed on his crew this one time, and a fast friendship was cemented. How�d I know we�d be brothers forever? Well, the guy broke a plate over his head and then autographed a shard of porcelin for me, �To: Aaron Draplin�one crazy sonofabitch�Trevor Bradley.� I was won over.

We�d hang in Anchorage, driving his Monte Carlo around, talkin� shit, eatin� lunch, revving the engine at stop lights and pondering the upcoming run�s salmon sauce. These were the salad days.

Trevor never came back after that summer. I managed to brave three more. We�d chat here and there, but for the last six/seven years, we hadn�t connected. And hell, the last time I heard his name was through a train friend of a train friend of a train friend saying something about how �he took his life� or something.

Not the Trevor I knew. No way in hell.

So I was diggin� though some shit a couple weeks back, and came across that cherished shard from almost a decade back. I got to thinkin� about my old friend, and did a couple Google searches and lo-and-behold, a number came up for Spokane.

I called, and got some young lady. �Uh, is Trevor there? From Alaskan summers on the train?� Turns out the man was sleeping, but his bride offered to wake him for me. What followed was a goodm hearty update and some warm wishes offered in both directions.

If I ever make it up to Spokane, you can bet yer ass I�ll be stopping in to see the Bradleys. Good shit.