The last time I saw Chucky Patnaude was in 1970. Now that may sound strange since I really saw him just last summer at a reunion of the old South Providence Jewish Mafia, of which he was a reluctant, but proud member. I say reluctant, not because he wasn't Jewish, but because in spite of himself, he showed up and tried to partake in a gathering that included some of the world's most talkative, fun loving people he knew, present company included. He'd sit off to the side and listen, once an hour crack a smile and every 2 hours he'd let out a belly laugh at a good line much like the rest of us. He could still experience joy, ever so briefly. Even he was surprised at his ability to still laugh. But believe me, he could.

Over the last five years and forty phone calls from Los Angeles to Paris, France, I'd get him laughing hysterically and he in turn, me. He's say stop it, you're causing me pain from too much laughter. But I'd just keep on going because that's what I thought he needed more than anything. Laughter. We'd reminisce about the good old days prior to 1970. God, we could actually go back to 1955 when we both started off together in grammar school. We'd recall playing hockey on the frozen streets of South Providence, running behind cars and hitching a ride on those same car bumpers and laughing our way all the way up Warrington Street, bent at the knees, sliding on that hard packed ice, thinking that we were getting away with something special and ever so dangerous. And we'd recall starting the Smokers Anonymous club that we built between 2 garages with some old plywood and some canvas where we'd smoke until we threw up. In those days, you could buy a pack of Paxtons which came in a plastic box and leave them in the bushes overnight and if it rained, they wouldn't get wet. Thank God for small things. And we'd laugh like hell about the Gore sisters, 2 elderly teachers at Sackett Street School who reminded us of the witch in THE WIZARD OF OZ. And we laughed about the early skateboards we built out of plywood and metal wheels and how we'd skate up on Rt. 95 near Roger Williams park while it was still being built. And we'd laugh about skating on a little pond behind the Sackett Street playground that was more full of old tires and debris than it was ice. And we'd talk about girls and sports and music and friends and family and problems and then girls again. The girls liked Chucky then. He was a great looking kid with a quiet, but confident manner. He never said much, but when he did, it was always delivered with a dry wit that would make a wet climate jealous.