An old friend died today. He drank himself to death—not the fast way with two gallons of whiskey down in two hours and a plastic bag over the head and taped around the neck, but the slow way—two or three fifths a day for five months after a life of hard drinking. Twenty-five years ago, he was my friend in college. He was a writer, and his pieces appeared on National Public Television and in the Houston Chronicle. He was a publisher and a wounded war hero. He was the best raconteur I’ve encountered. Endlessly charming, entertaining, and infuriating, he was an incredible mixture of bravery and weakness. Have you seen a person drink himself to death? The skin turns bright, bright yellow. So do the whites of the eyes. The nails fall off and the hair falls out. Brilliant, shiny, plastic-like re
