My Friend, Pot

No, I'm not talking about weed. That's the nickname of my long-time global friend, Postoria Aguirre. Pot and I go way back. We met in the spring of 1972. I was a sophomore at Chicago Vocational School (now called Chicago Vocational Career Academy or CCVA) and he, a freshman at Bowen High, just up 87th street in the steel district of Chicago's south side.

It was the occasion at the Avalon Branch Library where I was holding a model car display and a naming contest of my latest scratch built model; an amphibious motor home, that we met and found we shared the same interest, building plastic model cars at the height of the muscle car era.
No two beings could be more different: Me, a tall lanky 2nd year high schooler, and Pot, a diminutive guy just out of eighth grade. We were the African American Mutt & Jeff. We bought and built models together. After he picked up on the RV skills, he made his own, and we'd convene on a Sunday afternoon with our finished models and compare features:

"Mine has a furnished bathroom and toilet, complete with working lid"

"Mine flushes!"

"I've got vinyl paper wood panel walls"

" I've got polished wood veneer"

" My running lights work'

" My turn signals flash!"

We expanded RV power train technology to extreme lengths. Pot dabbled in fuel cells/hybrids while I fiddled with turbines. Our brains were in the 21st century back in '73! Thankfully, our parents never had to worry about us. We were either deep in our workshops or at Stanton Hobbies on the northwest side. Or, we were working the MPC model car contest at the custom car shows that hit Mc Cormick Place each year. In general, being two years older, I felt responsible for making sure he'd come to no harm and be a positive influence, so I stayed well away from the teenage distractions of booze, drugs and bad decisions with girls. This was good for both of us, looking back on it.

Our work benches were a contrast in methods: Mine was a clutter of the current project, materials and tools (and you can still see that even today in my pics) while Pot's spot in his cellar (god, how I miss those!) was/is satellite room spotless. A place for everything and everything in it's place. With a nod to Pot, I do clean up, only to have the next project make more mess. Ah well, I still know where everything is unless the wife comes in cleans the bench.

We shared the heyday of Estes rocketry, flying in Jeffery Park next to CVS. We'd get ridicule from the other kids in the park for "talking like white boys" when we enthused over the last flight, speaking in techno-tongue with terms like "apogee" "chute deployment". Our most interesting experiment (and don't try this at home, kids!) was comparing a ground detonation of an M-80 cherry bomb to an air detonation. On the ground, the whole neighborhood knew what you were up to, and car alarms went off. In the air, we noted the flash at 800 feet and heard a small "crack" a few seconds later. Don't worry NAR, we won't be conducting tests like that again.

1974 came , and I passed on my associations in the modeling hobby to Pot, while I finished my ultimate expression of RV design , the XRV, prior to joining the Air Force. The XRV was a product of watching too much Gerry Andersen stuff. Thunderbirds and UFO figured much in its design and function. It was big and could fly. In theory anyway. It was so powerful that it wasn't allowed in most cities. So a smaller vehicle (hey, who knew I invented "dingies") stored in a rear compartment that only Lockheed could envy, was used for travel into town! The XRV got an award at the city wide district school trades exhibition for it's radical pearl and multicolor stenciled paint job I applied to it for my major in auto body/fender repair. I joined the Air Force that summer and we parted ways for a time. When my leave allowed, I visited with him. When my tours took me overseas and to foreign hobby stores, I made sure Pot got a rarity that I'd discover; a Revell BMW 318i, other things.

While I pursued an Air Force career, Pot's talents were not wasted. He got a scholarship to GMIT and later worked for Buick's design department. Among the first African Americans to do so. We've both traveled widely and kept in touch, finally landing in California. He in the Bay, I in the Southern California. He'll mount up on his motor bike and stop by on the way to major IPMS events. He never forgets a birthday and always calls me on mine. Two teens, now in our 50's. Always one thing in common. Our love of hobby. These hobbies have kept us out of life's pitfalls. We've led interesting lives. Our friendship will play out like Sponge Bob and Patrick, chuckling in the grave. Our friendship continues on to that day we're called home to the Lord's hobby store. And I'm sure we'll be comparing who makes the best wings for everyone..........

Here's to you, my best bud!