Michael Died

Over the weekend, I went up to San Francisco to look for a second office. I stopped by Michael’s place in San Leandro and left a note on his door with some banana bread from Sabinos. First, I dropped into Sabinos to see if anyone had seen him. Nick said, “I haven’t seen Michael for a few months… he was on an air tank.”

“Fuck,” I thought. I was like his daughter. We spent my 20s and 30s together at the gun range on Davis St. in San Leandro. He was the best marksmanship teacher the Bay Area could have ever asked for. He supported the San Leandro High School Marksmanship team and was an avid martial artist. He even trained with key figures in the Bruce Lee movement and was with Lee’s brother at the Aikido dojo on MacArthur in San Leandro after Bruce Lee’s death.

Michael studied with multiple grand masters and held a 5th-degree black belt. He was also an avid sailor and professional motorcycle racer.

He loved goodlooking women, and in his youth, he was known for always having a few scantily clad in bikinis on his sailboat.

He told me never to settle down, to live my life on my terms, and to get the fuck out of California before Newsom ate me alive.

Tonight, I found out that my close friend died, and his body had rotted for several days in his house. The woman who owns his property now didn’t even know he had a daughter. I’m not his biological daughter, but one night while drinking, he told me he had a daughter somewhere. The mother had contacted him a few years back to tell him. She was fully grown and an adult at that point, and he saw no point in reaching out.

His personal belongings are going to be given to me, and I will be giving Nikki and Maria of Sabinos a picture to put up of him when I return later this month.

I included a photo of myself tonight, taken a few moments after getting the call from Maria, his housekeeper. I don’t know what to think. I just know that perhaps I should arrange some sort of burial at sea since he preferred to sail.

I believe death leaves its mark on all our faces as we learn to grieve and cherish the memories we shared with these men.

Men that are like our fathers. The ones who appeared in our lives when we needed them most, offering a guiding hand.