Bob Thompson

Excerpt:

I met Bob Thompson on a sunny day aſter the rains in Seong Moy’s class and it was in the summer of our spring, in the summer of our summer and those were the days when no Black man was doing it or the Black men who were doing it had become so isolated they soon disappeared. Bob had the best smile and always seemed to have the most fun. Bob had so much fun that everyone around him began to have fun also. Remembering those times in the summer of our spring, though we were poor, those were the best times in our lives. In the spring of his walk, tall and sweatered, wooly and worn, it was the time when all young men dripped and splashed, loved Kline and de Kooning, sang praises to Jackson Pollock. Bob didn’t do it. Bob loved Ray Charles, Miles Davis, and Piero della Francesca, a strange toast salad. But it all tasted good because like Bob the ingredients were fresh, vibrating with life and filled his world; he overflowed with color. Identity never seemed to be his problem. 

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