By Joe Richard
Gainesville, it’s been a long time coming. We both knew it was going to happen. We’ve known each other for years now, always with the thought that, one day, our two lives would cease their parallel course and veer in wildly different directions. But at this moment of our nearing departure, I’d like to raise a toast to you and all you’ve come to represent to me.
Gainesville, you’ve been a real son-of-a-bitch. But I love you. We’ve had good times and bad times. You’ve been a dependable friend and a reliable crutch. You’ve been a jealous lover and a vicious monster. You’ve been a sage advisor and a snotty brat. You always wear black shirts and blue jeans. You always have a bike messenger bag full of tallboys. You always invite me to vegetarian potlucks even though I hate the food you make. You always want to ride your bike. You’re always awake. You’re always down for a beer on a Tuesday night.
Gainesville, do you remember that night when we stayed up till dawn listening to zydeco and drinking buckets of iced beer on my front porch, raging all night and planning our lives? Do you remember the spontaneous trips to the beach at five in the morning? Do you remember vandalizing that fraternity house? Do you remember that night on the roof of the Thomas Center? Do you remember when we occupied the Alumni Hall for justice? Do you remember that fist fight on New Year’s Eve? Do you remember when we made love in the middle of the afternoon and slept the rest of the day? Do you remember when you’d give me free coffee or pizza or beer in exchange for groceries? Do you remember strong-arming that Danish guy into leaving my brother’s girlfriend alone? Do you remember the insane poetry jams? Do you remember the Shamrock? Gainesville, Deja Brew lives on in our hearts.
So here’s to the road trips and the house parties. Here’s to arguing about Marx at Cuban restaurants. Here’s to Pabst Blue Ribbon (I still have the letter they sent me). Here’s to swimming in the pool in our underwear. Here’s to the CMC. Here’s to Crazy Greg. Here’s to sweaty summer nights and the drunken perfume of gardenias in the moonlight. Here’s to 3 a.m. booty calls. Here’s to nighttime union house visits. Here’s to the National Labor Relations Board. Here’s to Red Seder dinners. Here’s to the Suwannee River. Here’s to cold fried chicken (doused in hot sauce) with beer at the springs. Here’s to singing around backyard bonfires until late in the night. Here’s to the night they burned a couch in the middle of Third Ave. Here’s to the workers.
There are a few things you should always remember Gainesville. We’ve spent enough time together that I know some of your bad habits. Stay away from hard drugs. No one ever seriously expanded their consciousness through controlled substances. Don’t smoke weed every day. Biking will not bring down capitalism. Neither will dumpstering food or shopping at thrift stores. Don’t let your righteous anger and thirst for action blind you to reality on the ground. Study. Theorize. Fight. Study again. Fight again. Fight hard. Direct your struggle against those who have the power to change things. Go to meetings. Speak up in meetings. Join a movement. I don’t buy for a minute your bullshit about “not being a joiner.” Have no illusions about voting. Or the Democratic Party. Build a power base. Don’t be afraid to argue about politics. But don’t think you have all the answers. Have fun. Lots of it. Throw parties on weeknights. Never let school interfere with your education. If you graduate with a 4.0 GPA, you didn’t do enough activism. Leave the drama at the door. Sneak into apartment complex pools in the middle of the night. Have sex. Lots of it. But wear a fucking condom. Put yourself out there. Don’t take yourself too seriously. Learn how to cook. Read Neruda. Read Galeano. Read Marx. Read Lenin. Don’t be exclusive. Don’t be insulated. Create meaning wherever you go. Go to the beach. Go to protests. Learn public speaking. Get a job. But never work too hard for $8 an hour. Stand up for yourself. Stand up for your friends.
Always remember that a better world is possible. A world that is not scarred by hunger or fear or poverty or prejudice or the most horrific attacks on the dignity of human life. If you’ll stand with the immense majority of humankind in this fight for a better world, I’ll meet you farther on up the road. History is ours.
Tags: Gainesville • in the red