So, this morning Patrushka and I were sitting on the deck we built off the back of my pigpen, wondering where all the damn yellow jackets were coming from. It’s always like this in August, maybe for you, too.
Suddenly I had a mental picture of being ten years old, back home in San Francisco. Me and my best friend Peter Walters had just knocked down a big yellow jacket nest with a broomstick and we were laughing and running like hell was after us.
So then I thought, as I have many times before, whatever happened to Pete? We were really good friends, had a lot of city kid adventures together, but, when I was thirteen we moved to the suburbs and I never saw him again.
I’d like to find him, if I could. I’m curious about the arc of his life. We had a lot in common as kids, but I never met him on the beatnik-hippie trail I traveled in my youth, or further on either.
But how in the world do you find someone with a name as common as Peter Walters? I just checked on Facebook, there’s 194 of them listed. The only things I know for sure is that in 1954 he lived in the big house at the corner of 47th Avenue and Balboa. He had a couple of older sisters – teenagers who weren’t interested in us or our doings. I think his mother was named Rosa. He went to Lafayette Elementary school. And that’s about it.
OK, my amateur detective readers, what do you suggest? If it’s a good idea, I’ll do it and report what happens. Here’s his mug shot.