Good-bye, Joe. I lost another friend to the death specter. One’s age truly shows when one’s friends begin dropping dead around one. The calls from home aren’t all about who is getting married any more, or who is having a baby, or who got a nice job recently. They are, “Guess who’s dead?”

Death is as common as gas and laughing, but we talk about it less. We’d rather save those contemplations until zero hour is upon us, or maybe go out accidentally and never waste a second of life worrying about it. Death ranks high on the list of things that people fear most. I believe it is in second place, directly under Public Speaking.

Joe’s passing was not as acceptable as the passing of my old-bird friends, Bill and Don, who went in their 80s and 90s. Joe was 58. Cancer got him and it came fast. He was diagnosed in October and gone in February.

I hate cancer. It kills you and deprives you of dying. It comes from beyond the body, mostly. If I’m going to die from a foreign element, I want it to be butter.

Joe Capone was a private and sensitive man. He sought treatment before telling his family, hoping to bring them good news. Thus he flew from his home in Sonoma back to his family in Philadelphia for Christmas and left relatives none the wiser. By the time we all found out in January, he had only weeks left and was not allowing company. His brother David flew out on a one-way ticket to be with him and Joe’s wife Jan.

It was a sad day for a lot of people. Joe Capone made friends easy. People liked his name, and he looked the part. Square-jawed, big smile, olive skin, jet-black hair combed back, lots of heys and yos in his speech patterns. Joe would make your acquaintance like he’s known you all his life. Everyone had the elephant question in their head. Some would ask it, while other simply wondered. “Any relation to Al?” Joe, with a glint for his friends, would reply, “You never know.”

As a salesman, that name secured him a lot of customers. He was Gino’s cousin. Gino’s mother is a Capone. She gives the same answer. Loretta is 90 and up at 4 a.m. every morning, living in Gino’s studio as he sleeps on a cot while he finishes remodeling her apartment next door. Gino called Chad and me with the news just over a week ago. I’ve known Joe for 35 years. Chad has known him for about five years. Gino included Chad in the call because Chad had developed great affection for Joe.

You see, it was Joe who invited Gino and me, about eight years ago, to join his group of 40 fishing buddies who meet for the weekend in their campers on the East Carson every opening day of fishing season. They call their group The Openers. They are hard-working blue collar guys, mostly from the Sacramento area, who love to fish, barbecue, build big fires, play horseshoes, and shoot a lot of bull.

Joe had been with them for like 20 years. He moved to California about 30 years ago from Philadelphia, shortly after I met Susan and moved to Benicia. Joe finally invited Gino and me into the fishing group, and a few years later, I was able to invite my loveable son-in-law Chad — Mr. Fisherman, Mr. Barbecue, Mr. Hard Worker and a real bull shooter.

Chad fell right in with the guys and knew a lot of them by name before the sun dropped. There are few humans as gregarious as Chad. He loves to strike up conversations with people, beer in hand, burgers on the grill, fish in the river. He enjoyed himself tremendously and thanked Joe over and over for the invitation.

Chad owned a trailer. Joe had to rent a wind-up camper each season. Chad always reserved a bunk for Joe, but Joe liked his own quarters. He preferred unfettered late-night bathroom journeys alone and outside.

Each year, everyone in The Openers group eagerly anticipated Joe Capone’s arrival. Guys would walk over to our section of the open forest. “Joe here yet?” Nope. Ten minutes later. “Joe here yet?” Then: “There he is!”

When Joe showed up, folks would flock around to greet him and shake hands. Joe never learned how to set up his camper, or back it into place, so the guys would take over setting things up while Joe passed out homemade cookies from his wife Jan.

Each year on Saturday night The Openers group gathers at the main fire pit at sunset. Everyone is given a souvenir of the year — a pin, a cozy, a shot glass with “Openers” engraved on it — and a plastic cup. That is followed by shots of Southern Comfort poured to every man. Then one of the old-timers will jump up on a stump and make a speech. The speech is always a hope for good fishing, a song called “Worry Be Gone,” and a toast to all the guys who have come before in their 60-year-old fishing tradition. Those who have passed on are called out by name. Cheers are frequent.

This year Joe Capone’s name will be included on that list. It will be a long tribute. There will be many cheers. It will be bittersweet. Good-bye, Joe.

Steve Gibbs teaches at Benicia High School and has written a weekly column for The Herald since 1985.

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