Esquire, TFLAO, L.D., and Tom have been the closest of friends since the end of high school (also known as the beginning of real life).
“Esquire” acquired his title due to a penchant for talking like a lawyer, asking questions to which he already knew the answers.
The moniker “TFLAO” came about because of a claim to being The First, Last, And Only.
“L.D.” went simply by his first two initials, probably due to laziness.
Tom was “Tom.”
Soon after graduation, Esquire joined the Army. He didn’t actually “join” so much as he received a well worded letter from the president, requesting his immediate participation. This was 1972 and Vietnam was still the “go to” tropical travel destination for high school graduates.
At that time, Michigan was half a keg into the social experiment that lowered the drinking age from 21 to 18 — it failed, but that is another story.
On the eve of Esquire’s departure for all things military, the quartet met at a local Italian restaurant to quaff adult beverages, eat an excellent meal, and kick Esquire out into the surreal world of selective service. The date was March 15 — the Ides of March.
This was the date made famous by Shakespeare in the play Julius Caesar, when a soothsayer warns “Beware the Ides of March.” It was the day that Julius Caesar was assassinated by, among others, his best friend, Marcus Brutus.
It seemed appropriate that the Ides of March would mark this momentous occasion when three close friends would cast a fourth member into the waiting arms of war.
During the course of the evening beverages flowed, laughter swelled and the realities of what the next morning was going to bring started to sink in.
Fighting the inevitable rising of the sun and the hangover that was sure to follow, the four made a pact. Should Esquire find his way back home from war, the quartet would meet at the same Italian restaurant on the Ides of March, and toast his safe return and good fortune.
Esquire has always had a way of stumbling uphill and ending up better off than before. Thanks to struggling through a mandatory typing class in high school (Brandywine, by the way), the U.S. Army deemed Esquire too valuable to be cannon fodder (his words, not mine). He did not go to Vietnam. Instead, he received a NATO assignment as a company clerk in Germany and endured his entire enlistment while driving a Mercedes, acquiring a taste for German beer, and the only action he ever saw was the return slide on his typewriter.
Following Esquire’s return, the four kept their oath and met at the same Italian restaurant to renew their friendship and catch up on the recent past. In fact, they met again the next year, the year after that, and continue to meet to this day. However, it is no longer a single evening of fine Italian dining and a few elbows lifted in celebration. Time and opportunity have spread the quartet across this great land of ours.
Now, the four gather together in some exotic equidistant locale for an extended weekend of debauchery (age has dramatically redefined the terms “exotic” and “debauchery”).
Esquire’s revels in recounting how incredible each of the previous gatherings have been. By all accounts, that is true.
However, TFLAO, L.D., and Tom have been with Esquire through each episode, and they have noticed that the accuracy of his story telling tends to elongate, and his memories seem to be viewed through recreationally fogged lenses. However, each year rolls of film are processed (Esquire struggles with all things digital) and the pictures are added to the (currently) three volumes of photos that document each of the past escapades.
Oddly, as brief glimpses of moments in time, the pictures appear to back up Esquire’s fanciful memories. He likes to think of them as “proving his lies” (his words, not mine).
The four have found a way, regardless of distance, conflicts, or physical (or psychological) malady, to continue to reunite each Ides of March. This year, March 15 will mark the 45th anniversary of the pact, and 42 years of celebrating Esquire’s safe return — and there are pictures to prove it.

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.