This is a few weeks late. I was committed to writing travel columns when he died. But I knew George Kennedy too long not to tell you about one of the most interesting and perplexing friends I’ve ever had.
My appearance is grim. I’m wearing a puce-colored robe over gray sweat pants with a blue and orange Bronco logo and a pink, Manley’s Cafe T-shirt. My feet are resplendent in fuzzy ankle socks, canary yellow. Dangling from my neck are glasses on a lanyard and a battery-powered reading light. My hair looks like I was electrocuted and lived.