Mike McEvoy died last week, far too soon. He was a salesman for Hudson Printing in Salt Lake City and a good friend of mine for 20 years.
Often, Mike would show up in Carson City on a Tuesday. We’d meet at the Dairy Queen. I’d have a chocolate milkshake. Mike favored Snickers Blizzards.
We hammered out million-dollar contracts for Interactive Journals. I can still hear Mike saying, “Don, the price of 80-pound paper is going through the roof. And those fed regulations keep piling up.”
I’d say, “I don’t care. Quit your crying. What’s the number?” Mike would shoot his straw wrapper at my face. He was pretty good at that.
Mike was 20 years sober and darn proud of it. I was proud of him too. I knew it was not easy to stay sober on the road. I had failed a few times.
Contracts took 10 minutes. Stories about the Utah Jazz, golfing blunders, our kids, retirement plans and the old Andy Griffith Show took an hour.
Yesterday I went to the Dairy Queen and ordered a chocolate milkshake and a Snickers Blizzard. I sat across from the Blizzard.
I could hear Mike saying the price of paper was sky high.
It does not take a village