(After posting this, I searched online for Kevin Harbst a.k.a. "Uncle Kev". I eventually found and contacted his stepson on Facebook who replied and informed me that Kevin Harbst died of a heart attack in 2007. He was 44. According to his stepson, I "captured the essence of the man and his life damn near perfectly".)
Here is another one from the binders from an Article and Essay class I took in Spring of 2002. Interesting to read where my mind was at when I was 24. (Note: Some slight grammatical edits made based on the professor's comments.)
I’ve never had many long-term friends. Most of my good friends last about three years before we go our separate ways. That was the case while I was in the military, and it will soon be the case again next year when I graduate college. All I am usually left with is many home addresses, email addresses, phone numbers, and hopes of hanging out with my friends again one day.
These hopes have become reality on several occasions. I have traveled long hours to visit friends in Savannah, Miami, and even Chicago. Many of my friends will also tell me when they are in the Tallahassee area, as several did during this year’s spring break. One of the more interesting trips I have taken was to Hattiesburg, Mississippi to visit an old army sergeant I call “Uncle Kev.”
The trip to Hattiesburg was not exactly easy. My truck began to overheat and I had to stop in a small Alabama town to let it cool. I also got lost trying to find Highway 98 in Mississippi. These problems added about an hour and a half to my expected four-hour drive.
“Hey Mike I didn’t think you were going to show,” Uncle Kev says as I exit the truck. It seems weird having him call me “Mike,” in the Army I was only known by my last name.
“Sorry I’m late. I had car trouble,” I reply. Uncle Kev’s place is a shabby little trailer on a Hattiesburg side road about five miles from Camp Shelby, where he is stationed now. If any more than one person lived in the trailer, it would be too small.
This was the first time I was able to hang out with Uncle Kev. Army fraternization rules stated sergeants and lower enlisted soldiers weren’t able to get together off duty. We always joked around while on duty, however. I knew finding him was a must when I was discharged.
“So Uncle Kev, how’s the hoggin’ here?” I ask as I entered the trailer.
“Hoggin’,” or picking up extraordinarily large women (450 lbs or larger) with the intent for sexual pleasure, was a favorite subject of Uncle Kev’s. He had supposedly written books on the subject.
“It’s not bad. These southern boys know how to feed their women. But I am having a problem getting them though that tiny doorway,” he replied.
Looking around, I could tell Uncle Kev was hurting financially. He slept on a mattress in the left corner of the trailer. Most of his possessions were in boxes filling up the entire right side of the residence.
For the rest of the night, as we caught up on lost time, Uncle Kev told me how he had gotten the shaft from his ex-wife in his recent divorce. She received their two kids and two of their three cars. He was left one car and a debt of over 40,000 dollars with no way to pay it off (nearly half of his army salary went to child support).
Uncle Kev also told me I was only the second person to visit him. His son had spent a weekend with him a year earlier. As the night continued, we drank some really cheap beer and listened to some songs from his extensive music collection (he had drawers full of tapes and boxes of records and CDs). “We better get some sleep, tomorrow we are going to the casino,” Uncle Kev warned me.
The next morning at 8:30 am, after Uncle Kev returned from his mandatory hour of physical training, we got ready and drove to Biloxi, about an hour from Hattiesburg. “I’m a regular there,” Uncle Kev told me, “we can eat and drink for free.” I wondered why someone so far in debt would frequent a casino.
We arrived at the Biloxi casino by 10:30. The situation was eerily Rain Man-esque, but unfortunately for Uncle Kev, I had no Dustin Hoffman-like abilities. He gave me half of his spending money, 150 dollars, to play the slot machines. I lost it all. He didn’t do much better. We totaled 300 dollars for six Heinekens and two lunches.
By about 3:00 we were on our way back to Hattiesburg. I fell asleep for most the trip. When I awoke, I asked Uncle Kev how long I had been out. “I don’t know, I was asleep too,” he joked. It may have not been a joke.
After shooting the breeze, listening to music, and drinking more cheap beer for yet another night, we went to sleep. The next morning, I packed my things and prepared for my drive home. Uncle Kev thanked me for visiting and wished me luck finding some good hogs in Tallahassee.
On my drive back I thought about Uncle Kev, feeling bad for him because of his financial situation and feeling even worse because he had very few people in his life. At the same time I was glad I was included in his small circle of friends. I only wish I could have helped.
