An ode to Lenny (Leonard C. Walden)

author : Long Hair David

It was late 1991 when I walked into Orca Books. Behind the counter was an older man, short man with gray hair, kind of heavy, dressed in working clothes, a little un-kept. Another man came out from behind the row of books, tall, with a bit of swagger to his walk, and he said in a boisterous way, "Watcha need?"

That was Lenny, and that was the first time I can remember meeting him. Lenny used to come by the Smithfield café once in awhile. He really didn't recognize me back then. It wasn't until well after I had been working the underground needle exchange, Olympia Aids Prevention Projects (OAPP), that he really knew who I was. In those years I could be found walking around with two big black bags over my shoulder. One was a book-bag with paperwork and stuff, and the other was a big camera case which contained the needles and sharps container for collecting and exchanging needles on the streets. Lenny would come up to me and say, "Long Hair, watcha got in that bag!" See, back then if you were in the know, you knew what I had in that bag, and Lenny knew what I was carrying, and that was his way of saying: I approve of what you're doing. Lenny was a very smart man, but he was the kind of man people would misunderstand. They wouldn't realize how intelligent he was. I think a lot of people never quite knew Lenny.

Years later here in Olympia when I was working for Books to Prisoners, Lenny would come up to me on the streets or into the back of Bulldog News and give me books. Lenny was a top-notch book scout (he forgot more about books then most young bookmen will ever know). He would come up with books he found at the free-box and at the Co-op, or he would stop by the 25-cent rack outside of Browsers Books. He would say, "Hey Long Hair! You wouldn't believe the great literature you can find on Browsers' 25-cent rack, look here." And he would pull out works of Faulkner or Richard Wright, and obscure things that I had never heard of, like W.E.B. Dubois. He would say you should send those guys some of this. In fact my very first book of Bukowski was a copy of Pulp Lenny gave me. You see, in those days I knew nothing about books, and it was from people like Lenny I started to learn about the world of books.

I used to run into Lenny often up at the Westside Co-op, and if you knew Lenny you would know that he struggled with the world of Alcoholism. Sometimes he would be drunk for weeks on end and would look like hell, but he never forgot who I was and would always come up to me and give me old Lenny-type hugs. Lenny was a big man and could have snapped a little guy like me in half. But he was a gentle giant, even when drunk he never ever in any way made me feel like we could or would hurt anyone.

Lenny knew I was in recovery and would apologize to me because he had relapsed again. I would tell him, "Lenny, it don't matter; drunk or sober you are still my friend."

Lenny was one of those men that had no problem telling another man that he loved him. He always told me that. "I love you Long Hair David." He always told me that, and I would tell him that I loved him too.

Sometimes Lenny would be quite sad and come up to me feeling the blues. He would say, "Long Hair I'm sorry," and he would say, "I fucked up again!" I would tell him, "Lenny, it don't matter, I still love you, you old freak." I told him many times: no matter what, you're still my friend.

The last time I remember seeing Lenny, he was out front of Last Word books. I think he introduced me to his family. I remember telling him, " You're my Lenny." Ya see, that's what I would tell him all the time. If you knew Lenny then you would know; to know Lenny was to love him. He was just that kind of guy. You could not help but love that old fart. And I really did.

I loved Lenny. He was my friend.

In loving memory,

Long Hair David