I had a friend named Craig Dye. Somehow conversations with Craig usually turned to sex.
On the afternoon of Friday August 7, 1987, Craig took a flight to Miami for a week's vacation. He had written a memo to our supervisor, Miriam Chilton, some time before advising her of his vacation plans: that he would be out of the office from August 10 to August 14, 1987. The memo was rife with sexual references, detailing Craig's anticipated sexual activities in Miami. Miriam called Craig into her office and admonished him that the memo was offensive, inappropriate and unprofessional. She directed him to rewrite the memo. Funny thing, I've written a lot of memos to supervisors over the years -- I'm known as a serial memo writer, in fact -- but I have never been told that my memos were inappropriate, offensive or unprofessional. I have never been directed by a supervisor to rewrite a memo.
I remember the last time I saw Craig. We had lunch at The Shops, a mall in downtown Washington. It was early February 1992. A few months earlier I had gotten sacked by my employer, the law firm of Akin, Gump, Strauss, Hauer & Feld. The managing partner at the firm at that time was Larry Hoffman. I told Craig, in jest, that I was laid off. I said that "if Larry Hoffman got down on his knees" -- and Craig interrupted, "and gives you a blowjob?" -- I said, "no, Craig, if Larry Hoffman gets down on his knees and begs me to come back I might return to the firm."
In 1987 Craig and I worked together at Justice Roberts' old firm, Hogan & Hartson. On an unusually warm Saturday afternoon in early March 1987, Craig and I were working in an office suite that had only one window. I complained about the heat. Craig said, "Why don't you take your clothes off, Gary." I said, "If I did that Mary Jane wouldn't be able to keep her mind on her work -- for weeks."
In May 1990 Craig and I were having lunch. I said, "When are we going to go running together, Craig?" So he said, "The only reason you want to go running with me is that you want to see me in my shorts."
In September 1989 I had lunch with Craig, Mike Wilson, John Falk and another guy at the Cafe Mozart in DC. Craig, Mike and I worked, in the summer of 1987, for a supervisor named Miriam T. Chilton. Craig said that Miriam had moved to Boston. He added that Joel Dorrow, the computer tech, had also moved to Boston. I asked, "What is Joel doing in Boston?" Craig and Mike said in unison, "fucking Miriam." That was the problem with Mike Wilson. He never had a mind of his own. He's now a partner at a big-time law firm. He probably thinks like every other partner in the firm.
In late August 1987, at Tom MacIsaac's "going back to law school" dinner, someone asked if Craig was having desert. He said, "no, I'm watching my girlish figure." To which Daniel Cutler chimed in, "No, let US do that."
In about early March 1991 I telephoned Craig at home on a Saturday morning. It was just a friendly call. I hadn't talked to Craig in some time. I asked him how he spent his time. He said: "I work and I masturbate." He explained that he worked all day, and when he came home he masturbated. I said: "I did that twice when I was fifteen."
Craig was a freak. Mind you, he was a lovable freak, but he was a freak.