J. P. Patches

This morning, I got a text message from my brother, Jason. There were no words, just a picture from one of the front pages of The Seattle Times that read “Chris Wedes, 1928-2012: J. P. Patches, a treasure of Seattle childhood.”

“Fuck,” I thought. No, check that. I thought something much more profanity-laced, and longer than I am willing to type out. And while Elli was in the room with me when I got the message, I suddenly felt very alone. Part of my childhood—hell, probably one of the last and largest pieces of my childhood, to be honest—was dead. And that never feels very good. Especially when you have to explain who J. P. Patches is.

So rest in peace, Julius Pierpont Patches. I know I’ll drink one for you, my man, and I hope the rest of you will as well. Here’s to the man who was the man behind the man.

And, thanks, Jason, for passing the news along. While it sucks, it is still better to know.

(7/23/2012)