I knew Mike’s work before I knew Mike. Back in my painful pre-teen year’s, at the end of the school year at Centerville Junior High, I’d get a yearbook, and I noticed that the illustrations were always by this guy named “Bohman.” The drawings, which always had a kind of medieval theme as our school mascot was the “Chargers,” had a very consistent style that I admired, especially since back then I was doing a lot of drawing myself. It wasn’t until a few years later that I met Mike in person, when we worked on the front end at Dick’s Market (he was a cashier, and I was the bagger loitering at the end of his checkstand). We became fast friends, thanks to common interests like drawing, girls, and a shared appreciation for oddball humor, and in the years to come the adventures piled up. As teens, they tended to involve a stuffed dummy with a paper mache head named Patsy (Python reference) that we’d strap to the top of my car. As adults, they’d involve packing a full sized couch into his truck bed for a double-date to the Redwood Drive-In, or scoring some amazing fireworks at a bar just over the Wyoming border on the way back from Yellowstone. After Mike got married, the hijinks slowed, especially once he moved his family down to Utah County, but as he’s pursued his career down south we’ve still made time to meet up at some crossroads for lunch to catch up—most recently at Midvale’s Thai Spoon. Like most illustrators, Mike evolved into digital platforms, but if you check out his stuff (www.mikebohman.com), it still has that consistent quality and style that I’ve always admired. I’ve always been a little jealous of friends who were able to stake out their career path early, and Mike was always one of those guys.
Jerry Seinfeld’s Netflix series, “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee” was one of the primary inspirations behind my Power Lunch project this year. The conversations Jerry has with his guests reminded me of the back and forth I’d have with my own friends, and for me, a quick portrait at lunch was a great way to immortalize it. But until getting together with my friend Ben, the car angle to remained untapped. I’ve probably known Ben for the better part of fifteen years, but our friendship really got up to speed thanks to two primary factors. One was our regular encounters at the gym; the other was our shared love of sushi. Ben and I were both part of a group that used to crash the old Gateway Happy Sumo (RIP) to take advantage of their VIP discount nights. It was quite the undertaking, with groups of up to 20 people at a time, but in spite of the chaos, some valuable friendships emerged. As the years went on and people went their ways, the numbers shrank to more modest numbers, but I can still count on a nice sushi outing with Ben when I can pull him away from his nursing duties (ask him about the “biceps incident” if you want an action-packed work story). When I told him about my project, he took things up a notch, and had me drive his blue Chevy Camaro as part of our itinerary. The meal itself was a little more elaborate than usual, too. We decided to hit up @fujisushi_ut in Centerville, and I wound up winning a gift certificate for the pictures I took of our order. Of course, the conversation was great as usual, and Ben remains one of the most singularly optimistic and supportive people I know. Conversations with Ben are always a self-esteem boost. Tack on his taste in food and cars (and yes, hairstyles), and you have a winning combination.
I’ve enjoyed a lot of good conversations over a lot of good meals this year, but when I think of Adam I think of a different kind of conversation. I’m not sure whether to call it a “curb conversation” or a “driveway conversation,” or even a “doorstep conversation,” but often my favorite interactions with Adam happen when we spot each other across the street and just start shooting the bull. Adam and I have been neighbors for almost five years now, but like many of the friends I’ve profiled over the last few months, we’ve been in close proximity for much longer. While I was growing up and attending Viewmont High School, Adam was in nearby West Bountiful, and attending Bountiful High School (If you’re familiar with South Davis County, you’ll recognize the irony). And where I wound up teaching English composition, Adam has built a career as a seminary teacher at West High, and now Skyline. Teaching is one of the topics that brings our conversations together, whether on my sidewalk, after a church basketball game, or at lunch, like the recent stop we made at Salt Lake’s Thai Archer, pictured here (one notable conversation took place at about 4am, as we watched the Gun Range Fire last month). But inevitably the discussion weaves through a series of topics, from pop culture to childhood hijinks, and always winds up in a meaningful and thoughtful place. Now that it’s getting colder, those talks will likely move indoors, but even once the snow comes, I’m sure I’ll see still Adam outside, plowing half the driveways in the neighborhood. For a long time I lived in neighborhoods where I barely knew the people next door to me. I’m glad that isn’t the case now.
