My friend Kevin Kelley

The bad thing about writing a column every two weeks instead of every week, as has been my case for about a year now, is sometimes when I want to comment on something, it’s too late when I finally get my chance.

It’s been two weeks since my close friend Kevin Kelley died suddenly at age 61, but I’m actually sort of glad I didn’t have a chance to write a column about Kevin earlier, because I would have been way too rawly emotional about how I felt about Kevin. I might have embarrassed myself. I still may, so please forgive me if I do.

Kevin and I were close friends for more than 30 years. Kevin took me under his wing when I moved to the Imperial Valley. Kevin was working at the El Centro Chamber of Commerce, and I think he wanted to show me the Valley from the perspective of an intelligent native who loved the place deeply. Kevin knew I had a strong affection for the Valley from the moment I moved here, so we bonded over that.

We played basketball and golfed together often in those early years. But mostly we talked. And Kevin, now that man could spin a yarn. He told stories about locals and others, some famous, he’d met in his life’s journey. Kevin told fascinating stories about his writing mentor while he was at the University of Southern California, the famed novelist T.C. Boyle. Many of Kevin’s stories, well, let’s just say I couldn’t share those stories here. But they were funny as hell.

That’s because Kevin, publicly most known in the Valley as the longtime head of the Imperial Irrigation District, essentially was an artist. Anyone who ever saw him play piano, with his inspired improvisational jazz runs, knew he had an artist’s heart. Kevin was a guest at my 60th birthday party two years ago, and I asked him to play piano. After some prodding, Kevin played. Soon many of those at the party, which was being staged outside, moved to the living room, where Kevin was thrilling party-goers by doing the brilliant things Kevin always did on the piano.

Kevin also was a gifted writer, of short stories, essays and various other writing forms. His short stories were brilliant, full of longing and love and despair. A few years ago, after I’d started having some success in screenwriting, I ran into Kevin in a coffee shop. Kevin said to me, over and over, “You always had it,” but the truth is Kevin was a better writer than I’ll ever be. He had more gifts, more innate talent.

While I was editor at this newspaper, the then-publisher, who often did stupid, rash things, told me he’d decided to bring in Kevin as our editorial page editor. I think he thought I was going to be angry, as he’d again done something affecting my department without consulting me. But I told him I was great with it, because Kevin was a wondrous writer with a concerned, deeply informed native’s grasp of local issues. What I didn’t tell him was I would be overjoyed just to have my buddy Kevin and his toothy grin around.

Months into Kevin’s tenure, a reporter who’d become volatile started screaming insults about me, various other people, and at Kevin. After I’d heard enough, I approached the much-younger, much-larger reporter and told him now I going to beat his ass. I had to be pulled away by others before I did just that.

Kevin, more a diplomat than I ever could be, later said if I’d done what I did to defend his honor, I hadn’t needed to. I, often a hothead in those days, insisted I did.

That incident was a major factor in me losing my job as editor a few months later. I don’t regret it a bit, because I stood up for what was right.

And I stood up for a person I loved, my true friend Kevin Kelly.