Sunset 81 at the Mount soundshell was a beauty in my books as it would be for many Mounties who were there to see Dave McCartney and his Pink Flamingos rising from a black gutter to a blue lady, followed by the far out and funky Dave Dobbyn and his DD Smash brothers, who had us all walking on the wild side.
So I went down to knock on their tent door, to send them on their way - and 34 years down the track one of them is finally leaving.
Craig Howen went on to live a very colourful life, out on the wing on the rugby field for the Mount, Arataki and Opotoki clubs, as he did off the field, on a wing and a prayer in his working career, managing one of my all- time literary giants Barry Crump, right up until Crumpy called it a day living up in Kaitemako here in Tauranga.
It was Craig who negotiated the deals with Toyota, locked and loaded the hugely successful Barry and Scotty 'bugger' ads and took hold of Crumpy's publishing company.
And more recently he turned his hand to developing large land blocks up in Patumahoe near Pukekohe.
Craig and I drifted apart a decade or so ago, maybe more, when I became what he would laughingly liken to a born-again Maori who gave up the grog and the grass. But our friendship stayed strong - such was our loyalty and love for and to each other.
So it was somewhat of a surprise when I got a call from Craig and Greg very late at night last week.
The banter picked up just where it had left off back in the day when I first met them both on Nobby Clarke's front lawn behind the Oceanside pub.
Eventually the korero turned to why they had called and that was to find out the meaning behind a Maori name that was somehow or other relevant to a project Craig was working on up around Patamahoe.
Given I was a bit blurry-eyed listening to their fear-and-loathing late night yarning, I said I would find out what the name meant and get back to them, something I intended to do this last week. Sadly, from way out of left field, the call came that Craig had been tragically killed by the bulldozer he was operating rolling on him as he worked on the whenua he was developing for a mate.
Perhaps that was the whenua name he was asking me about?
Tomorrow they will farewell 'a good keen man' - my good mate 'WeCan' as we affectionately called each other (because we believed we could do anything in this life).
It will be a who's who of the wicked, the wonderful and the wild side walkers gathered at the service in Tuakau.
I can't be there as I will be with my daughter's class camp on the East Coast, right where he and Crumpy first met in Te Whanau o Apanui territory.
It is something I know he will understand takes precedence, as it would for him with me if the tide was turned.
For all the good times we had WeCan, I will hold them close forever. As for the bad times, there were never any in our friendship - just a whole lotta love and laughter
Hang on a minute mate, I'll see you soon. We could, we should and we can.
broblack@xtra.co.nz
-Tommy Wilson is a best-selling author and local writer.
