Toast to Harry
A man we all loved just left us for that place, where heroes all gather for a victory lap after the race
His talents were many, his love knew no bounds, He accepted us all regardless of our pounds…Or our faults, or mistakes, our screw-ups, our regrets. He just looked us in our eyes and relieved us our debts.
Ah, that patriarch Harry, with his rich booming voice, a convertible white chariot was his vehicle of choice. A community walk with some neighborly talk, like a shepherd who was tending to his flock.
An LA City legend in sports on the beach, he had special gifts and he knew how to teach.
You realized the lesson he dispensed at the time, and you knew he meant business cuz his Bud Light never needed a lime.
At the warehouse of Gallo he would stockpile Cold Duck, rewarding the too serious with a guzzle of bad luck. The Harbor Room, The Shack, POW, La Marina, each gave him his glow, that PdR patina.
Café Milan is where he recently held court, but the Mayflower Ballroom served as his annual fort.
He was there when you hammered, he was there when you raced
He was the only fan there when the Oiler set was misplaced.
And Jane brought the balance, with her twinkling eyes she would greet
Jane was always there for him, she made him complete.
He didn’t need Gillis, Gillis needed him because
He never bragged about doing, that’s just who he was
And maybe he did them with a whisper of a buzz
But The Gillis without Harry is like a peach without its fuzz.