The crowd was wowed as he grilled the meat,
  his stories of past derbies were hard to beat.
Dick proves that to have a real conversation
  takes skills not found in a formal education.

He can talk about anything, there is no taboo,
  and when you get his attention, he speaks exclusively to you.
Few can do this in a smooth, non-confrontational way,
  but my friend Dick is one, I’m fortunate to say.

I was the teen of a father who had recently receded
  when Dick became my mentor, the one I needed.
He always had time and spoke from the heart,
  and his stories often included a boob or fart.

We worked together at the family service station,
  wrenching on cars during his non-stop narration.
Talking for hours about life made the work fun.
  Dick Lemke was the man, my alpha one.

Then I moved away for school after my senior year,
  and Dick worked in the garage for the rest of his career.
Decades passed and we seldom saw each other;
  miles apart, he was like a lost older brother.

Dick calls us to the tent for a break in the day.
Sweet corn and brats are spread on the trailer buffet.
Juicy slices of cantaloupe make our pit meal complete.
Days spent with old demo friends are impossible to beat.

Mr. Lemke’s a man who shoots the shit well,
  his presence is still warm and major.
It was great reconnecting in the pits for a spell,
   he made me laugh, and feel like a teenager.