"Bud" Bierscheid was the "Fonz." Indeed, he may be the model for that character. He wore a leather jacket and combed his curly, well-oiled, fire-red hair like Elvis. His irresistible smile lit up a room. His laugh was infectious. He liked fast cars, Harley-Davidsons, and living on the edge. He didn't like rules. I believe he considered himself a test pilot, stretching the envelope of LIFE on every flight. School couldn't hold his interest; he quit to join the Navy in our junior year. The Navy couldn't contain his flame; they cut him loose a year early--and on his terms. In Washington, during the mid 1960s, Bud and I rode Harleys together, worked together, and played together. His bike was hotter than mine. Not faster. It caught fire about every tenth time he started it. Bud said, "I gotta fix that," but he carried an extinguisher instead. Each of us tested the friendship, but even when we disagreed we called each other friend. I moved back to Montana in '69, and we lost touch; saw each other twice in 1980, then not a word for more than twenty years. Bud was diagnosed with cancer in 2002. Then living in Arizona, between autumn chemotherapy treatments, he made an arduous circuit back through Montana, saying his goodbyes to old friends. I asked him to stay, but he said, "Gotta keep moving." His sister, Claire (Class of '56,) phoned to tell me Bud, now legally Christopher Lloyd, passed away New Years Day 2003. He was a fine friend. By his loss, I am diminished. By his friendship, I am greater.
Joe White (1958)
"Bud" Bierscheid was the "Fonz." Indeed, he may be the model for that character. He wore a leather jacket and combed his curly, well-oiled, fire-red hair like Elvis. His irresistible smile lit up a room. His laugh was infectious. He liked fast cars, Harley-Davidsons, and living on the edge. He didn't like rules. I believe he considered himself a test pilot, stretching the envelope of LIFE on every flight. School couldn't hold his interest; he quit to join the Navy in our junior year. The Navy couldn't contain his flame; they cut him loose a year early--and on his terms. In Washington, during the mid 1960s, Bud and I rode Harleys together, worked together, and played together. His bike was hotter than mine. Not faster. It caught fire about every tenth time he started it. Bud said, "I gotta fix that," but he carried an extinguisher instead. Each of us tested the friendship, but even when we disagreed we called each other friend. I moved back to Montana in '69, and we lost touch; saw each other twice in 1980, then not a word for more than twenty years. Bud was diagnosed with cancer in 2002. Then living in Arizona, between autumn chemotherapy treatments, he made an arduous circuit back through Montana, saying his goodbyes to old friends. I asked him to stay, but he said, "Gotta keep moving." His sister, Claire (Class of '56,) phoned to tell me Bud, now legally Christopher Lloyd, passed away New Years Day 2003. He was a fine friend. By his loss, I am diminished. By his friendship, I am greater.