Word recently got to me that the man I’ve known longer than any human being on this Earth is moving a good bit closer.

He”ll settle soon in Phoenix, Ariz., which is a damn sight closer to my digs than Portland, Ore., where we first got acquainted in the seventh grade. Yep. That’s 64 years of uninterrupted friendship.

I want to hail this relationship in a brief tribute to the value of real friendships, not the fake friends one meets on our life journey, only to forget about them.

His name is Dennis. My parents moved us from Portland to the suburbs in the spring of 1962. My sisters and I thought our new house in the burbs was akin to Buckingham Palace. It was a modest split-level home that looked much like others on the street. Then the time came to enroll in our new school. It was in the middle of a school year, so I went from an elementary school to a junior high school.

Dennis and I met in our home room class on that first day. We’ve been best friends ever since.

Dennis and I have what one could call the real deal as friends. We’ve been through a lot together. We’ve had our ups and downs. The ups far outnumber the downs. We’ve always been there for each other. We went into the military the same year, 1968. I was inducted into the Army. D enlisted in the Coast Guard. I went to Vietnam to serve. So did he! Our paths came tantalizingly close to crossing in Da Nang. His ship docked there for a few hours, but he couldn’t get ashore long enough to look me up.

Dennis is a fellow whose friendship I cherish more with each passing year. We’re both long in the tooth these days. We’ve been throught tragedy, grief and mourning. Yet we’ve managed to come out clean.

Dennis provides me with the kind of friendship worthy of boasting about it. I believe I have done the same for him.

It’s the wee hours as I write this item. I’ll sign off by acknowledging what men our age should tell each other without flinching. I love this man.