A glimpse of the 80s- when the world lay at my feet, and I wasn't sure I'd live to see it.

Facebook- to those fond of Greek mythology- displays all the caprice of the ancient gods.

Today- a year and a half after anyone thought to tell me he'd died, nearly three after he actually did, the keepers of a longtime friend's Facebook page decided to grant my request to see it.

It was nice to see a couple of unidentified appearances I make in photos as he is recrafted, in death, by those who run the page. I was, at one point, one of his daughter's godfathers, pictured here at the christening (I'm the guy on the far right, ironically).

I am the first to admit I was a poor godfather. While his parents were married, there was nothing for me to do; after their divorce, mother and daughter moved to California and I fell off the radar and the Christmas card list (the daughter kindly found me and sent me one last year: I am still wrestling with what I can say, do, or be, that will be useful now that she is grown, married, and about to have her own child).

My friend and I parted ways, as has been the case with nearly all my Republican friends for a quarter-century, over LGBT rights. I resented his having tacked rightward, from being a pro-LBGT Republican legislator in the late 80s to the anti-LGBT marriage advocate a decade later, brandishing our friendship to the press as proof it was nothing personal. As Mrs Palin used to say, even she had a friend who was gay.

But he was a remarkable man, and I suppose that is why we all want to say we were present at the creation, and treasure the memory of when we were in the presence of squandered greatness.