WESTMINSTER - Gino Bachik's daughter and son-in-law, Kim and Kevin Yamagiwa, called for me to come to St. Anthony North Hospital on Wednesday.

They said they were going to have Gino unplugged from the bags of liquid medicine flowing into his veins.

He has melanoma. His liver is dead and his kidneys are following suit. His arms from biceps to wrists are black and blue.

"He's shutting down," Kevin said.

So we did the only thing we could do, say "I love you" and that it was time to let go.

Then we sat back. And I told Kim and Kevin stories of Gino from way back, when we were kids in Pueblo and about the start of our friendship.

Gino liked to tell people: "We're brothers from different mothers."

He introduced me to people as his brother. I did the same when I introduced him.

He was born Oct. 19, 1950, 15 days after me.

Our friendship started when Gino's mom, Clara, decided to join a bowling league my mom, Alice, was in.

So she came over to the house and told Gino to wait on the porch with me.

"You like comics?" I asked.

He nodded yes. So I brought out a box and he went through them. Then he invited me to his house to look at his books.

The friendship became solid when we were playing pinball at the Bowl-o-Mat alley in Pueblo's Sunset Park.

Gino started rooting for me to beat the score. My pals had a different approach, far more competitive and more content to play against me than the machine.

Because our mothers bowled, they thought it would be a good idea if Gino and I learned. So we took up the sport.

Gino had an awkward delivery, throwing back-handed and very hard while snapping his head back. Bowling instructors weren't pleased.

When we were 13, we were in a state tournament. Gino won the singles title and carried me in doubles to the state championship.

Back when Brut and Hai Karate were putting teenagers in the bull's-eye of their advertisements, Gino did like every other guy.

He practically bathed in the stuff.

We were heading out one night and his dad, Harold, said something like "You smell like a bordello."

Harold tried the line again a week later. But Gino had a comeback.

"But dad, I'm supposed to smell that way," he said. "I'm just getting home."

Harold's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

Gino got married young, had two daughters and worked like a dog to support his family. He delivered furniture. Then he became a truck driver. He and his first wife divorced. So did he and his second.

He finally found a soulmate - the former Kathy Gibson, whom he called Kate.

They were shopping for groceries when they were first dating. And Harvest Moon played in the background music.

So he grabbed Kate and said, "Let's dance."

"We can't do that in here," she said.

"The hell we can't," he said, and danced with her in an aisle.

Kate died two years ago. And Gino went downhill.

Wednesday night, a nurse unplugged Gino and gave him a couple shots of morphine, which knocked him out more than any punch he'd ever taken.

He started snoring, finally looking like he was at peace.

It was time for us to keep quiet and let him rest for now until he gets his final rest.

Kim bent over Gino. She kissed him on the brow and washed his face with her tears.

"I love you, Dad," she said. "You'll always be in my heart."

Doctors said Gino is going to leave St. Anthony North Hospital the way he came in - toes up.

It's a sad end for such a standup guy.

massarog@RockyMountainNews.com or 303-954-5271

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