Happy Birthday, Mark

Mark Yeisley would have been 34 today.

It was on Mark’s birthday back in our Freshman year of college, that I had my one and only fight. I got the shit knocked out of me for calling some guy “Dick.” I thought that was really his name, and no I’m not making this up.

I knew Mark during High School, although he went to our “Rival” H.S. We had the same group of friends and saw each other alot on weekends. The memory of Mark Yeisley pouring vodka over cornflakes at 6am after partying all night is one that I’m sure is still whispered about in Some Circles. The memory of Mark Yeisley puking moments later is most assuredly whispered immediately after.

Every Thursday night during Freshman and Sophomore year at UF, we would have our “Thursday Night Soiree.” This consisted of between 5 and 7 of us getting together, drinking “mass quantities” of beer (including the ubiquitous beer-bong timetrials. .9 seconds, bitches).
We’d then engage in hours-long rounds of “Asshole,” with Mark and I surreptitiously (look it up) sliding cards to each other under the table so we could remain President and Vice President.

We also first experimented with hombrew in Mark’s hall closet. Four of us pitched in to buy the kit and the ingredients, then set it all up and left it to bubble and ferment in said closet. The smell was horrible. The beer wasn’t all that hot, either. But we certainly enjoyed drinking all 80 beers we had to drink in order to have bottles to bottle that stuff in. And the labels that Mark made up to put on the beer was hilarious. We called it HYML (one letter for each “investor”). Mark made a takeoff of the Budweiser beer label boasting of “our exclusive hall closet aging process which provides a smoothness and drinkability not found in any other homebrew.”

I first tried pot at Mark’s college apartment. Except he wouldn’t. He was convinced it would eliminate any chance of his getting into the FBI. I also took him to his first Metal concert, seeing Motley Crue on the Feelgood tour in Jacksonville. I also went to my first college football game with him in Gainesville.

After a couple years at UF, he transferred to FSU to be with his girlfriend, who was studying there. They had been together since High School. We gave him an immense amount of shit about it, but they were getting married so what could you do?

I last saw Mark after we had all graduated and I was visiting from Colombia. I stayed with my then-girlfriend at his (and wife’s) place in Tallahassee on our way to New Orleans for the Sugar Bowl. He said he was pulling for the ‘Noles. Fucker. Traitor. Ummm. FUCKER.

Mark died five years ago from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He and his wife had just finalized their divorce, and he was getting ready to go to Oklahoma to start a new job teaching at a University. I’m not sure which one. They found him with 5 bullets in his pocket. There was only one in the chamber before the trigger was pulled.

He had been drinking. Remember the Corn Flakes incident?

I remember thinking about his older brother, Warren. Warren and I had become friends after Mark had transferred to Tallahassee. I wished I had a way to contact him, and tell him how sorry I was. I remember thinking that I wouldn’t know how to begin to deal with something like that. Six weeks later, my oldest brother committed suicide.

I found out about it 2 days after his funeral. It was five miles from where I was living at the time. They scattered his ashes at one of the beaches we had gone swimming at. People didn’t really know I was back from Colombia at that time. I was told several people mentioned that I “should be here.”

I regret that.

I miss my friend.

Happy Birthday, Mark. Robble.