In the 1950's when I was attending St Elisabeth Elementary School in Van Nuys, I was an altar boy, and once in a while, I served mass with Mike LaRocque. Mike was a year younger, in my brother Jeff's class. We all struggled through Latin, Communion plates, lighting candles, and we laughed at the cassocks they made us wear. But we jumped through the hoops and graduated successfully from elementary school.
I went on to Notre Dame High School, Mike went onto Van Nuys. I don't know if anybody knows, but Mike also went on to be the president of the Avengers, one of the toughest gangs in the San Fernando Valley. I may not have to tell you this, but in those days, to be the president of a gang, you didn't get votes; if you were able to beat the shit out of every other member, then you were president. That is how tough Mike LaRocque was. (It also probably didn't hurt that he was smarter than any of the other guys in the Avengers). One night in high school, I ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, in the middle of an impending fight between rival gangs. I had no business being there and thought I was going to get beat up when Mike walked up, took me aside, and said, "How you doing?" I said, "Fine." He said, "What are you doing here?" I said, "I don't know." and he said, "See you later." He saved my butt, and I'd like to think it was somehow a good deed because we were altar boys together.
About seven or eight years ago, I reconnected with Mike when he came to an annual campout for the Caribou Club, which is actually a childhood group who sticks together, mostly because we can't find new friends, (Ha Ha). But we all had the chance to get to know Mike's family, Lynn, Joey, and Jackie.
We're all going to miss Mike: family man, Marine, workhorse, Avenger, and old friend.
Gene Meyer