Aaron Clayton

Where do I start? Aaron Clayton was a man who made ridiculous amounts of stories and memories with so many people. Everyone who met him remembered him. I definitely remember when, where and everything else about the morning I met him. It was a morning that absolutely changed my life. I was living on 19th Ave and Judah in the early 2000s. I had been working as a bartender on Haight St. for far too long and woke up one morning staring my 30th birthday in the eye, no retirement, health care or anything else you start worrying about when you realize you are going to make it out of your 20s. A friend talked me into joining the IronWorkers Union and off I went. I started in what we call "the rod patch", doing rebar work on the Letterman Digital Arts Center in the Presidio in San Francisco. If you don't know about the rod patch just heed my warning, it is not for the faint of heart or anyone who wants to retire with a straight and pain free back. So right along my second week of me being a proud Union IronWorker, I climb on the 29 bus at sometime before 5:30am with my rod belt, hardhat and hangover and get comfortable. As I start to doze off, the bus driver stops at the next bus stop and I open my eyes to see this guy come half swaggering and half staggering down the center aisle. I thought I ought to keep an eye on him, he just had "that" kind of look to him. I could see something about me caught his attention and I could tell he was formulating a plan to accost me. And just like that he points to my belt and hardhat and asks "you an IronWorker?" and I cautiously admit that I was and then he cocks his head and gets a serious look on his face and enquired accusingly "Union?" and I emphatically state "damn right!". He immediately stood straight up, cracked that goofy grin that was always lurking just out of site, thrust out his hand for a shake and says "Good to meet ya brother, I'm Aaron Clayton". This is how it all started. I didn't know at that time where it would go, or that we would ever work together, drink together, live together and do so many other things together. I knew I had just met someone special, just not how special. Yet. It turns out that this enthusiastic wildman and my first real Union Brother lived only a block and a half from my place. A circumstance that would play a huge role in me getting out of the rod patch, becoming his apprentice on the Golden Gate Bridge, drinking booze with him about every free moment when not on said bridge and on and on and on. So many stories. So many jobs. So many bars. I dragged him out to Vegas to live and work with me. To see him terrorizing around that town on a scooter after work was something that instilled fear, pride and awe in all who witnessed it. He was there when my best friend from High School got sick and died. He stood by my side and helped me through an amazing amount of grief. I came back to SF, but he stayed out there in the shining toilet in the desert and worked his ass off. A few years later I wind up scoring a great two bedroom apartment on the corner of Haight and Ashbury for an amazingly ridiculous price. It wasn't my favorite location but it was definitely close to all my old stomping grounds. Aaron was living up in Sonoma County and commuting to the city everyday for work. I had the room and I knew he would jump at the chance, so for the second time in my life I called him up and offered him a place to stay. Great things happened at this place at the crossroads of stinky hippies and tourist hell. We started to kick ass. Work was going good, we were making money, we lived 77 paces from the front door of Club Deluxe and just a short walk farther to the Gold Cane. This fit in quite well with our lifestyle up to that date. We had good times, but there were others. It was at Club Deluxe that I walked in after work to find our lovely bartender in tears and Aaron sitting in the corner at the bar, staring deeply at his Jamesons. I asked what was up. He looked up and said "Bruce is dead. Motorcycle accident" I fell apart. Bruce Romero was another Brother IronWoker. An amazingly kind and wonderful friend. He and Aaron had been out the day before, riding around SF and hitting up a show at Thee Parkside. It was getting late and Bruce said his goodbyes. It seems on his way home he hit a slick spot up on Portola Drive and went down. They say he died instantly. We were devastated. Little did I know that I would hear these exact words that Aaron said to me again. Spoken exactly the same way, with the same pain and hurt only with a different name. Aaron's Dad had called me. He told me the exact thing, but it wasn't Bruce this time. Of all the cool and kickass things that happened at the Haight-Ashbury apartment. one definitely hits a high note, if not because of how it all started, for sure how it ended up. Aaron comes home one night and he has a young lady with him. I could tell they were having a good time and probably more than a little drunk. It was rambunctious and shenanigans and it turned out to be the beautiful and amazing woman that would become his Wife. It wasn't too long before he was planning and dreaming and the question was asked, on top of the Golden Gate Bridge, no less. For some strange reason she said yes. He asked me to be his Best Man. Not a chance in hell I would've missed that. I even had to go and meet with the Priest who was to perform the ceremony, he made me put my hand on the Bible and swear to the character of Aaron Clayton!!! There was no lightning, no instantaneous flash of fire and brimstone, but let me tell you, I was a little more than scared for my mortal soul at that moment. The wedding was absolutely the best. Good friends and family all gathered for the festivities. I made a complete ass of myself bawling like a baby when it was my turn to give a toast to the Bride and Groom. You see, that man has meant the world to me for so very long. He was happy and it felt so good to see it. I miss him.