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A Friend’s Success Can’t Be Written Off

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In “Pulp Fiction,” John Travolta’s character has late-night designs on the boss’ sexy, coked-up wife. He instantly realizes that the moment represents a test of one’s character, and he must resist. Loyalty, he tells himself, is an important thing.

There are many tests of one’s character. Loyalty comes in many guises. For example, I am being tested right now in a most unexpected way.

J.R. Moehringer, a friend and former colleague in The Times’ Orange County office, has written a memoir. That in itself would be no big deal, assuming the book had tanked and people from coast to coast were making fun of him. But “The Tender Bar” has not tanked; it has soared.

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The reviews have been uniformly glowing. A major Hollywood producer has optioned it for six figures. The book is soaring so high and so quickly that I’m not sure I can handle it.

Therein lies the rub. As a friend, I should be reveling in his success. When a reviewer describes J.R.’s “hilarious stumblebum wisdom” and his “born raconteur’s ease,” shouldn’t my chest swell with pride? When the New York Times Book Review notes that “The Tender Bar” is a “beautiful, gravelly love letter ... a melancholy romance between a boy and a corner saloon that’s as smoky and heart-crackling as a Sinatra 78,” shouldn’t I say, “That’s my Moe!”

I want to be that kind of friend. I believe in my heart that I am. Or, perhaps, could someday become.

Do you have people at your workplace who are much more successful and talented than you? Are you always happy for them? Are you thrilled they got that promotion you wanted or the salary bump that you thought you deserved?

Does it bother you that you aren’t more magnanimous about their success?

I have a history of this.

Offhand, I can think of seven pretty good friends who have won Pulitzer Prizes. Four others have written significant books. The well of magnanimity is not bottomless.

Moehringer’s memoir is of a boy abandoned by his father but who finds guidance from the guys at the corner bar.

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Rats, why didn’t I think of that?

I had dinner with a friend last week, showed him Moehringer’s book and remarked on how utterly joyful I was at its success. After my 11th beer, my friend got the hint and said, “If he could write one, so could you.”

The next night at home, I jotted down possible memoir material. An early memory is of being baptized at 7 and the pastor coming to our house a few days before. I don’t recall a thing that was said, but he must have asked me about Jesus.

Yes, he’s that nice man from the Bible.

Within a week, Pastor Autrey dunked me in the baptismal well. I remember the moment of going under and coming up. Then, my dad and I went home.

I picked up Moehringer’s book and was at the part where he writes about his barroom baptism with guys named Bobo, Skeezix, Joey D and Smelly. I wadded up the sheet of paper I’d been writing on and threw it away. I made a mental note that if I had plans on writing a memoir, I should have gotten out of the house more often.

I bought “The Tender Bar” last week, with the rave reviews ringing in my ears. Yet, when the first 20 pages didn’t enthrall me, I felt a faint sense of relief.

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Of course, it was small of me but it meant I might not have to dig deep within myself, after all.

Alas, by page 75, the book had become a run-on of delightful re-creations and deft prose. It reads as fetchingly as Moe talked when he was in the newsroom.

So, the task remains: Rise to the occasion and celebrate his mastery and his success.

Mindful that he won a Pulitzer Prize five years ago and now has a hot book and potential movie deal -- and is only 40 years old -- I wonder if those are enough good things for him.

I think not. One of these late nights, I’m going to drop to my knees and ask God to continue to lavish incredible success upon Moe’s head.

When I do, I know I’ll feel so much better.

Dana Parsons can be reached at (714) 966-7821 or at dana.parsons@latimes.com. An archive of his recent columns is at www.latimes.com/parsons.

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