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Majoring in sculpture, Jay Johnston went to the same college I did, The University of the Arts. We then became roommates and worked for the same housepainting boss. When Jay got married to Emma in 1997, I was one of maybe four guests, not including Jay's parents. The minimal ceremony was performed at Tapas, where Emma worked, then we all went to Dirty Frank's for our usual cheap beer, though the bar did cough up a bottom shelf bottle of champagne in honor of the newlyweds. Emma was from Spain and had been in the US for maybe three years. I remember her standing at the bar, saying, "I can't believe I'm married! I've always said I'd never get married!" Wearing a tank top, a fat biker (whose name I can no longer recall) came over to congratulate Emma, but he freaked out Jay's mom a bit when he started to talk to her in his slobbering way.

A year after the birth of their first child, Jay and Emma moved from Philly to Emma's hometown, Zaragoza, and though they divorced later, Jay decided to stay in Spain. Today, he brought his two boys to Philly. Jay said the situation in Spain is very bad, of course, with four out of ten households with no one working, and there's regular news about people committing suicides from economic despair, but Jay is so used to the saner, more community-oriented way of life in Spain, he'd not come back here. His boys, though, were thoroughly enjoying their US trip. Eric, 14, said, "We don't have Dunkin Donuts or Starbucks where we live." Also, "Before I came, I thought every American was fat, but it is not true, not every American is fat."

In Spain, Jay survives by teaching English, but that type of work has become scarcer, so last year, he rented out a kitchen in an Irish bar, where he served proper lunches, without success, before switching to hamburgers and hot dogs, "During football season, during the Champions League, I'd do OK, and once a year, there are all these US Air Force guys who show up, and suddenly I'd be serving 50 burgers a day, but the rest of the time, I'd be standing there for hours with nothing to do, just drinking my beer. The Spanish come to the bar to watch the Champions League because most of them don't have satellite TV."

Jay's drawing is from 1996 or so, and I've written about our desperately artsy, drunken days in this piece, "Post-Hotdog, Sober, Mr. Lee". Below is Jay's kids, Pablo and Eric. Pablo, 16, is on a waiting list to get into a trade school. The youth unemployment rate in Spain is over 55%.

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