What the hell? You sure picked a fine time to leave. My best friend gone. Plans ruined.
I know we spent a lot more time together in those early years until things like work and family and other obligations got in the way, but that was about to change. Kids almost grown, retirement on the horizon — the promise of expendable time. There was a hint of what was to come the last time we talked: a murder mystery party, going out to dinner with Nancy and June, a lake trip next summer….
And that was just the beginning. After all, we still had jobs. Once working for a living became another memory, that’s when we’d kick it up. Maybe travel a bit. But, more likely, days filled sitting in your garage, reminiscing about all the crazy things we used to do in our younger years. And how awesome were the ’80s? Two curmudgeonly old men talking smack. Yeah, plans ruined.
For those who weren’t lucky enough to know Kevin Naretto, I’ll fill you in. He was the definition of a stand-up guy. Anyone who really knew him would sum him up the same way, no doubt. Someone who would go out of his way to help out if called upon. He was always there for me.
Kevin grew up on the north shore of Oahu, honing his skills as a top-notch surfer, witnessed during our Baja trips. He loved to talk about his hometown of Haleiwa: surfing the warm-water waves, serving drinks in restaurants while still in high school, getting harassed as well as protected by the locals. But he was also a native Santa Barbaran whose roots go back generations. He brought me into the families of both his mom and dad, where I was warmly welcomed. And I will always regard them as an extension of my own family.
Though Kevin and I both attended UC Santa Barbara around the same time, we didn’t meet until shortly after. From the beginning, something clicked, so we started hanging together more frequently. Shared interests definitely played a role. Ski trips to Mammoth or Tahoe in the winter, camping at Lake Nac in the summer. We even went in on a ski boat together. Anyone who’s ever owned a boat can vouch for the strength of the friendship based solely on the fact we survived. But even if we weren’t doing anything in particular, that didn’t matter. Kevin was funny, honest, and just felt comfortable being around.
At the time we met, he had recently purchased a house in Goleta. To be able to pull it off while earning his fire suppression contractor’s license was quite a coup. A testament to his fortitude. I was a building contractor so was able to lend a hand fixing it up, not necessarily to make it nicer, more out of necessity. Part of his plan included having roommates to help cover the mortgage; therefore, converting the dining room into an additional bedroom was a high priority. The only luxury item was installing a hot tub, but even that was procured secondhand. Over the years, numerous friends, or friends of friends, lived in that house, short- and long-term. And most remained in contact long after they moved on to various places around the world. Kevin was someone you didn’t want to lose.
The hectic lifestyle mixed in with occasional drama eventually wore him thin, and the “hotel” days came to an end. He married Nancy Farrell, and that turned out to be the best decision he ever made. This time, when we remodeled that same house, it was for a family in mind. Together they raised two lovely daughters, Katie and Sarah, whom he adored more than anything.
Kevin supported his family and community through Nargan Fire & Safety, the successful business he created alongside his father, Donnie, and was later joined by his brother, Matt. Throughout the years, the company has been known for offering fire safety classes to schools and private institutions. Many local schoolchildren will have fond memories of Kevin lighting fires in metal pans, the lucky few being able to smother the flames with fire extinguishers.
As you can gather, Kevin wasn’t big on change and was intensely loyal to those he cared about, diligent in his work, and reluctant to let go of possessions. As the family grew, it never occurred to him to move out of the only house he ever owned. When he wanted a refuge away from the female clan, well, it was fine enough to claim a small space in the garage. With a TV mounted to wall studs and a recliner plopped down on the concrete floor, it proved more than sufficient.
And it was napping in that chair where Kevin chose to leave this world. I’m glad for him. It’s just as the gambler said, “The best you can hope for is to die in your sleep.” I’m going to miss you, Kev.