If the fall doesn’t kill you…

I really don’t know how we didn’t end up in the hospital more often. We went up in the garage attic to get various musical instruments, and I somehow pulled a Buster Keaton style fall directly out of it. I’m quite sure you though I was dead. I landed on a pile of pipes or lumber on the concrete garage floor and somehow walked away mostly unharmed. I actually think I was more concerned with whatever I had in my hands. Ah to be young. If only I could recover so rapidly from such things today.

[Jerry’s additions]

I vividly remember this. You were holding my dad’s guitar and amp, and landed on a bunch of metal pipes. It was like you didn’t even want to use the stairs. Like you just decided the fastest way down from the attic was to turn around and just fall. It was also the same day that we were putting the new rim on the hoop and you jumped up and grabbed it before we had tightened the bolts on the pole and brought it down on yourself. It really is surprising that you didn’t find a way to end up in the hospital that day.

El Perro Teriblé

Probably the greatest film ever made. Filmed mostly on location at CASA DEL LOOPER. Utilizing 2 cameras with excellent directing and filmography. With me getting mocked for yelling Camera 1 ready and Nick taking long, unintentional, between take crotch shots, it was a film for the ages. Clocking in at roughly 18 minutes, it is epic in scale in comparison with other Spanish class films. Yet some how, most of us only spoke the minimum required lines. You had a ridiculous fake beard, Nick hopped around like a jumping bean, and I got a minor acid burn from the fake blood. True thespians we were, and dedicated to our craft.

[Jerry’s additions]

It’s amazing how much Spanish I *didn’t* learn in those three years. But man were those films fun to make! I think this was also the time me and someone decided we would jump off his deck into the pond, and when I turned around in mid-air to look back before I hit the water, all I saw was everyone else laughing. It was freaking cold.

The Clock Strikes 12…18…

Ah, the daring adventures of 2 high school kids on a mission to suck face. The route was familiar; quietly and out door or window to shed, down Birchview and across to the rail trail, down (7 mile?) while jumping in the ditch for every passing car. Our parents possible punishments and the laws of space and time went out the window as quickly as we did. No matter when we left, we always arrived @ 12:18. We could depart my house between 11:00 and 2:00am, and arrive at 12:18am. Whether I was dating Anna or just randomly making out with Renee, 12:18 was the set arrival time. We almost got caught REPEATEDLY, but always JUST GOT BY. We can look back and laugh and be thankful for that, and that our kids aren’t doing anything like that… that we know of.

[Jerry’s additions]

“Just got by” is an understatement I think. I can recall one time getting back to your place and as you were helping me back up through your window, your mom was up for some reason. You dropped me back outside and told your mom you were going to the bathroom (or something along those lines). And then that one green leather coat I had that basically got ruined when we got caught in the rain heading over there one night. Yeah, while I know my kids aren’t leaving the house and wandering the neighborhood in the middle of the night, I probably wouldn’t be all that mad if they were. But I’m also glad our house alarm dings whenever a door is opened!

Sometimes you need a little push

After being married to her for 20 years, it’s silly to look back at you, sitting in your room terrified to ask out this girl you though was hot. Especially because its hard to think of a Jerry without Lacey at this point. But we all know it happened. You, sitting on your bed terrified at the thought of rejection, occasionally pacing. Me alternatively doing pull-ups on your door frame to your closet and telling you to stop being a pussy about it. You finally gut-checked yourself and caved to the pressure and called her, pale faced and white knuckled, and the rest is history. It’s one of the very few times my pressure was a positive force instead of a stupid one.

[Jerry’s additions]

I’ve told this story on multiple occasions over the years. I simply cannot imagine my life had I not made that phone call.

Speaking of rewinding stuff…

How about the time we rode to the 3 on 3 tourney (Red Hacker or Gus Macker) in the back of your moms van I think? I think it was me, you, Steve, and Torrey…. You were trying to lock down all the lyrics to REM’s End of the World as we Know It. We probably listened to that song about a hundred times. We played OK, but did not get in the tournament, but we had a good damn time. I wonder if they have any age brackets in tournaments for 40+ year olds? I don’t think we would need your mom to drive anymore, but I’m definitely sure that’s great it starts with an earthquake, birds, and snakes, and airplanes; Lenny Bruce is not afraid.

[Jerry’s additions]

Whenever I mention Steve’s name in front of my mom, she immediate starts singing that song. I think we might have actually caused some damage to her on that trip (would explain a few other things). Yeah, we never made it far in those things, but it was always fun. Remember when I went for a dunk and that kid pushed me into the pole and I immediately went after him? You guys held me back, but in reality, my clothes weighed more than I did at the time and I probably would have regretted it. But he did look pretty scared when I turned around and took a step towards him, so that made me feel better! I’m sure they have over 40 brackets, but I think my balling days are long past. Between my back, knees, and achilles, it just sounds like a punishment.

What Melba Toast is packing…

Something that I don’t know if kids still do because all content is available for streaming. We watched a TON of movies at mostly your house, occasionally at my house & rarely at KV’s. Mostly because your house was so close to Lakeside & mine was close enough to Quick Video to make it easy. From Monty Python (all of them) thru Mallrats, An American Vampire in Brooklyn to Dazed & Confused, we watched classics & new releases & did random stuff in between like living room boxing, identifying cars by their headlights from your yard. We ate a ton of pizza and rewinded tapes to memorize lines. When we finished a movie it always went in the tape rewinder. BTW, what melba toast is packing right here, Alright, we got 411 positrac out back, 750 double pumper Eldelbrock intakes bored over 30, 11 to 1 pop-up pistons, two turbo jet 390 horsepower, we’re talking some fuckin muscle.

[Jerry’s additions]

Those boxing gloves were a terrible idea. But we certainly had fun beating the shit out of one another in my living room when my parents were gone! I totally miss Lakeside Market. Not working there so much, but walking down there to rent a movie and buy pop and tons of “penny” candy. Never forget – “Be kind. Rewind.”

Averill Park Balling

From that first summer onwards, we could be often found @ Averill Park. As soon as it was plowed in early Spring through Fall. From 2 on 2 tournaments with the Steinkas, Weave, and Big Dave Sinclair through the days of Blah & the younger guys like Joey, Tripp, etc. Although it became less frequent as we played other sports and got jobs, it was a sanctuary for wayward hoop dreams. We even helped Ron install benches there one year. Later we would sometimes rally in its familiarity before and after various mischief. Unfortunately, the last time I drove past it, it was no longer well cared for. Therefore, I will always have a mental snapshot circa summer 1995, with crowds of us, sitting on new wood benches, drinking 2 liters of Faygo and shooting for teams of who’s next.

[Jerry’s additions]

A sanctuary, indeed. I personally purchased and replaced more nets than I can count, as well as one of the backboards at one point. I would keep a push broom in my car to sweep off the court before we played so we wouldn’t slip and hurt ourselves. That stupid power line always got in the way though. Made it hard to launch full-court shots. Hell, once we were old enough to drive we would face our cars toward the court and turn on our headlights just to finish the game if it got too dark. Sometimes I miss those days. Over the last few years, they have redone much of that park. It’s nowhere near the same as when we were younger, but at least it’s in better shape now.

THE BEGINNING

  • 725 E. Price Rd.
  • 78 W. Dague Rd.
  • 27 Birchview Dr.

Prior to the summer of 1994 we had hung out a couple of times. However, we really starting hanging out a lot more while you stayed almost the whole summer at Vandenberg’s. your parents were building the house on Dague road, and I was staying over every 3-4 days. We played a ton of basketball, did a bunch of dumb shit, and generally enjoyed the summer. It was before Ron and Bev became ‘Nam and Bevi del Baño, the beginning of Flight and Willie, and to a lesser note Charlie Hustle. From then on we steadily did more together regardless of location. From those humble beginnings to world traveling, my how we’ve grown.

[Jerry’s additions]

I wouldn’t call it “building” but rather replacing the shitty, ugly green single-wide trailer with a much nicer modular home, but it did take most of the summer for them to build the solid foundation and whatnot. We did build the garage, however. In any case, allowed me to spend most of the summer at friends’ houses rather than the tiny camper my parents borrowed from a friend.

Adventures of Tom and Jerry

The following posts come from writings by Tom, given to Jerry for his 40th birthday, in a journal titled “My Best Friend Dr. Jerry Todd P.H.D.E.D” (Tom never remembers what my Doctorate is actually in or how to write my credentials).

These are the recollections and short stories of our friendship as told by Tom. Some will have edits by Jerry added after the posts, adding additional insights and/or clarification. New writings will be written by Jerry, taking over from 2021 onward, recapping any new adventures.

BTW, spelling and grammar are taking from the original writing. I tried not to fix anything along the way, as hard as that was.

Goodbye, Grandma

I’m not exactly sure how I feel right now. My grandmother had a stroke last week which put her in the ICU. They didn’t think she was going to make it through the night, and while she still had no motor functions, she began speaking again, and we were all hopeful she would recover. The next day, she had another stroke, and has pretty much been out of it since. They removed the feeding tubes a few days ago, so now we are all just waiting. The only people they will let see her are my father and step-mother, with whom she was living. Tonight, my step-mom called and asked if I would want to say goodbye to grandma over the speakerphone, since they won’t let anyone else in to see her. I wasn’t even sure what to say. How do you say goodbye to someone who had such an impact on your life? The most difficult part, I think, was telling her that it was OK for her to go now. That we will all be all right, and we don’t want her to suffer any longer. I haven’t been able to stop crying since I got off the phone.

I can’t help feeling upset. Pissed, rather, at all the people who are so self-centered that they can’t be bothered to even wear a freakin mask. Pissed that I can’t give her one last hug because we are still struggling through this pandemic. The thing that keeps making me cry, though, is remembering all the amazing time I spent with her growing up. The countless nights my sister and I slept over at her house. All the times she took me bowling. Picked me up from school to take me to get my allergy shot, then to Sports Cards Plus to buy me baseball cards. Watching her watch “her story” at 1pm during the summer while I played with marbles, followed the Tigers whenever they were on TV. Convincing her to go pick up a friend so they could stay with us, too. Riding in the back of the tiny little Dodge Omni. Watching her get hair permed. Setting the timer on her exercise bike and then running and hiding when it went off. Helping her pick vegetables from her garden, and grapes from her vines. Playing lawn darts with her (the real ones), then going into her screened-in tent to play Yahtzee when it was too hot to be inside. Sitting at the dining room table listening to Randy Travis with her, and singing Diggin up Bones as loudly as we could. I can remember her telling me the story of meeting my grandpa when he was on leave during World War II, and when he left, her turning to her sister and saying “I’m gonna marry that man.” I really could go on for days.

My step-mom said that when I started talking to her, she turned her head towards the phone. I stopped over to my dad’s house just a few weeks ago on my way back from dropping off some things to the landfill. Even with my mask on, she still recognized me and called me by the correct name. I can very clearly remember the last time I saw her mom, my great-grandmother, before she passed. She had no idea who I was. While I understood, it was still painful. I’m so thankful that the last time I saw her, she knew who I was, even without seeing my whole face. And I believe she knew exactly whose voice that was a few hours ago coming through the speaker.

Waiting for the call the last week has been rough. Saying goodbye and telling her it was OK for her to go was worse. Now I’m back to waiting and praying. Hopefully being able to tell her goodbye, even over speakerphone, will help make it easier when she does finally pass. I can’t stand to think that she is in pain, and while I would love to see her again, I don’t want her to suffer any longer. So, I hope that call comes soon. When it does, I’ll try to continue remembering all the wonderful times I had with her, and know that she’s with grandpa once again.