Scouty and Neil

After a mere ten months in Arizona, we were back in Glen Cove. But dad stayed sober for the next three years, and we didn't move away from Glen Cove until I was in college.

One of my first friends in eighth grade was named Scouty. He was as cool and confident as his nickname. His grandfather had given him that name when he was two. It fit and it stuck. Nobody ever called him Al.

Scouty called me the Deer from Kansas, even though I just arrived from Arizona. He had a knack for giving people nicknames that were appropriate and memorable. The Deer from Kansas was one of his few misses. It never caught on.

Near the end of the eighth grade, I broke my leg and was unable to play baseball that summer as I had planned. I was really looking forward to it, but had to wait another year to play in the Campanella League. The league was named after the great Dodger catcher who lived in Glen Cove in the 1950s. He was paralyzed in a tragic accident while driving in Glen Cove.

When I went to the first practice, there was Scouty. I hadn't seen much of him during our freshman year in high school, but we hit it off right away and became good friends again. Scouty was left-handed and was a natural to play first-base. He was a very good player. I was a decent right-fielder, but couldn't hit a lick. In two seasons I never got a hit, but it was so much fun just to be a part of a team. The past three years, whenever baseball season came around, we moved. This was the first time we were in one place long enough for me to join a team. I marveled at Scouty and his confidence and self-assurance, two traits I lacked.

Scouty and I remain friends to this day, even though I haven't spoken to him in two years, and haven't seen him since 1997. That's because of a bond that was forged beween us in 1968.

Scouty went to Emporia College in Kansas while I stayed in Glen Cove and attended Nassau Community College. My family couldn't afford to send me anywhere else. That year I worked in a supermarket deli about five miles from Glen Cove. I had a co-worker there named Don, who also attended Nassau. Don called me stupid and laughed at me, and I never once defended myself.

For some unfathomable reason, when the school year ended, I invited Don to go out with Scouty and me one night. In those days, it was legal for 18 year olds to drink in New York. We went out to a bar in Glen Cove, and Don started in on me right away, calling me stupid and other degrading names.

Scouty let this go on for about thirty minutes, and then he jumped Don in a doorway and knocked him to the ground and started pounding on him.

"Stop, Scotty, stop!" Don pleaded, "I'm sorry!"

"Don't say sorry to me, you jerk!" Scouty said, "Say it to Jerry. Right now!"

"Sorry, Jerry," Don mumbled insincerely.

Scouty glared at him. "I won't do it again," Don said with a little more conviction.

I took secret satisfaction that Don had called Scouty Scotty all night. This was a common error, but I thought, Now who's stupid, Donny boy?

Don got up, dusted himself off, and drove home. I never saw him again. Scouty and I drove to a diner to get something to eat.

"Thanks, Scouty," I said, "Don's been putting me down since I met him last fall."

"Why do you let him do it, Jerry?" Scouty asked, genuinely confused.

"I don't know, Scout," I said, "you guys bust my chops all the time."

Scouty looked at me and shook his head. "Jerry," he said, "there's a difference between busting chops and putting someone down. We're your friends. Don't you know we'd all go to the wall for you?"

Looking at what Scouty had just done for me, I saw that he was right.

Neil lived across the street from Scouty. They were friends since the second grade. I met Neil in my tenth grade biology class. We hit it off right away. We both had a goofy sense of humor and were always cracking each other up. Neil convinced me I had the confidence to do things I had never tried before. The first one was actually a disaster: trying out for the basketball team when we were sophomores. I had never played basketball on an organized team, and had no idea what I was doing. Neil had been on teams at the Boys' Club since he moved to Glen Cove eight years before.

Even though organized basketball was a debacle for me, this didn't keep Neil from continuing to encourage me.

At the end of our sophomore year, he said, "Jerry, you want to go out for cross-country in the fall?"

"Cross country?" I said with a blank look on my face, "what's that?"

Intrigued by Neil's explanation, I decided to give it a try. I was terrible but I liked it, and the coach didn't cut anybody. If someone wanted to run, he let him run. To letter in cross-country, runners had to place in the top five, or the coach could grant it to kids he felt worked hard. I didn't letter my junior year, but I did when I was a senior, thanks to the generosity of the coach and Neil's encouragement. It's the only letter I earned in high school.

At the end of our junior year, Neil was at it again.

"Jerry, you want to go caddying at Piping Rock?" Neil asked, referring to an exclusive country club a few miles away.

My father had started drinking again, and I needed a reason to get out of the house. Plus, at sixteen, I wanted my own way to earn money.

"Sure," I agreed, "what do I need to do?"

"Come to the club this weekend and Bob will explain everything," Neil said, referring to the caddy master.

I never joined a fraternity in college, but the friendships I forged caddying probably come as close to a fraternity as I've ever been. We formed a bond that, for many of us, has lasted decades. As young men, we drank too much and engaged in other dangerous behavior, but through the common bond of caddying we learned how to forge life-long friendships and took the first tentative steps toward manhood. Scouty was there, as well as Rich a friend I'd know since my freshman English class. I also met Cuddy, who has remained a life-long friend. Eddie was the smartest kid I had ever personally known. We remained a tight-knit group for many years. I'll always have Neil to thank for that through his suggestion to go caddying.

Scouty and Neil. Neil and Scouty. Two neighbors who showed me what true friendship means. I'm forever grateful.