"Weren't You Once Named Billy Bass?"

“Weren't You Once Called Billy Bass?”

Memory is a doggone funny thing. If I cared to, I could sit here tonight and describe to you, in detail, an event that happened a half-century ago. I could tell you the people that were involved, the events that transpired, perhaps even the taste of the food that was served. I might even recall the conversations and how the people looked on that particular day. But ask me what happened the day before that event? Or the week after? Or maybe just a few weeks ago? It's almost a certainty that I'd draw a total blank. The mental fog that hangs around and conceals most of our yesterdays is as thick and opaque as an ice-coated windshield in January. But every once in a while during our normal humdrum life something is said or someone makes a remark that will suddenly connect some wires in the old cortex and, voila, something that was totally gone is... suddenly... back again. The fog is lifted and the frost is scraped away.

When I was a boy of nine or ten I was fortunate to have been exposed to the wonderful organization called the Boy Scouts of America. I had a number of childhood friends that had joined and listening to their stories of what the organization was all about and how much fun they were having in it galvanized me into deciding to join also. One of those kids who was instrumental in suggesting that I might be interested in the Scouts was a kid named Rick.

And this story is mostly about him.

Rick was and is a contemporary of mine, give or take a few months. We were both children of a post-WWII America – early members of what was to be later called the Baby Boomers or the Boomer Generation. We'd attended the same primary school in the early grades then had both shifted to another elementary school for our last year or two. We'd both been Patrol Boys where we performed crossing guard duties for the kids coming to school. We wore white Sam Browne belts and had badges proclaiming our status as “Patrol Boy”. We even shared a trip to Cleveland to watch the Indians play baseball with dozens (or was it hundreds?) of other patrol boys one summer. Those were back in the Rocky Colavito days, so it was a pretty big thing for us.

We shared a lot of the same teachers in the old grade school down in the “not so good” part of town where we lived and then shared others in the “further uptown” school we ended attending. Later we went to the same high school, which wasn't surprising as there was only one in our town in those days. We became fast friends somewhere in that time period and Rick became so common a visitor to my family's house as to be almost considered a family member, as I was at his home. Our mothers conversed with each other frequently and each took turns swatting the other one's kid when conditions warranted it, which they often did.

To make a long story short, we hung around together. A lot.

Somewhere in that time period Rick joined the Boy Scouts. And sometime after, some months perhaps, I followed. Rick had already progressed up the ranks a bit by the time I became involved, so he became a bit of a mentor or teacher to me. He helped me learn my knots, learn the Scout Oath and Law and all the formal “book learning” that had to be assimilated to become a Scout and to progress up the ranks. I took my brand new Boy Scout manual and virtually inhaled it, learning all the arcane camping knowledge and other scout skills that were described and illustrated in it's venerable pages. It wasn't long before we were the same rank and began to help each other learning the more advanced things that were necessary to reach the highest ranks and to work with each other to earn the merit badges that were also crucial. We were both aiming for the highest award that you can earn in the Scouts, the Eagle Scout award which we both attained a couple years later.

During that time period Rick and I also were passing through the excruciating time of life known as puberty. Well, at least I remember it as being pretty painful. He was the first to discover that girls weren't at all the icky creatures that we thought they were as little kids. The first to discover that there might be something about girls that was very interesting. Or maybe a whole lot interesting. I was a bit further behind in the maturation process and my interest in the fairer sex would blossom later on.

In those years Rick also started becoming what would euphemistically be called a “wild child”. He experimented with alcohol and tobacco and found that he liked both of them. In his early and middle high school years he ran with a rougher crowd and got into trouble from time to time. I followed a bit in his steps then but only to a lesser degree.

Rick fell in love as a Junior in high school with a senior girl, quit school and married her. I lost track of him a little before that period. I'd heard he'd changed his name also. Maybe. Everything was rumors.

And Rick gradually faded into memory; not forgotten but put away on a shelf somewhere, to be, perhaps, dusted off and peered at sometime down the road.

Now, faithful reader, let's leave the wonderful world of the early '60's and move onward and forward. Let's wend our way through the '70's, '80's, '90's and oughts. In fact, let's jump clear up to today. And let's bring into the discussion one of the social miracles of this time and age – Facebook.

So I'm on the computer a month or two ago and I suddenly get a message on Facebook from someone who asked the oddest question. It queried, “Were you once known as Billy Bass?”

Now the answer to that question is yes and the origin of the moniker that used to be applied to me goes way, way back, but the number of people who might even know to ask the question are extremely limited. I can think of three or four, of which most are deceased. I looked at the name of the sender and it's familiar... kinda. The first name is Rick and that seems right for the fuzzy idea that's buzzing around in my head but the last name is... not correct with the first one. But... it might be. Something about a name change? The owner's picture is there but it's current and I recognized nothing about it.

I thought a bit about my hypothesis, then wrote back, “Did you used to have a different last name?”

His reply was in the affirmative and, suddenly, I was sure of who I was talking to. This had to be Rick, my old friend from my late-childhood-and-early-teen years. My old mentor, teacher, friend and near-brother from the distant past. Rick. I'll be damned if it wasn't Rick!

We messaged back and forth a bit on FB and I found out that he was back in our hometown on a visit right that moment. He was here with his wife and their motor-home, was right up the road in a campground close by and he wanted to get together and share some memories! Would I be interested?

I was bemused, flattered and enthusiastic. Of course I'd like to get together!

So a meeting was planned for the following Saturday at my house. A mutual friend of ours was contacted and was planning to attend but an emergency precluded that from happening.

So on Saturday afternoon an unfamiliar car pulled into my driveway, two people exited and approached me as my wife and I waited in the yard. I observed the couple as they drew nearer. Rick's wife Ginny was a petite lady, light-colored hair, a pretty face and a nice smile. I liked her immediately. Rick himself was a man of approximately my size with chestnut-colored-slightly-beginning-to-gray hair worn long with a ponytail, glasses and some facial hair. He looked slightly similar to the magician/comedian Penn Jillete from the team of Penn and Teller. (He'll probably hate this association.) He was dressed casually as I was and I saw a tattoo on his forearm.

We shook hands, introduced our wives to each other and adjourned to my living room.

And we talked. And talked and talked and talked. There was so much ground to cover, so much time since we'd seen each other. We jabbered on and on about our lives, children, homes, activities and families. We reminisced about our memories of our times together as kids and young adults, what we did, what happened, what happened then and what happened later on. And as we talked, many memories that I didn't even realize I still possessed came flooding back. Camping trips, our folks, brothers, girlfriends and other poignant memories from the days when Eisenhower was president, the moon landing was a decade in the future and life was both much, much easier and much, much harder depending on one's viewpoint and one's circumstance.

And all through the conversations and reminiscing I watched Rick and listened to Rick and began to see the Rick I remembered. He was still there. The gestures, the way he put words together, his inflections and the tone of his voice. And more and more I could see the good-looking tough kid that was imprinted in my memories. And after he left I could hear his voice echoing in my mind and the old Rick came booming in loud and clear. Yes, I said to myself. That's exactly how he sounded and that's exactly how he looked and that's exactly how he smiled and laughed and acted.

It was as if my memories of the teen-age Rick and my present views of the extant Rick were blending and melding and metamorphosing into the man who had stood before me shortly before. My brain had gone through a million computations and finally done the mental gymnastics which had interspersed the in-between Ricks from then until now. And at last he stood revealed in my mind, the 3.1 model Rick, the latest generation, the updated and improved model of the Rick from the old days.

And it was soooo, soooo cool!

I stopped in to visit with him and Ginny two days later in their marvelous motor-home at the campground north of our hometown. We visited some more and they shared their scrapbooks and memories of their many journeys in the motor-home They'd been, at least to my parochial eyes, almost everywhere and had seen so, so much. Especially since they'd retired and “hit the road” for many months of the year.

And it was comfortable and welcoming sitting in their cozy home on wheels and listening to their voices and listening to the soothing thrumming of the early autumnal rain as it beat on the steel roof above our heads.

And on that day and in that place I realized that my old friend, my old compadre from the long, long ago was back in my life.

And I smiled.

Beaches and Caches and Sharks, Oh My!

Beaches and Caches and Sharks, Oh My!

The fog-choked fields of corn and soybeans flowed past the side windows of the dark blue car as it slid southward through the last hour before dawn. The two people in the car sipped coffee and munched bacon-and-egg sandwiches as they watched the beckoning white line of the roadway disappearing in front of them into the fog and mist. They chatted companionably about the vacation that lay before them and together watched the miles tick off on the GPS which glowed in the darkness of the car's cabin.

It was the beginning of my wife and my annual vacation.

We had left our small Ohio town that morning some time before six am. Since it was the middle of September, there wouldn't be much light before an hour or hour-and-a-half had passed. That was OK. We were at last on our way and the occasional ground fog and the darkness only seemed to welcome the beginning steps of our daylong drive south.

We were approaching central Ohio on the interstate before dawn at last overtook us. The fog remained our companion for another hundred miles or so before it began to burn off south of Charleston and by the time we took a break near Beckley, West Virginia, it was gone and the sun shone brightly from a robin's egg blue sky. We'd been on the road 3 or 4 hours, but it was still morning, so we grabbed another breakfast sandwich and some OJ to keep the fires burning and continued on our way. The heavily forested mountains of West Virginia and the slice of Virginia we had to bisect soon passed and before long the mountains were fading behind us. Very soon the last sentinel of Pilot Mountain shrank away to nothing in the rear-view mirror.

Lunch was an IHOP in Winston-Salem, North Carolina and the period of sitting still was relished along with the sandwiches and soup we ate. Soon we were back on the road and wending our way south by southeast, the blood-red dirt of North Carolina blending into the flat, sandy expanses of the tidewater region as we finally approached our destination. Soon the Honda pulled into the parking lot of our beachfront hotel in North Myrtle Beach and we were checking in.

My lifelong friend Chuck and his wife Pam had agreed to share this vacation with us and were waiting for our call after we checked in and had unloaded our luggage. We went to their suite and chit-chatted for an hour or two with them before adjourning to a Chinese/Seafood place for supper. After getting a bellyful of food we returned to the hotel and not long afterward hit the bed. The day had started early, the night before was short and we were asleep almost immediately.

We awoke on Sunday and at once went to our balcony to admire the gorgeous view of the blue Atlantic and the stretch of beach that was to be ours for the next week. The sun-worshipers, beach strollers, surf fishermen and sand castle manufacturers were already busy at their endeavors. We watched the activity a while then adjourned to the hotel's free buffet for breakfast. After eating we drove around and attempted to buy tickets for the shows we wanted to see that week but, as it was Sunday, most places were closed that morning. We hit a grocery store for food to make for some of our breakfasts and lunches in our rooms, then returned to the hotel. Judy and I went caching that afternoon and added 6 or 7 and a new state to our totals, then went to Walmart to buy a new camera to replace the one I thought I'd left at home. I'd have sworn I'd packed it, but we could not find it either in our room, our luggage or the car. Lunch was at Sonic, then back to the hotel for some pool and lazy river time. The weather was resort brochure perfect with sunny blue skies and warm sea breezes. Supper was at a Myrtle Beach tradition, the K & W cafeteria, and their quality was top-notch as usual. We then returned to Chuck and Pam's room and helped prepare fishing tackle for our next-day's pier fishing trip.

Monday I arose early. After a quick breakfast at the hotel buffet I went metal detecting on the beach. The day was warming quickly and soon I was wiping sweat and sand fleas from my brow. The detecting was sparse and only a small number of coins were found along with numerous trash targets. After a cleanup in the room, Chuck and I went to buy our tickets for the shows we wanted to see later in the week. After a leisurely dip in the hotel's pool we lunched at a local's BBQ place we'd discovered where the food was good and quite inexpensive. In the mid-afternoon Chuck and I drove to the Cherry Grove Pier for some fishing. Don't know exactly why, but we had very little luck. Possibly due to the squid we were using for bait? We returned later that evening and fished until 10:00 and still got bupkis. Supper that night was at Joe's Crab Shack at Barefoot Landing where I enjoyed coconut shrimp, one of my favorites.

On Tuesday we cooked in our kitchenette for breakfast. Afterward we rode with our friends to a local mall and shopped a bit. We then drove to downtown Myrtle Beach and shopped the Gay Dolphin, a Myrtle Beach landmark, for souvenirs. Lunch was on the lovely new boardwalk that Myrtle Beach has built downtown. Back to the hotel for more pool time. Hit the beach afterward for more detecting and got some more coins and a toy car. Talked to a husband and wife who were digging a large hole in the sand. They were hunting shark teeth and were apparently getting some too. Nice couple. Talked to another lady who was strolling by about metal detecting. She was from New York and was very interested in the hobby. Supper was at a North Myrtle Beach gem, Hoskin's Restaurant. There seems to ALWAYS be a line to get into this place and the food was exceptional. They had the BEST peanut butter pie I believe I've ever eaten. Superb! Judy and I played miniature golf that evening after supper as the Grand Strand is the mecca for the sport and has some extraordinary courses.

Wednesday we breakfasted at the hotel's buffet again. Chuck and I strolled the beach afterward for a while looking for shells and shark teeth and, if truth be known, watching the latest bikini fashions as they strolled around. This day was also quite hot and there were LOTS of sun worshipers around. Judy and I went caching again later and found another 6-8. We ended up somewhere in the South Carolina hinterlands inland of the Inter-coastal Waterway for our last cache and had to use the GPS to head us back to the hotel. Ended up getting scratched up legs again from more briars searching for a cache. I MUST remember to wear long pants when doing this hobby no matter how hot it is! Relaxed a bit in our cool hotel room then dined again at K & W Cafeteria. We then went to the Carolina Opry. This was a high-energy show in a huge showroom showcasing mostly country music and corn-pone comedy. It was quite good and apparently quite a treat for those who appreciated country music more than I. They asked the veterans to stand in the audience and almost 80% of the men stood up. LOTS of vets there that night. A fun evening.

Thursday we had Chuck and Pam up to our room for some of my famous French Toast breakfast. We then split up where Judy and Pam went shopping and Chuck and I returned to the Cherry Grove Pier to again attempt to harvest some salt water fish. We used shrimp for bait this time and this seemed to be the ticket. We both got LOTS of bites and I was catching fish quite often albeit little guys. Mostly spots and one angel fish. I did catch an odd one toward the end, though. A longer, skinnier fish with an odd head. I, for some reason, identified it immediately as a Remora. These are the fishes that attach themselves to sharks and eat the scraps as the sharks feed. Shortly before landing the Remora I was glancing at the water below the pier and saw something that really excited me. I elbowed Chuck and pointed to the water. “Do you see what I see down there?” I asked him. He acknowledged that he did. Swimming right below us was, I swear, a shark that HAD to be 6 or 7 feet long! Two guys that were on the pier near us asked if we had seen the shark. They told us that was good news as the shark was there feeding and that meant there were lots of fish there! So the catching of the Remora was logical if there was a big shark nearby. It was chilling, however, to watch the big fish swimming within a hundred yards of the people frolicking in the water just off the beach.

That evening we went to the “Dino's TV Variety Show”. This was a show in a small venue that was a tribute to the old Dean Martin Golddiggers Show on TV back in the '60's. They had a number of performers who portrayed Dean and a number of his guests from the TV days, Sammy Davis Jr., Louis Armstrong, Phillis Diller, Carmen Miranda and Marilyn Monroe. The performers were all great and the show was amazing. A definite MUST SEE if you ever visit the area! We met the actors after the show and chatted with them on our way out of the lounge. Another fun evening for the folks from Ohio!

Friday was our only day of dismal weather for the week, being much colder with gray skies and spitting rain. Went to the Waffle House for breakfast to get a break from hotel food and stuff we'd cooked ourselves. Went coin-shooting on the nearly empty beach afterward and gleaned a few more coins. Only the hardy folk were seen inhabiting the strand that morning. Judy and I drove to the the big mall south of Myrtle Beach and walked around a bit. We lunched at the food court, then drove out to the site of the old Myrtle Beach Air Force Base. It closed many years ago but had a display of the airplanes that used to fly out of there and we walked around them and took some pictures. We fondly recalled our vacations of the past when we'd camped on the beach and watched those same planes flying in and out of the base over our heads. We returned to the hotel by driving through the downtown Myrtle Beach area and eyeballing all the changes that had taken place over the years since we'd started going there back in the early '70's. Much has changed but there is still the spot here and there that is still the same and they all brought back memories from years past. Supper that night was again at Hoskins Restaurant. I had an exceptional cream of crab soup, a fried oyster sandwich and another piece of that extraordinary peanut butter pie. I would soon pay for all the rich food I'd eaten that week. That evening and most of the following day I was “blessed” with a very queasy/aching stomach. But the meal was a good capper for the week. We returned to our rooms to pack and load the cars for our upcoming morning trip.

Saturday was again a trip began in the dark, driving the pre-dawn Carolina roads with a spitting rain; northbound this time. My stomach was VERY ouchy from my gustatory excesses and I placated it with Tums, Pepcid and very bland food. We grabbed another geocache on our way home near Fancy Gap, N.C. and another just over the border in Virginia giving us another 2 states to add to our caching statistics. Lunch was a Denny's in Wytheville, Virginia along with some much-cheaper-than-home gasoline. Arrived home at 6:15 pm and chatted with our son who'd stayed home this trip and watched the house and the dog in our absence. The missing camera we'd supposedly left at home was NOT there and we half-tore apart the house verifying that fact. We surmised that we'd possibly dropped it off the luggage trolley we'd used to ferry our bags to the room the previous Saturday when we'd arrived. Someone got an early Christmas present that day. Hit our own bed early that evening as I was exhausted.

So thus ends another excursion with yours truly and his better half. It was a good trip with good friends and, like most trips of that kind, it ended much too soon. I find I had grown inordinately fond of the sunshine, the sea breezes, the always friendly people of the South and the great food there. I loved waking to the sound of surf just outside our balcony door and enjoyed immensely sitting there and watching the squadrons of pelicans and sea gulls gliding through the warm air above the beaches and hotels. I enjoyed watching the antics of the sandpipers as they quested for tidbits in the surf and further enjoyed watching the bronzed sun-worshipers as they strolled the sandy beach.

Being where the land meets the sea and spending time there is both exhilarating and melancholy to me. Exhilarating because of all the reasons people throng to the shores and the mountains; to exhault in the holiday atmosphere that generally inhabits those areas and to lose some of the inhibitions that forever mark the everyday world. But also melancholy as this is the place where the land ends and the sea ends. It's a watery place and a windy place and it's a place for long views and long thoughts. It's the place that'll be there long, long after we're gone, where the waves will eternally crash against the land and will be eternally drawn back again. It's a place that suits me, I think. And it's a place that will call to me wherever I am and whatever I may be doing.

But if nothing else, it's a vacation place and it was great to see it again.