I Could Go To The Bathroom?

 Well, it's happened to me for the second time in my life. It was either a coincidence, or evidence of metaphysical activity from the Great Beyond.

I went to grade school with a boy named Ronnie Feuring. He was a nice kid, and had what they used to call a speech impediment. He got his words wrong -- instead of asking to use the bathroom, he would say, "I can go to the bathroom???!" Funny how I was about 6, and still recall this clearly.

They sent Ronnie to some kind of speech therapy, and it worked. By the end of our tenure at East Broadway -- he spoke just fine. I would see him over the years, but our paths diverged. I ended up on a more academic track, such as it existed in blue collar Levittown in the late 70s, and Ronnie, I think, went on a more vocational path -- likely something called BOCES, or Board of Cooperative Education Services. This was a program to train kids to become mechanics, or practical nurses. Many of them ended up with great jobs at places like Grumman, or Fairchild -- Long Island had serious industry back then.

I don't know that I saw Ronnie at all after junior high, though I have a glimmer of a memory we said goodbye our senior year of high school. Anyway -- I have certainly not spoken nor heard from him in over 4 decades.

And then -- last week -- his image popped into my brain. I guess it was triggered by our grandson -- just learning to talk -- and my mental file cabinet must have popped up about Ronnie. Or did it?

Yesterday I saw on FaceBook (tm) that Ronnie died last week -- 5 months before he turned 61. The obit didn't give much info -- but said he left a wife and 2 kids and lived in Sayville -- out in Suffolk County. Was Ronnie saying goodbye?

The first time this happened was back in 1980. I was a freshman at UM, and one day was awakening from a nap, and a strong image of a childhood friend came into my mind: Carl Berkowitz. Carl was a funny kid -- looked a bit, and had the schtick of Groucho Marx. In high school, he adopted as friends the jocks of the school -- he wasn't much good at sports, but became sort of their mascot. I think I last talked to him freshman year.

But there he was -- clear in my mind -- a memory of listening to records at his house -- we were probably 12 or so. His Dad worked for a record company, and would bring home demos -- I still have some of them, from groups like "The Purple Gang," and "Fat" -- they never became chart toppers.

Well -- later that week, my friend Eric called -- to tell me the big local news. Carl had drowned.  A group of his friends and he used to play ice hockey on a local pond. Carl was the goalie, and fell through the ice, and his pads filled with water, and he was dragged to the bottom. By the time they rescued him -- he was gone.

I shuddered at the news -- first to hear about a 19 year old dying, and then because he had come to visit me in some way.

Cue spooky music.

Well -- I'm sure there are explanations for these two events -- I just don't have any. I just hope Ronnie lived a full and happy life before he was taken.

Speaking of death -- my beloved Hurricanes. I finally went to see a game -- first time in nearly 2 years. We had a fine, albeit early tailgate -- Mike, Loni, Jeannine, and Chris, and Dr. Barry and his whole crew, and Norman and 2/3 of his fine sons. Freddy and his cousin Ivan stopped by. We drank, and ate bagels and breakfast meats, and enjoyed each other's company.

And then the game. The team may be the worst in the 42 years I've been a fan -- systemically bad. Oh well.

If I had to predict, Ronnie Feuring was probably a Jets fan. They stink, too, and I bet Ronnie's family would happily have him back to watch his horrid team.

Strange phenomena, these.