Spazz was one of my earliest friends. He lived in Lansdowne and on Saturday afternoons, we often enjoyed aiming our pea shooters at the passing cars on Lansdowne Avenue from our hiding place behind a hedge (the Hudson’s made a distinctive ‘ching’). We were good friends, willing partners in more than one episode of youthful mischief, but we were also rivals in some ways. We both had dreams and ambitions as athletes, and Spazz was always one step faster, a disadvantage for me, both in games and running away from angry Hudson drivers…
Spazz and I were classmates at Delco Christian in those early years. There was no formal Physical Education and our athletic expression evolved during unsupervised recess. At first, our games were cute and unchallenging, even involving the girls sometimes; but after moving on to Kill the Guy with the Ball, I began to notice his speed. I was happy for softball in the spring because I could hit the ball so far. It was always one step away from his reach.
There were other victories too. Sometimes, alone with my imagination, I would make the diving, last second catch in the end zone to win the Rose Bowl. If Mom ever knew about those heroics, she would be glad the living room furniture survived unscathed. Spazz could never have made that catch. He was fast and always determined, but, dammit, it was my living room.
After those early years as best buds, Spazz went to another school. We continued our Saturday visits for a while and had more great moments behind the hedge on Lansdowne Avenue. I’ll never forget his incredible shot off the front end of a Studebaker…
I continued my athletic career at Delco Christian through the ninth grade. Intramural softball was a spring tradition. I wonder if Spazz ever found out that I had become the only Knight ever, freshman or otherwise, to hit a softball over the carriage shed. Senior (and royal pain in the butt) Walter Bowman threw that pitch, an arching change up so low and away, I almost fell on my face pulling the ball to left field. It landed in the parking lot. I thought I had earned an automatic home run trot, but the left fielder (another upper-class snob) chased the ball down in the middle of the afternoon car pool traffic, hoping to make a play. Was there no respect? As I began circling the bases I could see the other fielders scrambling to set up for relay throws. Damned seniors. The umpire/English teacher could only shrug his shoulders in resignation when I looked his way. So I adjusted accordingly, increasing speed. With perfect timing, I safely touched home plate, one step ahead of the last relay throw, narrowly avoiding a collision with Mr. Gray…Spazz would have liked that.
Years later, Spazz was a starting tackle (both ways) at the Naval Academy, an active participant in the Army/Navy games, his name mentioned frequently by the TV announcers. Of course, I was the only one who called him Spazz, and I am proud to have been his friend. If he ever thinks of me these days and wonders about my athletic exploits at Delco Christian, I will be happy and flattered by his confidence that I probably did something very cool.
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SPAZZ
THE RAMBLERS
JIM GREENGRASS
THE INDIANS
THE PREACHER’S KID
THE KNIGHTS
PUBERTY
THE BULLDOGS