In Memory of Big John

A look back at my youth and the loss of a childhood friend.

Growing up in “Small Town, America” circa 1970s & 1980s was, in this writer’s opinion, a great time to grow up. The people seemed to be kinder, the cars were cooler, the girls were hotter, the music was better and childhood friendships were forever. One such friendship of mine was with an enormous kid named John.

In the summer of 1983 I turned sixteen. I had big glasses, big pointed cowboy boots, big hair, a bad complexion and a rust colored 1956 Chevy pickup. One day Big John and I were hanging out in his garage “Dojo” pretending we knew anything about martial arts. But what we mostly did was sweat, throw awkward kicks at each other, and make stupid chicken noises like our hero Bruce Lee. One time he accidentally broke my nose, but that’s a different story. At some point in our jackassery, we took a break to get something to drink in the kitchen. John’s mother, not a tiny person herself, was an intimidating lady who never seemed to fall for my charms. She always looked at me as if she knew I was up to something. I’ve got to say in all fairness, I usually was. This day, though, I wasn’t...Yet.

“Johnny?” she said as she walked passed me into the kitchen

“What are you boys doing today.”

“Nothing. Just working out and telling dirty jokes.” John replied

He could always make his mom laugh and roll her eyes with feigned exasperation.

She went on to explain that if we were to use my pickup to haul a trailer loaded with garbage, that was in the backyard, to the dump she would give us twenty dollars to split plus the ten dollar dump fee.

No sooner than we had left the house with said garbage laden trailer, we were coming up with a better plan.

Two hours later, after we had spent ALL of the money at the local arcade, we got back to Johns’ house.

“What were you thinking!” was the first thing we heard walking through the front door

“Ah, well...okay, John. I’ll call you later.” I said heading back out the front door

“Oh no you don’t, Mister!” she said

And with the mystical power all moms seemed to have, she magically made me turn around, come back in, close the door and take the tongue lashing we had coming.

“They can’t prove WE dumped the garbage on the side of the road.” John said with teenage incredulity and a “C’mon” smile

“Shut up, Johnny.” she spat

“This is what you two idiots are going to do…” she said and wagged that finger at us as if it were a bullwhip. And I swear, I think I felt it from five feet away.

She went on to explain how we were going to go back down to old Moore road and pick every scrap up and take it to the dump this time.

“But there’s a problem, Mom. We don’t have any more money.” John said.

“I called this idiot's dad.” she said pointing towards me.

“You two are to go to his real estate office. He’ll explain what to do when you get there.” she said and dismissed us with a huff.

It turned out that my uncle, who owned my dad’s office building, had a dump truck full of dirt that needed to be unloaded into the flower beds around the building. Three hours and a few burst blisters later, my uncle gave us a hundred dollars (he thought the whole thing was hilarious).

The following summer, John and I worked together bucking hay. He once caught a turkey by it’s neck through a fence while on a break after unloading in a barn. He couldn’t really do anything with it so he eventually had to let it go. Later on the other turkeys pecked it to death. I always felt bad about that.

Anyway, after that summer in 1984 I didn’t see much of Big John. I graduated the following year and joined the service. John moved away, back east somewhere, I heard.

I bumped in to his mother at the store years later and asked for his number. She said I was a bad influence and refused to give it to me. It wasn’t a huggy type of reunion.

I never spoke to my friend and fellow rascal again. He passed away some years back but he’ll always be alive in my memories and in my heart.