An even bigger event in the summer of ’72, was the difficult transition from 5th grade to sixth, from Katonah Elementary in Katonah, New York to Robert E. Bell Middle School is three towns away in the New York City suburb of Chappaqua. Leaving his friends and classmates behind was difficult, but at 11 years old, you go where your family goes. Like it or not.
The only constant he had was Baseball. He loved Baseball and was a Pitcher from the time he first learned to throw. He idolized a pitcher for the Oakland A’s, Jim “Catfish” Hunter. He would have grown a mustache just like Catfish, well if he had anything more than peach fuzz that is. It was funny how a New York Yankees fan all his life could be such a huge fan of a player on an opposing team. But there was something about “Catfish” that caught a young boy’s attention.
The Pitcher could not recall the first time he spoke to his soon-to-be Best Friend, but he was sure glad they did that fall. Who knows what pre-teens talked about in 1972? Surely it was not about girls as they would most assuredly dominate their thoughts and conversations a few years down the road. Was it about what Archie Bunker said on All in The Family Tuesday night, or other shows like The Walton’s, Sanford And Son, M*A*S*H, or reciting the entire skit from the latest episode of the British comedy Monty Python’s Flying Circus?
The Pitcher and The Best Friend only lived two miles from each other and rode the same bus to Robert E. Bell Middle School in the morning and afternoon. There was a shortcut through the woods on the massive Lady Gabriel Estate that separated them. It seemed only a mile as the crow flies that way, which was cool. But under no circumstances were you cutting through the woods in the dark of night. Only God knew what monsters lurked in the shadows ready to eat wayward children. Perhaps even the “Night Stalker” was prowling out there.
In no time it seemed, The Pitcher and the Best Friend were inseparable, exploring Lady Gabriel’s woods and traveling wherever their feet or bicycles would take them. Yes, even a stolen ten-speed bike got the Pitcher around until he trashed it. They spent time smoking their favorite cherry pipe tobacco and doing a little fishing in the Croton Reservoir which was within their radius of bike travel. Then there was always music, hanging out and listening for hours and hours to the likes of James Taylor and whatever top 40 hits were being spun on AM 77 Music Radio WABC in New York City.
A summer night of naiveté taught them a great lesson in the culinary arts. They learned quite quickly that a simple self-cooked meal of Uncle Ben’s converted rice and a can of Campbell’s mushroom soup does not sit well when chased with an entire bottle of 4 Roses bourbon. It was the first time either one of them had become inebriated, and the reorientation of their dinner through a series of retro peristalsis acts soon followed.
The Best Friend had become part of The Pitcher’s family. The Pitcher could never understand why The Best Friend wanted to spend time with such a simple family, one that The Pitcher tried to avoid as much as he could. The Best Friend was the reason The Pitcher spent as much time as he did with family, and later in life, he was thankful for that.
They somehow made it through the Middle School years and moved on to High School in 1975
The four years of High School seemed to fly by in the proverbial blur. There were many memories the Pitcher and the Best Friend made in those years, so many goods and some pain as well. Football and Basketball games for some reason brought out a sense of school spiritedness in them both. Especially when they had to chase down the Cheerleaders to buy tickets before Saturday’s big Football game.
On more than one occasion, The Pitcher and The Best Friend walked five miles home from Horace Greeley High School after a Basketball game close to midnight it seemed in the freezing cold with no feeling in their feet halfway into the journey, and the duration of the trip. With no feeling in their feet and legs, it seemed they were floating as they ran ten or twenty yards at a time to make up the distance a little faster before they were completely overcome with frostbite.
It was crazy, but they were being crazy together and that is all that mattered. Somehow, they made it home with all their digits intact and every little detail of their journey in the cold was burned into their memories forever to tell anybody who would listen.
As a freshman, The Pitcher earned a place on the starting rotation of the Junior Varsity team. My sophomore, Junior, and Senior years were spent as the Captain of the Varsity Baseball team. This all went to The Pitcher’s head, as he was hanging out with the older “In Crowd.” To his great delight, invites all the major parties every weekend as part of the package.
He foolishly left his Best Friend behind to pursue his “star status” and the party life.
Little did The Pitcher know, The Best Friend continued to root for The Pitcher even from afar. He never stopped being the Best Friend, it was not in his character to be anything but that to The Pitcher. In time, The Pitcher realized that true friends remain resolute through thick and thin, come hell or high water. The Best Friend was that friend, he had always been that friend, a foul-weather friend as they say, who always had The Pitcher’s back. Even when it was turned to him.
The Pitcher and The Best Friend where once again, inseparable.
Back were the days when all it took was a simple phone call; “wanna play some bane?” and the wheels were set in motion to go throw the black Master Tournament 150G Wham-O frisbee around for hours and hours. The two even came up with the nickname “frisbane” and “frisbane” whittled eventually down to just “bane”. It probably made perfect sense to the two high school kids in the late 1970s.
After High School, the two went on a crazy road trip from Chappaqua, New York to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The Best Friend needed to register for college. The Best Friend asked if he would like to go for a road trip and off, they went. Laughter, music, Monty Python’s Flying Circus style commentary on everything in sight or make-believe, the red clay of the South, and even a road sign for “Soft Shoulders.” Beach, irritating sand in the bathing suit, sunburn, an obnoxious barker at the dunking tank, and paying good money to see a “dangerous” nurse shark in a tank ruled the trip. Plenty of memories were made and the friendship flourished.
The Best Friend said goodbye to New York for good in the fall and went on to get married, have a son and earn an Engineering degree along the way. Probably not in that exact order but they happened all the same.
Even in the more recent years, The Best Friend has lived up to his moniker repeatedly through his many acts of kindness over the years. For instance, The Pitcher’s brother was on his way home to Florida after visiting his parents in Virginia. His car broke down in South Carolina, not too far from where The Best Friend lived. A Sunday evening phone call to The Best Friend, and he was on the spot to unselfishly lend a helping hand and offered him wonderful hospitality.
That was his way, it was always his way to go above and beyond.
A few years later in April of 2017, The Pitcher’s 90-year-old Father died. Without hesitation, The Best Friend said, “I’ll be there” and drove the 330 miles from South Carolina to Virginia for the funeral. It was right that he was there, he is, after all, part of the family. The Pitcher’s father thought the world of The Best Friend. As hard as it was for The Pitcher to grieve and say goodbye to his father, it was truly comforting to have The Best Friend there, as he always was, always the Best Friend.
In 2021, The Best Friend and The Pitcher have become sexagenarians. Years of distance, raising families, and wandering through life’s tangents, hurdles and triumphs have brought The Best Friend and The Pitcher to this place and time. If a book were to be written about the life and times of The Best Friend and The Pitcher, it can be said with absolute certainty that there would be no subsequent chapters of any great significance if chapter one was not written in 1972. Lord willing, The Best Friend and The Pitcher will reach the half-century mark of their friendship in 2022. They may be too old to run around to play “bane” as they did long ago.
I am reminded of a quote by Boston Red Sox Hall of Fame catcher Carlton Fisk. He was asked if he misses playing Baseball. He replied, “I don’t miss it at all…I miss being able to play.”
Well, I miss playing “Bane” with My Best Friend, and I miss being able to play it as well.
The Best Friend’s Name is Ray Ammarell. The saga continues to write itself; I hope for many years to come. Not everyone has been blessed to have such a Best Friend as Ray. I am thankful that I did and still do.
And who am I you may ask,
Well, I am The Pitcher.
Anyway, that’s the way I lived it.
