ABOUT ANTHONY
I once had a good buddy who went to high school and college with me. Tony was one of the smartest and colorful people I have ever known but was also one of the craziest people on the planet. I had a discussion the other day with another friend who had a problem with his old college roommate. It seemed as if they were having some serious issues and he was contemplating dropping the guy as a friend after many years of bickering and not seeing eye to eye. It brought to mind my relationship with Tony.
At one time, Tony was a fabulous football player. He wasn’t very tall, but he was as wide as a house. Solid muscle. When he was a senior, he was a top prospect as a college linebacker until he was injured in the New Brunswick game. I’ll never forget the sound of his leg-breaking while he was making a touchdown-saving tackle. It sounded like a large limb breaking off a tree. The injury was so severe that it ended his athletic career. Actually, it changed his life for good, and I don't think he ever got over it. The situation was heartbreaking, and I still feel his anguish.
While in high school, we were always competitors and friends. Even though he was a year ahead of me, we hung out and shared some interesting adventures. I was always a willing accomplice to all forms of mischief and off-the-wall escapades.
At one time, we worked together doing a form of marine construction. Back in those days, most beaches had swimming areas designated by tall pilings with ropes strung between them. The pilings were made of trees about twenty feet long and would usually need to be replaced every couple of years or so. The construction company we worked for was owned by the driver’s education teacher in our High school. He also happened to be the coach of the Jersey Sharks semi-pro football team. So he would always hire the biggest and brawniest ballplayers to work the beaches from Seaside North to Sea Bright. It was tough and dangerous work, but it was very macho, so we worked for slave wages. As a side benefit, we always looked good to the girls on the beach…
The work involved carrying the poles down the beach to the edge or in the water, laying out fire hoses to and from water pumps, removing old poles, and replacing them with new ones. The process involved using a water jet to dig a hole in the sand under the water to remove old or install new poles. We also wore Navy survivor suits for warmth and heavy truck chains around our waists to help us stabilize while we worked under the water. As I mentioned earlier, this was tough work. Most of the work was manual. No cranes or heavy equipment, and we would work with the tides. Many times twice a day, before and after school hours.
The poles weighed approximately four hundred pounds, and we learned how to carry them down the beach on our shoulders—several times one man one pole. First, to give you an idea of how strong we were. Removing an old, water-logged pole was a Herculean task. We would go underwater and wrap our chain around the base of the pole while the water jet was slid down the side of the pole, and we would lift the old pole in one or two tries. If we could remove the pole with one lift and walk it up the beach on our shoulders, we would get double pay for the beach. We were paid $5.00 each man per beach. Most of the time, the old poles were loaded with barnacles, and they were sharp like knife blades and would tear into our shoulders even though the survival suits.
One of the other dangers was getting sucked into a water jet hole. If you took a misstep, the jet would actually suck you in. It was like quicksand. You could die if you weren’t careful.
One day we were working in the north end of Long Branch, and Tony and I were racing down the beach with poles, and I decided to run my pole all the way in the ocean to where Jay was handling the water jet. Once it was in the water, the pole would float a bit, and I could stand it on end in the jet hole in one motion. A little dangerous time-saving trick I learned. As I jammed the pole in the jet hole, I went in with it. If Tony weren’t there to rescue me, I would not be here today.
I was sucked right in. The more I struggled, the deeper I went until I saw the cork float from my neck rope floating on the surface. I was stuck in the hole about three feet underwater and going deeper. Suddenly I saw a hand grab the cork. I thought I heard some yelling and suddenly I felt the water jet going down my back. The pressure of the jet and the tugging on the rope sent me flying in the air above the water just at the right time because I was about out of breath. I was like a guided missile. I’m sure I would have been lost had Tony not noticed I was missing and found the cork. He saved my life—no doubt about it.
After graduating college, Tony became a teacher and later went into the antique business. He opened an antique store in West End Long Branch called “Mother’s.” At the time, West End was a mini Greenwich Village. It was the center for the hippy, artsy, and music set for the shore area. He dealt mostly with old clothing, and he was noted for designing beautiful and one-of-a-kind coke spoons. His shop was next door to a jean shop called the Hoot. Hoot was an attorney whose relationship with the Hells Angels motorcycle gang was well known. Both stores were known as hangouts for the fast-track people around town. In the early days of Bruce Springsteen's popularity, his picture appeared on the cover of People magazine and was taken in front of the Hoot and Mother’s.
As the story goes, Tony became Bruce’s closest friend and was responsible for bringing Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band together. Also, Hoot became very active in representing Bruce in most of his NJ affairs.
Through the years, Tony became a very well-known guy in the shore area. Everybody involved in the shore music scene knew him.
Whenever I visited home, I would spend time with Tony. In his later years, his Antique business grew substantially. Aside from antiques, he dealt with all kinds of exotic collectibles. At one time, he came across three authentic antique cast iron gas street lamps that were beautiful and in super condition, and very valuable.
Another friend of ours had recently built a gorgeous seven million dollar home in Elberon, a block off the ocean. Tony tried to sell the lamp posts to Norman, who thought Tony was asking for too much. The posts were perfect for his long driveway, but both parties wouldn’t budge on price.
One night a group of the guys went out to our favorite pizza joint, and Tony fell ill. It seems as if nobody took him seriously. It turned out that he had an aneurysm, and Norman was the guy who took charge and, in reality, saved Tony’s life. He recognized the problem and became proactive.
Several months had passed, and I had one of my weekly discussions with Tony. He happened to mention that he had recently had discovered that Norman had saved his life during his episode, and he was wondering if there was something he could do for Norman in return. He asked what I thought. I told him first to thank Norman and then give him the lamposts as a gift. His reply was classic Tony. “Are you fucking crazy? My life ain’t worth that much”. End of discussion.
It seems that for years Tony and I would have a weekly argument about just about anything. I always enjoyed the back and forth, and most of the time, our discussions ended with Tony telling me to go fuck myself. Sometimes I would purposely take a position to piss him off. I would often put him on speakerphone so others could hear him ranting. Funny as hell.
The Sunday before he died, Carole and I were on the beach, and I got my call from Tony. He began to tell me that he had a dream about a guy named Dick Keller who was a year ahead of him and had played linebacker. He told me that he had gotten into a fight with Dicky and kicked his ass. I broke out laughing and told him Dicky would have pounded his fat ass into the ground. He went on a ten-minute rant and finally turned his anger to me. So I asked him how come he never picked a fight with me. That really set him off, and he told me he could always kick my ass but never wanted to because he never knew what I would do if he did. Well, the call lasted a few more minutes until he screamed into the phone, “the next time I see you, I’m going to kick your mother fucking ass,” and then he hung up. Carole and I were hysterical.
That was the last time we spoke.
This is just a sampling of my relationship with one of my closest buddies. What a character and colorful guy.
Tony had a rough life. He never got married. He was plagued with illness for many years. He was a bad diabetic and was nearly bedridden, and had serious vision problems. When he passed, he weighed over three hundred pounds.
He had a large funeral, and missing were Bruce Springsteen and Steve VanZandt. This will be a story for another time.
At the memorial, I told a few Anthony stories. I mentioned that if Anthony were looking down and saw the huge crowd that came to pay their respects, he probably would have wanted to die sooner.
