I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A HERO
An old friend of mine died a few months ago. To my regret, I hadn’t spoken to Richie for a few years, but I had thought about him often. Unfortunately, this is a common occurrence for people in our age group.
I first met Richie when I was fifteen years old after moving to Asbury Park, NJ, from Long Branch, NJ.
As a youth, I had become a hard case, and I had become a pretty tough kid. At fifteen my physique was that of a well-matured college ballplayer. Being 6'3", 225, I towered over my friends and had developed a chip on my shoulder. If you crossed me or pissed me off, you were in for big trouble. I had a short fuse and the what with to back it up. For a kid my age, I developed a terrible reputation. I often took on guys much older than myself and kicked their butts. I was never a bully, though.
Aside from my temperament, I continually created havoc with the mischief I always made. Trouble was my middle name. I was a handful and out of control most of the time. My older brothers even feared me, and I left my parents frustrated with my behavior.
One day in school, I was betrayed by another kid. He had squealed on me for playing hookey and shooting pool in the basement of the rectory of Saint Michaels Church. When I found out about his indiscretion, I belted him square in the nose. To this day, I have no remorse. The little punk deserved a good wallop.
The next day somebody called my folks and me to the principal’s office to discuss my disciplinary action. The message was loud and clear. I was no longer welcome at Long Branch High School, and either my folks enrolled me in a different school, or I would be sent to The Jamesburg home for boys. Jamesburg should have been the choice, but my parents opted for the first solution. Asbury Park High School became the lucky victim.
The following week I was transferred, and my family moved to Asbury Park.
Water seeks its own level. It didn’t take long for me to find a hang-out where fellas like me congregated. The Asbury Park YMCA was the place. Pool tables and all. One afternoon I found myself playing eight ball with a loud-mouthed cocky guy. He was not very good, but he played a good game of intimidation rather than skillful pool. He talked a good game, but that was it.
After a while, I won $8.00 from him. I asked for the money, and he told me he didn’t have any, but he would pay up the next day. With all his mouth, I thought this was pure bullshit. Then he said he was going to kick my ass. My fuse was lit. I grabbed my cue and whacked him on the side of his head. I knocked him out cold.
After I hit him, one of the other guys told me that I had made a big mistake because I had hit Richie King. Richie had a reputation much like mine. When Richie awoke, he propped himself up by the table and introduced himself. We left the Y walked over to one of his friend’s house to borrow the $8.00 in order to settle his debt with me. We were friends ever since and shared many adventures. Most of which ended up involved with the law.
Richie came from a large family. He had three brothers and two sisters. His dad owned a TV station in Newark, NJ. They lived in a rented farmhouse on an apple farm out in the country. They were not well off.
The TV station was not doing well, and his dad drank a little too much. The boys were known around town as hustlers, although Richie was also known as being a pretty tough kid. To their credit, they were a very close family.
After high school, we lost track of each other for several years. I had heard that the siblings were all in Florida, where they owned a small chain of jean shops in the Fort Lauderdale area. The oldest brother Bobby was also involved in selling time slots for a radio station. One day out of the blue, I tracked down Richie, and we renewed our friendship.
Soon after, their father passed away. There wasn’t much of an estate except he did have ownership of the Our Gang series. The program had very little value in those days.
Bobby, already with contacts in the entertainment industry, was approached by a promoter interested in reviving the Our Gang franchise. They put a package together and sold the idea to the various networks. This was the beginning of King World Productions. The thrust of the business was selling shows to TV networks.
Along the way, Bobby became friendly with Merv Griffin and ended up handling the promotion of Wheel of Fortune and Jeaprody for Merv’s company. Eventually King World owned both shows followed by Oprah and First Edition. When King World went public, the King family became super wealthy. Eventually Bobby left the group and the management of the company was handed over to the younger two brothers Roger and Michael. Richie was along for the ride. The family was worth near a billion dollars at that point. King World became a stock market darling pleasing many investors including myself.
Roger became the marketing face of the company while Michael brought the brains. Again, Richie stayed in the background and became the voice of reason between the two. The sisters remained inactive.
There was a third equation to the original meeting between Richie and me. The person Richie borrowed the $8.00 from. His name was Mike Corcione. Mike was the third musketeer and the third corner of the triangle.
Mike, Richie, and I became inseparable. We were the three toughest guys around. We would fight at the drop of a hat. I was the youngest of the group by a couple of years. What a threesome we were.
While I was off building my career and Richie with his brothers were creating their fortune, Mike was stuck in Asbury Park driving a bread truck for Tasty Cakes. Even though Mike married well and was intelligent, he was a hard-luck kind of guy. One of those people who couldn’t catch a break.
Over the years Mike became very ill. He contracted a congenital disease known as Adrenal Leuko Dystrophy. It is a horrible sickness. It required him to be hospitalized for the rest of his life.
I would travel from Georgia every couple of months to visit with Mike, and I watched him deteriorate with each visit. Whenever I left, poor Mike would look at me with his hollow eyes and start crying. I stayed in continual touch with his wife Joan and his son all through the remainder of his tortured life.
One day Joan was telling me that she had a meeting with a mutual friend, Hoot Slott who was a lawyer and a good friend of ours from high school football days. Hoot was of the opinion that Mike could be better cared for at home, and he thought it would be a good idea for us to make an effort towards that end. The only problem being that of funding the project.
Hoot and I contacted Richie and the three of us decided to meet at Richie’s Florida home to work out the details.
A week later Hoot and I arrived at Richie’s apartment building, the Kingsley Arms in Hillsboro Beach. Man, o man, Richie had certainly hit the big time. We spent the day talking about old times. Hoot and I were introduced to Richie’s new wife, his children, a few employees, his private chef, and some of his entourage. Very impressive. We spoke about all the people Richie knew from the business community and the entertainment industry. We discussed everything with the exception of Mike.
After dinner, Hoot, Richie, and I retired to the living room for a few drinks. The mood was very somber. Richie suddenly became philosophical and began discussing his life and his success. He turned to me and said he had a secret he wanted to make known, and it was time for the reveal.
He continued to tell us that with all his wealth and success, had it not been for his brothers’ talent and hard work, he’d be nothing. He went further and confessed that his real hero was me because I had succeeded on my own and with very little family support if any. Hoot and I remained speechless. What a compliment.
We were never successful in accomplishing any thing for Mike. He was too far gone but the effort was worthwhile. Had it not been for poor mike’s predicament, I would have never known how much Richie appreciated me and how far we both came in life.
Shortly after our meeting King World was sold to CBS for over two and a half billion dollars. At the time of Richie’s death he had become a billionaire and to think, I WAS HIS HERO.
Rest well Richie.
