I Remember Freddy

 

I Remember Freddy

As far back as I can remember in Northport, there was Freddy Piercey. He was very much his own character, a fixture…..even in those early days at Ocean Avenue School, marching to his own drum and mostly rejecting the rules of establishment. A free spirit, challenging order and trying, as he did to fit in, where he could. As a Northport kid, he was welcome at most any gathering, be it a baseball game, birthday party or impromptu street appearance. Even in his youth, he was an icon and if Northport had a "Mount Rushmore" style memorial, his carved image would now be there. In those early years, he addressed his disagreements with his fists, and he was an equal opportunity challenger, taking on a physical debate without regard to race religion, national origin or SIZE. More than one time, I saw Freddy get pounded senseless, but he always rebounded like an inflatable weighted clown-punching bag. He always won, even when he lost. Like the Terminator, he would be back.

It was Freddy who was there in 1956 to teach me how to smoke. When we lit up on that Steers Sand and Gravel cliff-side, I was ten and Freddy, a worldly man of about twelve. If he hadn't been my mentor, it surely would have been someone else, perhaps on another day. Fortunately, I was able to kick the smoking habit.......but I must admit, it took me thirty-nine years.

In those days, I mostly viewed Freddy as a "troublemaker" and we never really became fast friends, but we were always close enough to say "hey" when passing on the street. What I never really understood about him back then was the origin of his angst and even though we were nearly neighbors, I may never fully understand where all that came from. We were from two different social worlds. Our family was so smug and judgmental, making no attempt to understand folks like Freddy. To my parent's way of thinking, "troublemakers" were unacceptable, displaying no moral redeeming character and Freddy was squarely in that group.

The last time I actually saw Freddy, he was settling a dispute outside my apartment at 101 Main St around 1969, once again with his fists. The sound of knuckles on flesh and the blood-stained T-Shirt, remain in my memory even today. Freddy was not one to compromise his point of view. As mentioned earlier, he always won his argument, even when he lost. He might well have been a good trial attorney. I lost track of Freddy after that and I understand that he traveled extensively in his life but in the end, returned to his roots in Northport. His sister, Jackie was my sister-in-law for twenty-three years, a lovely lady who grew up in the same environment but made an entirely different observation of life itself. What I learned from her is that Freddy did make an attempt at a "conventional" life when he married and became a father, a role he dearly cherished. As fate would have it, he was emotionally crushed by deception in the marital union, blows that caused him to turn even more inward. He retreated to himself, living out his years on his own terms as a homeless individual allowing others to touch his life selectively and only superficially. The bars on Main St. served as places to dull the pain of his broken existence.

In reality, all homeless people have a family and a story. Their journey of detachment saddens even the most cynical and in Freddy's case, the journey was personal. In spite of his station in life, people who really knew him say he was genuine and had a heart of gold.

In the last act of his painful life, Freddy drowned in Northport Harbor on a cold and wintry night. We Northporters are comforted to know that Freddy is no longer in pain, he will never again hunger for a square meal, be cold or require medical or dental care. He is now in a place where his soul can be re-nourished. May his surviving family know and feel this at the spiritual level. Until we meet again, Freddy, for now it's just.......so long.

Your old school chum, Dave