Friendship and Fishing
by George Jehn
August 15, 1999
For most of us who are -- let me see, how can I graciously put this so it doesn't hurt too much -- a bit older, the journey down this mysterious road called life, no doubt has had a few curves, hills and other unforeseen hazards. In line with this, a few months ago I received a handwritten letter from Joe Uss, a good friend of a long ago era in my life. He had seen one of my articles in a fishing magazine and wanted to talk. He had included his telephone number in the letter, so the next day I called him. We spoke for about a half an hour. Since he was on vacation, I invited him to come out to the house the following day.
I have to admit that I originally had mixed feelings about seeing Joe again. I was happy, but it had been over thirty years since I had last seen him. In fact, back then I was still in college. I had also just begun my career as a pilot, which now has spanned almost thirty-three years of my life and two major airlines. Joe and I had both grown up in the same Queens, New York neighborhood and met each other while bluefishing on a party boat out of Freeport. After that we both subsequently worked as mates during summers and weekends on the Viking Skipper, which sailed from Point Lookout. Then, just when our schooling and our student deferments were about to end, we were both fortunate enough to be accepted into US Army Reserve units. Back then the world was much younger and those were different times and we went our separate ways. To put into perspective just how long ago it was, during the ensuing years there have been six different United States Presidents.
When the doorbell rang and I let Joe in, my very first impression was how much he looked and acted the same as what I remembered. And that was great. After hugging each other we sat down at the kitchen table and over a cup of coffee began to share with each other some of the events that had taken place in our lives--no small chore considering the amount of time involved. We discussed old friends, swapped fishing stories and showed each other pictures of our wives of almost thirty years and our kids, who by now are young adults. All this took about three or four hours and when finished we swore we'd get together and -- what else?-- go out fishing.
Our fishing trip took place this past week. We went fluke fishing on board a party boat out of Freeport. The fishing stunk (in spite of what you read here and other places this is sometimes the case). I got four fluke, with only one keeper and Joe didn't get any. Even though I'll never let him live down the fact that he didn't get any fluke this time, the truth is that didn't really matter. Because during the four hours we spent fishing together I enjoyed myself so much it was as though I was almost mystically transported back to another time thirty years ago. Oh, the fishing rigs were different and the hair had more grays in it, but something happened. Now I've always believed that my memory is pretty darned good. (You don't believe me? Say I've got a great memory, just short? Well, I always remember my wife's and mother's and even my mother-in-law's birthdays.) But Joe brought up fishing stories and some other things we'd done together that left me in the dust. For me, these items were buried somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain and long-forgotten among the adventures of a lifetime. Bringing them to the surface actually seemed to transport me back to the times under discussion. Perhaps it was only a mental thing, where I felt and almost believed that it was the nineteen sixties again? I mean I didn't go out and buy a pair of bellbottoms, let my hair grow down to my shoulders or come home and play 45's. But the reason or reasons for what happened really don't matter. What does matter is that it happened and it took place while fishing with an old buddy. The fishing was the catalyst. I never even dreamed that the major benefit of our little fishing expedition would be a chance to bring back and maybe even relive a small portion of those much younger, fun filled and carefree years. Almost as soon as the boat docked I felt like Mr. Spock, as though someone had beamed me back to the present.
I followed Joe back to his house and met his loving wife Terry and his youngest boy Chris. We looked at pictures of Joe's boat, the fish he'd caught on it, and his family. All that stuff was great. But you can bet your last dollar that we're going fishing together again and soon, because it was the fishing trip that brought back all the other pleasant things.
The summer days are waning. So no matter what your age, don't hesitate. Go ahead and pick up the phone. Call that one special old fishing buddy and go fishing--now! You will be very pleasantly surprised at the results. But one word to the wise--do not wear bellbottoms on the boat or it'll be a dead giveaway what you're up to.