June 3rd is a significant date in my life. My parents, Francis Martin Ryan and Rhea Madonna Fritz were married in Breda, Iowa, on this date in 1941. Twelve years later on the same date, my brother Kevin (“Cub”) was born. I can remember June 3, 1957, when Cub sat on the bed and told our mother that he didn’t want a baby to be born on his birthday. He didn’t get his birthday wish; Joe was born that day.
On Saturday, June 3, 2023, my best friend from childhood, Jim Malloy, passed away at the Iowa Veterans Home in Marshalltown.
Jim Malloy, or Jocko as he was known to those close to him, was everyone’s best friend. He was the best friend to Honcho and Cub[1], both who have preceded him in death. He was also the best friend to Scotty, Fuzz, and his cousin Rufus[2], to his brothers Frankie, Bugs, and Goosy[3], and so many more people too numerous to continue. Smokey and Dusty Dalton[4] were also awfully close to Jocko.
Jim was two years and a day younger than me. However, we hung out a lot together and got into trouble gobs of times. I can’t write about most of them, but I’ll relate a few. There is no abacas that can calculate how many times we skipped school. I have written about it at least once in a past blog [see: Chuck’s House Party]. There were other times that weren’t as colorful. One sunny morning where you could see your breath, I met Jim and Honcho at the bridge crossing the King Creek by St. Ann’s Church. The Kuemper bus had just left without Jim and me on it. However, it was planned that way. We spent the entire day sitting in someone’s car. Farm kids drove cars to the church and parked across the street. At least one person would leave the car doors open, but none left the keys in the car. Every time a car came by, we would duck down. One of us would take a peek once we heard the vehicle drive by. As an adult, looking back on those days, I wonder what was accomplished by spending time in a car without heat, without lunch, without a bathroom, and lacking any connection to common sense. And we did it more than once.
Jocko and I were the first to dive into the new Vail Community Swimming Pool. We weren’t the first in, that honor went to a farmer who left the Legion Club one evening, drunk as could be, climbed the chain-link fence and “jumped” into the pool fully clothed. Jocko and I climbed the chain-link fence and dove into the pool, naked. That may have been one of the dumbest things we did, but it wasn’t the most dangerous – by far!
During a spring melt, Honcho, Jocko, and I were on the Boyer River. The river was straightened eras ago in an attempt to keep the town of Vail from flooding. As a result, the banks of the river were ninety degrees, straight up and down. Once on the ice, the only way to the top of the bank would be to find egress and exit at a few locations up and down the river. While on the ice, it began to break up. Laughing like it was the most fun we had ever had, and it probably was, we jumped from ice floe to ice floe to avoid falling into the river. We must have done that for over a quarter of a mile, which may not seem that far. But try it sometime; it took most of a Saturday or Sunday afternoon. It was exhausting, but in the end, only our shoes, socks, and the bottom of our blue jeans were wet.
One Sunday morning when we were adolescents, I had acquired a bottle of vodka. I have no recollection of how I got it. I purchased a couple bottles of orange Nehi soda to make screwdrivers. Jim and I found an abandoned car and drank our cocktails like we were a couple of sophisticated adults. That afternoon, several of our friends came to what we may have thought were our wakes as we laid on the cool cement underneath the railroad bridge along the King Creek. Both of us were suffering from the dry heaves. I rarely, if ever, consumed vodka after that.
Jim entered the Navy a few years after I was drafted into the Army. He received a medical discharge and struggled with severe mental health problems after that. He spent the last twenty years of his life in the Iowa Veterans Home in Marshalltown prior to succumbing to cancer. I did my best to visit him once a month over the past decade.
Like his family who also visited him, our destination was the Perkins Restaurant on the south end of Marshalltown. “Two pancakes!” And with those two pancakes was coffee, two creams, a glass of water with ice (he added a few ice cubes to his creamed coffee), and lots of syrup. The only time we didn’t go to Perkins was the last time I went out with Jim. We went to a Dairy Queen to get malts. He ate his chocolate malt so fast I got an ice cream headache watching him.
My list of people and events to remember on June 3rd of every year gets longer. I miss everyone’s best friend, Jocko!
Related blogs:
[1] Honcho is the late Jim Devold; Cub is my brother Kevin.
[2] Mike Scott is obviously Scotty, Fuzz is John Fasbender, and Rufus is Mike Malloy.
[3] Frankie is his older brother Joe; Bugs is Bob, and Goosy is short for the formal nickname Baby Magoosy, otherwise known as Jerry Malloy.
[4] Smokey was the Malloy’s dog; Dusty was Honcho’s dog.
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Another terrific read, thanks Marty. Sorry for the loss of such a good friend.
June 3rd is also my birthday…so I’m rather fond of it. :<) Bobby Gentry used it in her hit song, "Ode to Billy Joe:" "It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty delta day…"
Terry