“IN MEMORY OF MY FRIEND WALTER,” By JOSEPH SCIUTO

                                  IN MEMORY OF MY FRIEND WALTER

                                       “…I LEFT BEHIND FRIENDS.” R.S.

When I left Southern California people asked, “What do you miss the most?”

I replied, “My friends.”

“Not the beaches and the great weather year round?”

“I miss those, but not nearly as much as I miss my friends.”

“How about when you moved from the Bronx? Besides your family, what did you miss the most?”

“My friends.”

“Not the pizza, Chinese food, and great restaurants.”

“I missed those, but not nearly as much as my friends.”

“And where you live now, what do you like the most?”

“The friends that we have and how friendly all the people seem to be. Yes, I like the beauty and the galloping horses but not nearly as much as the people and our friends.”

When I was growing up in my grandmother’s house in the Bronx, in the mid-sixties and early seventies, at least seven of her children, my aunts and uncles and cousins, lived within a couple of blocks of my grandmother’s house. Like my grandmother, many of her children would die in the apartments and homes they originally lived in…still within walking distance to my grandmother’s home.

Those types of neighborhoods, where generations of families lived so very close to each other, have mostly disappeared from the landscape of the Bronx. Like many of my cousins, they either moved to different parts of New York or out of the state all together.

Yet, there are exceptions and my friend Walter was one of them. He lived 67 years in the Bronx within a radius of a couple of miles from where he was born. The last 40 years in the same apartment with his sister, not far from Westchester square. My older brother and a few other friends whom I have had the pleasure to get to know and consider friends after moving to Los Angeles are also among that dwindling group.

In the eighties, nineties, and early 2000’s when my parents were still alive and I would visit from Los Angeles, Walter was a regular guest at my family’s home and anytime I needed a guide to accompany me around the landmarks in Manhattan, Walter was always a willing companion, whether it was to the museums, the libraries, Grand Central Station and one very memorable visit in August 2001 to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty where we both took pictures of the Twin Towers as we passed them on the ferry. Less than a month later they both collapsed before the eyes of the world in a cowardly act of terrorism.

It was also during the nineties, that Walter, my Uncle Sonny, my two brothers, a couple of longtime friends, and I took our annual weekend, mid-October visit to the Hall Fame in lovely Cooperstown, New York. It was during our last couple of visits that we didn’t go to visit the Hall of Fame as much as the local taverns and restaurants. After all, how many times can one look at a bunch of plagues and overpriced merchandise?

Even after my parents and my adopted parents (my Uncle Al, Aunt Carmela and Aunt Rena) passed away, I still visited the Bronx at least twice a year to see my older brother, a few cousins,  and naturally Walter.

Regardless of what bar or restaurant we walked into in the Bronx, a number of the guests always greeted Walter. Unlike a number of people I knew whose friendships were bought by the large parties they threw at their mansions overlooking the ocean, or by a title, or the amount of money they had, Walter’s friendships were earned the old fashioned way by acts of caring, kindness, and one of the first to be by your side at a time of tragedy or true old fashioned folly. He worked for the Board Of Education in upper Manhattan for 35 years and needless to say did not make a fortune and even after being diagnosed with cancer and going through treatments he seldom missed a day of work.

My wife, who met Walter only a few times in the late eighties, never failed to mention what a really nice guy he sounded like after talking to him on the phone when he called us at home. My reply was always the same, “And that’s exactly the way he is in person.”

I talked to Walter quite often after he was diagnosed with cancer and he always sounded upbeat and confident. It was only after he stopped replying to my phone messages that I became concerned and then my brothers told me that he was suffering terribly and not eating and was rushed to the hospital. Yet, when my brother called me a couple of days ago and told me he had passed away it still came as a shock.

When a reporter asked Rod Serling, creator of The Twilight Zone, what he would like engraved on his tombstone he replied, “I left behind friends.” Well, in the case of Walter Patrick he leaves behind a legion of friends who will carry around his memory of kindness, caring, and companionship for generations to come.

Rest in Peace, my Friend.