I intended to sit this one out for various reasons, including that the topic depresses me greatly and I have no need for more of that. In fact, I have only just now started to read the stories on this prompt, as I have been in one of my dark moods the last ten days or so. I also didn’t feel that I had anything meaningful to say on the subject. But I ran across the featured image a couple of days ago, and decided that if I can’t think of anything important or deep to say, I can at least relate some personal just-so stories from Days Gone By. Seven of them. Maybe eight.

We were basically "good kids" with no real criminal tendencies except a fondness for underage drinking.

The featured image is most of my primary friends group through high school and for a while afterwards. These are the guys I played sports with, partied with and hung out with. Some were dive buddies on the wrecks and in the flooded quarries of the New Jersey area. One is still among my closest friends. Another is dead. Among us we represent the ethnic/national groups that made up most of the town; Polish, Irish and Italian. I was the sole Protestant, rare in a very Catholic city.

We were basically “good kids” with no real criminal tendencies except a fondness for underage drinking. The cops seldom rousted us because they knew us well and, where we hung out, they didn’t need to worry too much about. No one crossed the street to avoid us.

We lived in the section of Bayonne called Bergen Point, but jokingly referred to as “God’s Country” because you hardly ever needed to leave. In an area well under a square mile, Bergen Point had churches, schools public and parochial, delis, doctors, drug stores, grocery stores, toy stores, butcher shops, florists, fish stores and funeral homes. And bars. Many bars. It was a self-contained and relatively safe little microcosm to grow up in, as was Bayonne itself.

With a few exceptions, I’ve not spoken to any of these guys since 1974. So, to the extent that I know, Where Are They Now?

Back left is Mike. A nice guy, with an odd hobby of rock collecting and polishing. We often hung out in his finished basement listening to records. Mike is still in contact with some mutual friends, but not with me.

Next to Mike is Joe. A burly, intense guy, he sort of scared me. I always felt that he might one day beat the crap out of me, but he never did. He was a good football player.

Next up, in the red hoodie, is Jeff. Jeff is still a dear friend, as is his wife whom he met at a dance that I dragged him to back in around 1980. He was a frequent dive companion. Jeff struggled for years with the aftermath of a head injury, a tale that I told in “TBI”

John rounds out the back row. He was always happy-go-lucky, nothing seemed to perturb him. We say hi occasionally on Facebook. He is married with grown kids, and still dives, unlike Jeff and me.

Front left is Moe (a nickname, but everyone used it exclusively; no one called him John). He was tall and opinionated, and a good friend. His Dad was a Bayonne cop, with some very right-wing views that John absorbed, but later renounced. He traveled the world and has lived in many places. He was another member of the SCUBA coterie, and in fact excelled at any sort of aquatics. Again, we say hi on FB now and then, but no more than that.

The guy in the number 35 jersey is Paul. He was rather quiet and gentle, and a gifted athlete in every sport he played. The only thing I could beat him at was bikes. He died some years ago, I am not sure of what.

Brian is in the red shirt. Next to Jeff he was my closest friend back then. His home life was unsettled, so he often hung out at our house. My Mom was very fond of him, and became friends with his Mom. He was smart but somewhat directionless. He joined the Navy and wound up driving submarines, became a corpsman and then a successful chiropractor. He also became a Trumper, so I don’t really talk to him much.

Last on the bottom right is Dave, a generally morose and cynical kid with a sarcasm habit who seldom smiled, sucked at sports but excelled in academics. He eventually married twice and went bald.