People in my life

I first met Kevin Trost in 1990 at the old arcade/pool hall on Trenton ave off of Dauphin street in the Kensington section of Philadelphia, PA. We were both all of 14 years old and we started out not really too fond of one another. When I entered that arcade, with my best friend at the time, John Donnelly, (you can read his story another time. John was my childhood best friend and we grew apart following that trip to the arcade), I joined a gang of sorts. We had a name, WTO, and it had a few meanings, but my favorite always will be “We’re The Ones”. There were anywhere between 25 and 100 members at varying times. We weren’t organized or anything like that, calling yourself and your friends a gang is something poor people did. It gave a sense of family outside of your blood family. I can remember a time when we used to skip school at my house and I wouldn’t let him in because I didn’t like him at the time. I considered him a rival. He kissed almost all the girls that I liked and I didn’t think he was a better looking person than I was. Add puberty and rejection to low self esteem and I never had a chance, so it was a childish jealousy. I learned that not only was my initial reaction to him so far off and that Trost, as we all called him, was an awesome person. He had his peculiarities, like we all do, but he was loads of fun.

When “Iron” Mike Tyson was dominating the boxing world, a select few were allowed into Trost’s dad’s house to watch. We watched from that living room the end of an era when Buster Douglass T.K.O.ed him. That was when they had a house at Amber and York streets. When Trost’s dad moved to the Northeast section of Philadelphia, he created his third floor to be “Rock n roll” heaven. Portraits of the Hendrix, Clapton, Jim Morrison, Bob Dylan and of course, the Beatles, surrounded the room. He even had a copy of Jim Morrison’s mugshot from when he was arrested for indecent exposure. A beermeister always had a cold keg of Budweiser and a red velvet pool table as the centerpiece. A small bathroom was off to the side and in one corner was a four post bed. We had a lot of fun. And we weren’t even twenty one years old, yet. In his basement was a enormous collection of rock n roll vinyl.

Trost played the Beatles for me, showed me their range, from I Want To Hold Your Hand to Rocky Raccoon to Tommorow Never Knows to A Day In The Life and everything in between. Introduced me to The Rolling Stones, Joe Cocker, The Who, the Doors, Hendrix, Joplin, Dylan, rock legends. He used to make me dozens mix tapes to further my education. He threw tremendous parties and was notorious for getting falling down/standing up drunk. He drank Pabst Blue Ribbon starting the age of 16. That’s where his Grandfather worked. The most personal story I have that involved Trost was this one night four of us were at Trost’s Grandpops old house or something on Sepviva street. I got so drunk at his house that I went to go pee and the lights were out so I was so concentrating on peeing in the toilet and that nothing else mattered at that point. So, after the stream slowly diminished, I gave my zipper a triumphant yank upwards to pull up my fly. The only problem was having been so distracted with the dark and the water hitting water sounds, I forgot to tuck myself back in. Exquisite pain! I struggled eternally to reverse course but the pain worsened! I thought about asking for help, this happened before the movie, There’s Something About Mary, came out, so I was in uncharted waters. My final solution was to pull down mightily, which I did, and, praise God, no damage was done. I went back downstairs and told them what had just happened and we all just laughed. We were inside, we were together and we felt like that was right where we belonged.

This one time I was driving to Haggert playground, which was the place that was pretty much our home base. There were a few people hanging out here and there but Trost was stumbling on the pavement near the curb. So, I ask somebody what’s wrong with him and they said that he’s shitfaced and he’s trying to fight people and the like. Just at that moment, Trost must’ve seen me because he comes lunging through my driver side window and the smell of hard liquor and Pabst immediately fill the car. Trost starts pleading with me to give him a ride because they are trying to jump him and all this shit. While he’s laying his spiel down for me I give him a once over and interrupted him to ask, “why are your pants wet.” His reply was that he sat in a puddle. It’s summertime out, it hasn’t rained for days, where did the puddle come from? So I, politely as I can, inform that he has pissed himself and I can’t let him in the car and soak my seats with piss. He then tries to fumbly hit me only to crack his hand on my door. I drove off and he yelled after me before falling down and the next day he called us all liars. Another time I was on my way to school, walking, and for some reason I took a detour to Pop’s playground at Trenton and Huntington, another hub for our friends to gather. It was around 7:30 am so I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, but there was Trost and another very good friend that you will read about in his own story, Brandon Mullen. It was drizzling lightly and mist was in the air and as I turned the corner entrance I see them sitting next to the maintenance building were, laughing like loons at me. They were drunk as skunks. I had been with them the night before and I had went home just as a beer bubble was being chipped in for. They were finishing off said bubble and was laughing at me for going to school. I tried to explain to them the irony of it all but they just laughed harder.

Kevin was a pretty decent athlete, as well. During our misspent youth, a few adults tried to give us alternate things to do that didn’t include drugs and alcohol. We had access to Kensington High School gym on Saturday mornings for a few months one year with the help of another amazing woman that deserves her own story. We ran a small basketball league amongst ourselves. I always wanted Trost on my side because not only was he talented but he trash talked with the best of them. He played like Dennis Rodman with a jump shot. Only problem was Saturday mornings became the continuation of Friday night and Trost was showing up half drunk. He didn’t care, though. He was having a good time. He usually always did.

There aren’t enough words to describe my experiences with Kevin. He was such a unique individual, his body language, the faces that he made, the way he reacted to, or let’s say, freaking out while being in the passenger in a sports car on the 95 doing 165 mph and the driver pushing rear defrost on his dash while Trost thought he was about to hit a turbo booster. Trost screamed, “NO!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING NOW!? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT BUTTON FOR?! DONT TOUCH IT!!” It was hilarious. Or when we were going to a concert, he would get out and direct traffic to get us through. Or when he had all four people in a car driving down South street, dancing in the car, each one playing a different air instrument. I wish I could remember it all. If I could go back I would not change a thing.

Kevin passed away August 3rd, 2017. I miss him immensely. I didn’t attend his funeral but I wanted to. I wanted to give him my Led Zeppelin boxset to bury with him. He was the type of guy that you realized that he was just cool and he knew it, too. He brought that incident up to me years later about me not liking him at first and even the time I turned him away from my house. That seemed to hurt him deeply. I tried to laugh it off and explain that we were kids at the time and the influence that he has had on my life was huge, but I could still see him clinging to that hurt. I then sincerely apologized but I don’t if it took. The last time I heard from him was about a month before his passing. We were supposed to call each other but I missed my chance. I honor him when ever I can. Rest In Peace my brother. See you at the clearing at the end of the path, to paraphrase a famous author.

This is only the beginning. Trost will be in other stories that I write because these are all true recollections. I won’t be going in any particular order, just as it occurs to me, with no discernible choice of content. I hope you all stay tuned. You won’t regret it. And that part about not changing anything. I lied. I would have opened the door for Trost when he knocked. He made me realize some things that I am not proud of and I attribute the yearning to be a better human being partly to him. He showed me my mirror and taught me to be more kind, and I will never forget him.

Dedicated to Ed, Joanne, Kristie, his family and friends