People in my life

Pat Otto came into my life at a time that we had a core group of friends but were open to anybody who attempted to hang out with us. I was fortunate enough to have my older brother in that neighborhood before I enetered it, because a few people knew who I was. Strangers were tested and hazed. That part of the neighborhood possessed a certain kind of mentality. Pat was related to the Kirby family, a family name that had a huge presence in that part of town. In our earliest days, we were very hard on each other and newcomers. A lot of kids made the choice to leave us alone. Pat was hanging out with us one day and we met. He was respectful and friendly, neither of which he had to be, seeing that at three or four of his cousins were on hand if there was trouble. In the rare times that we did fight amongst ourselves, the loser took it with grace and the victor gained street cred. Most times if you were at least willing to fight back, the loser gains street cred as well, for taking it for what it was; a momentary conflict. Pat took part in some of that , but that will come later, I promise.

So, the first time I meet Pat Otto was within days of him losing his father in a tragic automobile accident. Pat’s dad hung out with some of the older guys, and some of the older guys had some money at the time, so they enjoyed themselves, to excess. They had been coming home from the shore in a sports car and hit the off ramp way too fast. The driver survived and did prison time but they were best friends, there aren’t enough laws on the books that could get a man’s conscience clear by being the cause for his best friend’s demise. Anyway, I was surprised how he just came out and told me that and I was heavily suppressing my own grief for the loss of my brother, so we connected rather quickly. He was a few years younger than me so I always tried to give him good advice. He rarely heeded it and playfully told me to shut the fuck up, Carr. I can remember him laughing and laughing with him.

He always seemed to be too long for his body or age or something. Lanky would describe his teenage years. He was always adjusting himself. He was an average athlete when it came to basketball but he had pretty good hands at receiver in football games. I was fortunate enough to help him get into the high school that I was attending as a juvenile delinquent. A few of us took that route. One of our friends went to the city school before we knew anything about it, but De La Salle High School was for troubled youth and they had one school in Philadelphia and another in the suburbs, Bensalem, PA.

De La Salle Vocational High School was an Archdiocese school that had partnered with the Philadelphia juvenile system in an effort to give kids an alternative to being locked up. If you couldn’t behave in those schools, then you went to Juvenile Hall. Juvenile probation officers visited the kids at school. The perk of all perks was that they paid each students $10 a day as an incentive to beat all incentives!! After I got into a bit of trouble in public school, I got sentenced to attend that school. So anyone who got into trouble or wasn’t attending school, I told them about this school and at least 3 of them made it. Pat and I ended up with the same probation officer, Mr. Sanchez. He was not a very good P.O., like, at all. He would always ask me if I could get him concert tickets and I don’t know what he thought I was into but discount tickets wasn’t in my wheelhouse, but I was glad to play along. One of the funniest story I have of Pat involved Mr. Sanchez making a home visit to Pat’s house while I happened to be there.

I would walk from Kensington and Allegheny, where my parents house was, down to the neighborhood. I’d head south a hundred different ways to get the Amber and York area. This night I had told Pat that I’d stop by his house on the way to the hood and we’d walk together. This was a few years after I had initially met him and became good friends with him. Plus, he was a fellow pothead at that time and we’d need him to kick in some cash for a blunt.

Pat lived in a part of Kensington dubbed, the village. Pat also brought many of his friends from that area to strengthen our numbers. There was a period in time when I had to ask people where they were from and if they knew Pat, they were The Village Boys. Some really cool individuals were annexed because of Pat.

So I get to his house and his mom, Cecilia, answered the door and let me in. Pat came down to tell me that the P.O. was stopping by and then we’d leave. Believe it or not, but I was a model probation client and student. I was still smoking pot everyday but I didn’t give them any reason to suspect me and order an urine analysis. So I was hoping that my presence would be a positive influence. Mr. Sanchez finally arrives and he asks me if I can get him Sixers tickets and I told him that I would see what I can do. So he speaks to Pat. And he speaks to Cecilia . And the unthinkable happened. Cecilia brings up that Pat broke curfew a few nights ago and Pat starts screaming at her, “Mom, what the fuck!! I told you where I was and you let me go there!! How’s that breaking curfew?!”, and Cecilia is screaming that she can’t control him and that he doesn’t listen and I’m just thinking , “Holy hell, Pat, what are you doing?!”. So we settle things down and I tell Pat that I’m going to wait outside, to just please be cool, and be on our way. He sullenly agrees. I’m not outside 5 seconds and there’s another eruption. Immediately following comes Mr. Sanchez out of the door, scribbling in his notebook. I engage him and tell him that these blow ups don’t mean anything, that they were both in pain and this is mild compared to other members of his family. I don’t know what the immediate repercussions were but Pat came out two minutes later and, “let’s go, Carr.” So we leave and I’m asking why would he cause such a scene in front of his probation officer and he said that his mom let him out and then snitched. We just started laughing and made our way to the hood.

One of the funniest memories that I have of Pat is when he got into an argument and then a fist fight with a friend of ours, Denny DeMar. They were arguing about something and they were both about two years younger than me and there was about 15 of us total standing on the Kensington high school corner of Amber and Cumberland. I could feel it start to get serious so I come over because Denny was a friend but Pat was my young buck. So they decide to resolve it by fist fighting. Now, Pat had a long reach due to his teenage lankiness so I am coaching him. Pat was thinner than Denny but slightly taller, so I told Pat to keep his hands up and jab him up until he can land some solid shots. They square up and raise their hands. I’m cheering like mad for Pat and the fight began with shots landing on both sides. So the fight drags on and I see Pat and he’s tiring out. He’s lowering his hands and not raising them after each shot or block. Suddenly he is standing there, in a fight position, sticking his chin out and his hands our down. I’m screaming at him to lift up his hands and to this day I don’t know why, but I can speculate. Pat either underestimated his opponent or overestimated his own fighting skill because he offered his chin and Denny took it. What! Bam! Down goes Otto!! I’m beside myself. Denny was part of our crew so he stepped back and gave Pat the chance to continue or not. I told him, “if you continue, keep your friggin hands up, or just let it go now.” He tells me that he has it, he wants to continue. Now a minute later I’m picking Pat up and I told him that’s it. Now he wants to fight me. I talk sense into him and a guy who is older than me comes over and starts shit talking Pat. Now Pat wants to fight him. Now I’m pissed. I turn to the unnamed instigator and tell him that if he wants to fight Pat that he’s going to have to fight me first to make it fair for Pat since he just finished a fight. The instigator grumbled some bullshit and walked off. I remember asking Pat why he dropped his hands but I don’t remember his reply. I think that is why he was so proud of his son being a boxer. I have never seen him happier than when he reveled in his kids and his girlfriend, the lovely Roxanne Morris.

A very good friend, Melissa, just reminded me of one of the funniest things that I can remember. There were about 30 of us teenagers hanging in Haggert Playground. At least half of us had dropped doses of LSD. So we’re hanging out, goofing around, drinking beers when someone comes up with the idea to go Quik Stop where Amber street runs into Frankfort ave. It used to be a 7-11 back in the day. Anyway, we leave the playground, en masse, at around 4 am, to go to the store. As we are turning the corner to get to the stores entrance of the store, a pretzel van pulls up to deliver Quik Mart their pretzels for the day. So I am thinking to myself, man a fresh pretzel will hit the spot right now. Meanwhile, 20 other people must have had the same thought because they opened up the back of the van while the driver was n the store and liberated the pretzels from the van. I’m seeing this begin and I’m like, no thank you, I’ll just buy one for fifty cents. I purchase my pretzel and head back to Amber street. I turn the corner and the first person I see is Pat, carrying about 4 racks of 20 pretzels. He’s got 2 racks in one hand and 2 racks in the other and he turns around to me and says, “Come on, Carr, I’ll give you another pretzel “, as he takes a huge bite from one of the racks. For 2 blocks I could see almost everyone had a lot of pretzels and Pat yells up to them all, “Look at Carr, he’s only got one pretzel!”, and everybody starts laughing and throwing pretzels at me. So I turn to go up Frankfort ave because my thinking was somebody was going to call the cops, and I look less suspicious than 25 teenagers walking down the steeet at dawn with a thousand pretzels. My ruse did not work. The police pulls right up to me, asks me where I got the pretzel but wasn’t satisfied with the answer that I bought it. So he throws me in backseat, and I’m just thinking, great, I am the only person who bought a pretzel now I’m going to jail for it. I didn’t realize he was talking me to Hagert playground. When I noticed that I started to worry that everybody is going to think I snitched! But when we got there, cops were everywhere, most of my friends were splayed out across the police cars, still either eating a pretzel or laughing or both. I get out of the car and I don’t know who yelled it first, but it caught like fire. “That’s him! The fat kid stole all the pretzels!!” I was indignant at first but even the cops were laughing as everyone started the chant, “the fat kid is the ringleader!” It was hilarious. I wish I had a photo of Pat holding 80 pretzels all at once, nibbling as he went. Thank you, Lys, for reminding me of that on.

I lost touch with almost every one in that neighborhood as I grew older and my life began changing. My days of being young and wild came to a close and our lives took us all in different directions. Facebook came along and reconnected us. We would chat and tease each other. I can distinctly remember the last time that I saw Pat. Unfortunately, it was at a funeral of another soul taken too soon. I gave him a hug and he gave me a few playful shots in my chest. And then he said to me, and it still strikes me odd to this day, he says, “What’s up, Carr? I see you on Facebook and you never talk me?”. I was struck mute. Then I just laughed and he said what are laughing at and started laughing himself. That was Pat. He didn’t need to make sense of things, he just lived and loved.

A lot of unfortunate things happen to people and we never know how hurt people truly are until they pass. Pat and his family went through a lot. One could say too much. Pat passed away way too soon and I believe he wasn’t in his right mind when he left or he’d still be here. His and Roxanne’s kids are growing up to be amazing adults. Pat probably regrets his early exit but I believe that he’s still around. But I’ll spare you my beliefs.

Thank you for taking your time to read these stories. That are not fiction although my memory is not what it once was. I did receive help and I just wanted to thank Melissa Morris for filling me n many blanks. I can never thank her enough.

Stay tuned.