People in my Life

Brian Mol was one of the first guys that I met when I broke my mom’s and my brother’s rules and crossed Franford Ave. He was in the old arcade that used to be on Trenton Ave right next to Frankford. Up until that point I always had a few friends but one best friend, and we were literally dorky loners, afraid of our own shadow. We went to the arcade for protection. We were all of 13 years old and some girls that my friend and I had known had made friends with older guys and asked them to beat us up. We were confined to the safety of Cumberland Street between Tulip and Memphis. We had heard, and told, all the stories of the gangs on the other side of Frankford Ave. and we had just become friends with Tommy Stierle so we had an in.

When we entered the arcade/pool hall, I immediately went over to Tommy and said hi. Most of the guys in there were already brothers of mine, we just didn’t know it yet. Trost was in there, Eggy, Buddy Costello, Richie Buck, and Brian Mol. I name dropped my brothers name and everyone accepted me pretty quickly. I wish I could say the same for my friend, John. He didn’t get along much with a few of the guys but for me it was a homecoming.

Mol and company took me around to Hager’s playground for the first time and I have seen some pretty bad playgrounds before but this one was a hot mess. There was a basketball court riddled with cracks and holes. Little color full caps from crack vials decorated the ground, and especially around the bench. Mol immediately start shooting a basketball at the net less rim. The ball took an odd bounce when it hit the ground but Mol grabbed it and chucked up a layup. That’s the kind of guy that I knew him as, just easygoing and taking things as they come.

Thinking back, it seemed like Mol always kept us moving. We used to walk and bus back and forth from Pennypack Park, at least twenty of us, just on the prow. He set the standard for style, too. He liked to look good and he had the confidence that handsome men just have. He wore North Carolina Tarheel Blue, which became my favorite color. He once confided in me that some people have it, and some people don’t, and, unfortunately, I don’t have it. I didn’t like it but I agreed. I had self esteem issues already so I appreciated the honesty. And I accepted his word because he was getting with all the girls that I liked, effortlessly, and my game was just trash, or so I convinced myself. I’m pretty sure it was Mol’s idea to start going to under 18 clubs in the weekends. It wasn’t long after that that he began staying in his house all the time.

Let me go back some. Brian Mol touted himself as a tough dude and most people took his word for it. We were all friends, anyway, we hopefully wouldn’t be fighting each other. We would go over to Pop’s playground at Trenton and Huntington to play at real court and playground. But we had rivals only blocks from us. We would walk through their neighborhoods chant are name and chase stragglers from different corners. And we would talk trash and offer one another to fair fights. When I first got to the arcade, I also acted tougher than what I knew I was. I had never been in a fight. The closest thing I ever came to a fight was my brother literally beating my ass. The first person that I ever hit in the face was Brian Mol. It was a power move over something petty and didn’t even matter but I was in zero fights so far and had been with WTO for a few months. I felt I had to prove that I wasn’t afraid to fight if necessary. So I picked a fight with a peer, hoping to just test each other’s mettle and practice for the real thing. I hit him in his face and immediately jumped back into a fighting stance thinking that mutual combat was about to begin. But nothing happened. He screamed an apology at me and although that moment helped to define me, what did it mean to him? I don’t think he was afraid of me, but it could be possible. Or maybe it went deeper than the surface things that I could see. It turned out that despite his confident demeanor, he was dealing with something that none of us could imagine, and to this day I still don’t know what went wrong. I don’t think that circumstance made him a shut in, but I don’t think it helped.

The next memories I have of him are after he became a shut in. He was probably around 16 at the time and the story was that Mol had become addicted to cocaine and he had his own room in his basement with own bathroom. He attended North Catholic high school during the time so he would go fro school to his room and certain dealers sold to him in bulk. I frequently tried to get him to come outside and play some sports. Like I said before, when we were sitting around doing nothing, Mol would be the one to get a football game started, or cath one catch them all. He was always a lot of fun and a decent athlete, not to mention how smart he was. Well, anyway, he had resigned himself to his routine and, through an event that me and Chris Steirle shared, I had come into possession of a sheet of lsd, one hundred doses. I never heard of it before and my first experimentation with it was a complete disaster. I had only taken pills up to then and usually with pills if I didn’t feel any thing at first I took another until I felt them. Not good advice to begin with and definitely not with lad. I was up to dose number 4 before the world started doing cartwheels. So, obviously I couldn’t be trusted with it and they were worth five bucks a tab if you have a customer base. I did not. I had heard that students attending North Catholic like to take acid and trip on the weekends so I needed a student that I could trust and muscle if it came to that. My cousin Brandon was attending that school but I could neither trust or muscle him. He’d just laugh at me for being dumb enough to give them to him on consignment. Mol was the logical choice. So I go to his house and talk to him for a while and ask him if he’s interested and he definitely is he says. So I set the terms for payment and he agrees. Then he disappears for a month. Nobody is answering his phone or his door. I take a chance and walk up to Frankford and Allegheny because I knew that was where he caught the bus from school to go home. I run into him and we are equally surprised to see each other. I asked him what was going on and I don’t remember what happened but he had the money on him that he owed me so there was no reason to be upset. I thanked him and we chit chatted a little until his bus came and he went home.

It wasn’t long after that that Mol withdrew from society until his untimely and tragic death. He was a founding member of WTO and he would be a first ballot hall of famer in that little patch of America, circa ‘90-‘96.

These stories will be added to as different memories arise. I had forgotten all about that lsd incident and it will be written soon. In the meantime, let’s remember Brian Mol. Gone too soon and forever young. We’ll keep your and your brothers memories alive.