Remembering an Old Friend

Last fall we ran a brief story about Rylan Hamlin, the young man who was named to the 2024 Bassmaster High School All-American team.

Winning this award was an honor.

The story highlighted just how different life is now from when I was a kid, which seems like a million years ago. In fact, it made me remember an old friend who died last April, and how life deals different hands to different people.

It’s been said that a person is lucky to have a few real friends in his lifetime. I’ve found this true myself, and can count my best friends – the ones I care about the most – on one hand. Jimmy was one of them.

Jimmy and I grew up right here in Brooklyn hunting and camping and running around on bikes, which is what we did back in the day. What I remember most from those days are the times we spent fishing up and down Goose Creek, the River Raisin and the mill pond. We were drawn to water and used to wade up to the dam and catch everything from northern pike to shiners, which we re-purposed into bait.

One of my most vivid memories of Jimmy was him walking across the top of the mill pond falls with water flowing around his ankles and green algae swaying from under his feet. The possibility of getting maimed if he slipped down the falls into the concrete pylons at the bottom was very real. Thankfully, he never fell.

We used old discarded reels and cheap poles for fishing gear. We would even use stick poles cut from maple saplings when necessary. We dug up worms and caught crickets and saved up money to buy an occasional lure from Arksey’s Hardware, where Randall Arksey and his long-time employee, Leo Yeider, would offer free fishing tips.

There were four of us boys that hung out, and we would take off for the day with Doc, Jimmy’s black lab, who would kill snakes and chase rabbits while we fished and swam. There were no cell phones or electronic fish finders or bass boats. We walked and rode bikes and fished from the banks. It was a different time.

But life wasn’t any easier then than it is now. Jimmy had a tough go of things, right out of the gate. His mother loved him and his brothers and sisters, but his dad was rarely around and frankly, I never liked him when he was. He would drift into town once in a while, but never stayed long. I always felt a sense of relief from Jimmy when his dad disappeared, drifting off as he always did. Good riddance, I always thought.

Besides not having a present father, Jimmy had dyslexia. That was two huge strikes against him. He was three years older than me and was held back to my grade as a result of his inability to see letters in their proper order. I know it hurt him to see his friends move on to another class every time he got held back, but he never complained about it. Eventually, Columbia school officials simply let him graduate. What else could they do?

But just because he couldn’t read didn’t mean he was stupid. He was gifted in other ways. He was an especially talented orator, and could tell stories like no one I’ve ever known. He would remember every detail of our adventures and retell them with flair around his mother’s kitchen table when we played euchre or spades or the occasional game of rummy. That is what we did back then instead of watching TV or staring at telephones: Play cards and swap lies, as we used to say.

I think one reason Jimmy and I always got along – besides the fact that he never trumped my ace when he was my euchre partner – is that he was good at talking, while I was good at listening. I was never a big speaker, but I love listening to someone tell a good story, tall tale or not, to this day.

Of course, every time Jimmy retold a story the fish got a little bigger and the fights became more intense and any losses we may have suffered somehow turned into victories. We were legends in our own minds, even if no one else ever happened to notice.

Time went by, of course, and as tends to happen, Jimmy grew up to be lot like his dad.

He came to struggle with various substances, and I don’t think he ever overcame the battle. While he was a good worker, his drinking cost him jobs, friendships and family relationships. He drifted around, much like his dad, never growing roots or raising a family or reaching his full potential. I believe his dyslexia played a big role, but, frankly, a lot of it was on him. We all have hardships. No one has perfect parents. Jimmy made some bad choices, but that’s kind of my point. No one ever said the few friends we are lucky enough to make in this lifetime will be perfect, and I loved the guy, despite his human frailties. He was my buddy. It’s that simple.

Earlier last year I found out Jimmy was in hospice and had come back to Michigan to live his final days with his brother. I got over to visit him a couple of times, and during one visit told him that they had drained the mill pond, which had been such a central part of our childhood.

He perked up and said he wanted to get over to Brooklyn and see it, but he never did. He died a week later.

I am personally glad he never saw the mill pond dam dried up the way it is now. Sometimes remembering the way things were is better than seeing them the way they are…which brings me full circle, back to the story of Rylan Hamlin being named a Bassmaster All-American.

I think the real story of Rylan’s amazing rise in the world of competitive bass fishing is not that he is one of the best young fishermen in the country, which he probably is. Nor is the real story that Rylan has tangled with, and caught, some monster bass, which he certainly has.

No, I think the real story is that he has parents who love him, and have helped him realize his dream. His mom and dad have been instrumental in not only shaping him, but were dedicated to the process. His dad pulls the boat, captains the craft and more while his mother supports both of them in the background.

Rylan hit the jackpot the day he was born. Not everyone is so lucky.

It just proves once again that we all are dealt different hands from the outset, and there is always more to every “fish story” than meets the eye.

It is good to remember that every now and then.

Don’t you think?