Roger Dodger

If you’re lucky, life will provide you with many colorful and complex characters. One’s who, despite their flaws, weaknesses, and complexities, provide you with the warmth of their love, stories, and experiences. For me, my childhood would provide me with countless adventures, characters, and stories to share for years to come. Thanks to a less than storybook youth and a knack for remembering even the most minute details. I’ve been given a portal to many of the people and exchanges I had throughout those very impressionable years.

Of all the colorful characters I met, regarded as friends and became part of my extended family. Some of the brightest loomed just around the corner at the local watering hole. It’s where I went from ordering my steak and burgers well done to medium-rare. Where I learned that calamari was just a better way of saying breaded squid, it’s where I met one of the bar’s regulars Roger Dodger.

Roger had dirty blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and when I come to think about it, looked a lot like a younger William Devane. I’m not sure of exactly when we met, but he soon became a familiar face and someone I looked forward to seeing when my dad’s girlfriend opened the bar, or I was returning from my nearby little league game. At the time, I loved coming into the bar for a cheeseburger and fries or a plate of calamari. I’d always sit next to Roger and talk about baseball while stuffing my face with whatever was on the menu.

At the time, I was crazy about baseball and had gone from being a back alley slugger to my first year in little league. With Shea Stadium standing over the junkyards and fly by night auto repair yards just a short distance away, I quickly latched on to Flushing’s lovable losers The Mets. Though Roger and I both loved the game, Roger was a dye in the wool Dodger fan who attended his share of Brooklyn Dodgers games as a kid. He’d joyfully reference players with names like Newcombe, Pee Wee, and Duke. Players, who though retired, were considered legends of their time. The mere mention of such icons brought much glee and color to our conversations; Essential ingredients to ad to my young and still very impressionable psyche.

One day while enjoying a spirited discussion about the game. I decided to take a detour by asking about what he did for a living. “I have a truck route where I deliver beverages to local bars and restaurants.” Looking back, it made sense. While I never did see a vehicle, uniform, or hand truck. Considering the timing of many of our encounters, I didn’t see any reason to question.

Roger-1Fast forward a few years, and while visiting my dad, we happened to watch the movie ‘Goodfellas.’ While it instantly became my favorite movie of all time. I saw many similarities between the characters and the people I grew up around. It opened the door to conversations we had never had before. It wasn’t long before Roger came up. I remember referring to Roger, commenting that he was one of the kindest people I had met during that period. My Father followed with a big exhale of laughter. “Yeah, he loved you, which might be the only reason he never murdered me.” Strangely enough, it turns out that Roger was also a hit-man who fulfilled contracts for both the Irish and Italian mobs. My dad, who was always a great storyteller, was kind enough to detail his methods and some of the places he’d dispose of the bodies. When all was said and done, he had made quite a name for himself before meeting his demise. And though the thought of unknowingly trusting a contract killer with your time might seem fucked up. It was all a part of what I always considered a pretty normal childhood. And though Roger might have raised some hell in his time. I’ll always look back on my days with him, our conversations, and how he always treated me as positive. I was lucky to learn early in life that things aren’t necessarily black & white. Maybe, just maybe, it goes to show that every man, woman, and child has a purpose and a place in this crazy, sometimes upside-down world.

Setting Goals for 2020

Though I’ve never been one to make new year’s resolutions, this year I decided to set some goals for myself. While I feel that some of these goals are quite ambitious, I think that they’re both realistic and attainable. One of those goals will be to focus more time on my writing, with a focus on non-fiction and, in particular, highlighting my early life and experiences. In recent weeks, Written-1I’ve focused much of my free time writing and trying to relearn the essential grammar skills I learned in school. Though my editor at Jersey Beat and my half-brother both teach at different levels and both volunteered to edit my work, I don’t feel it’s right to burden them with more work than they already have. Aside from my books and lessons I’ve learned, I’m considering hiring a writing coach, or at least utilizing some of the services available online.
In the end, it might be worth noting that my interest in creative writing preceded my passion for photography. For one who thrived on creativity, yet somehow suffered when not nourished by such. Writing and photography served as balance, allowing me to lean towards one while the other stagnated mentally. Short story long, I feel that some, if not many of my own stories need to be written and told while memory still serves.