Recently retired from the California Department of Education, Andrew Laufer is writing a book about his life including periods as a butcher's helper, food service worker, construction laborer, animal research assistant, seasonal fire fighter, and janitor. In his youth, he hitch-hiked up and down the coast and out to Colorado numerous times providing context for hundreds of short stories.
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Rescue in Boonton:
Making a friend. Age 18
Rescue in Boonton:
Making a friend. Age 18
Boonton is a beautiful town of a little over 8,000 people in Northern New Jersey. The Rockaway River flows through the middle of town dropping over several waterfalls. My buddy, Jon, and I traveled there at the tender age of 18 to visit his grandfather (Gramps). Originally, we had planned to drive to NJ, visit Gramps for a bit, then drive back.
It took us longer than expected to get there and we were flat broke when we finally arrived. To make matters worse, we crashed our car. Our folks wouldn’t send us money to get our car fixed, so we stayed there all summer, lived with Gramps, and worked to get enough money to fix the car. It could have been worse and I’m sure our folks talked it over before denying us assistance.
It was 1973 when we hit the road. A lot of people our age wore long hair and the sex, drugs and rock-and-roll revolution was starting to wind down. Jon and I were hold outs. We weren’t hippies, but we had long hair and loved everybody like good hippies would.
We had no problem walking up to strangers and trying to start a conversation. Much to our disappointment, in NJ people didn’t do that. Our forward California way was too forward for proper NJ folks. Both young and old shunned our friendly advances. We were surprised at the local reaction, but the fact that no one talked to us didn’t dampen our idealistic perspective of the world.
We had a day off from work and decided to hang out on the banks of the Rockaway River. It was a beautiful summer day and we were enjoying watching the cascading water rush down the waterfalls.
We noticed a guy coming downstream in a canoe. He caught our attention because we weren’t sure he could navigate the impending waterfall. Wide eyed, we watched as he approached the waterfall. We became alarmed when we realized the current became too strong and he lost control. Lucky for him, he was able to latch onto something on the bank that halted his movement downstream. He dared not let go, and he couldn’t pull himself out of the river.
Jon and I sprang into action. The guy was on the other side of the river, so we had to run across a nearby bridge to get to him. He was exhausted and profusely thankful for our help as we pulled him to safety. For our part, we were thankful that he was friendly and willing to talk to us.
His name was Jim, and he was the first warm person we met in NJ. Out of gratitude, he invited us to his apartment to imbibe in some of his homemade beer. It was red, maybe a berry beer. Whatever it was, it was strong, too strong for my skinny body to handle with dignity and it wasn’t long before I was three sheets to the wind.
The next thing I remember was being woken up outside. I had, apparently, gone for a late-night walk and never found my way back to the apartment. Jim and Jon found me the next morning, snug as a bug, under some bushes on the side of the apartment building. It has been 40 plus years, and I haven’t had a fruit beer since.
~ Andy Laufer
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