Nerd of All Nerds

This next installment of "Bridgeton Legends" comes to us all the way from Germany, courtesy of Jared, who writes: "I think it's only fair that I tell this story since I am the one who actually holds the title."

The title, believe it or not, is "Nerd of All Nerds." This story is one of the all-time greatest hits of our childhood. It's a coming-of-age tale on par with "The Catcher in the Rye." Only "Nerd of All Nerds" is much, much better. And now, without further adieu...

Nerd of All Nerds
by Jared

When I was in elementary school my friends Kyle and Ryan held memberships to a private swim club called Georgetown. Every summer Kyle, Zak, Ryan and I would spend our days at Georgetown enjoying the summer sun where the girls were plentiful. This particular pool had a deep and shallow end, sliding board and two diving boards. It was on the high dive that I would earn my title.

One particular sunny, humid day Ryan, Zak, Kyle and I arrived at the pool ready for fun. As soon as we arrived I noticed that the Winnie Cooper of our childhood was there with a friend.
After getting changed and stowing our gear in a locker we hit the pool ready for a good time. I found myself on the diving boards practicing my sad attempts at cannon balls and flips while other more talented guys where doing 1 1/2's to perfection. After a few trips off the boards I noticed that Winnie was hanging out in the deep end of the pool watching the fellas take their turns at diving in.

A great idea hit me. I checked out the more talented divers and thought, "Hey, I can do that. Maybe Winnie will see me and think I'm cool." So, with that thought, I took the long trek up the ladder to the high dive. I paused for a moment to visualize my flip which would finish with a perfect dive into the cool water below. I took a deep breath, ran toward the end and thrusted myself off the platform with all my might. I flipped once, came around the second time and prepared to straighten out for my entrance into the water. Only, the water didn't wait. The water met my chest at a perfect angle for what resulted in the loudest SMACK ever heard at Georgetown. It was like a sonic boom. I immediately felt the pain, not only of embarrassment but physical, as well. I could not breath and sunk to the bottom of the pool hoping no one had witnessed the act and would forget about it by the time I surfaced.

Eventually I rose to the top of the water and swam to the ladder. I distinctively remember the life guard yelling, "Are you alright?" It was at that point that Winnie Cooper announced, "He is the nerd of all nerds."

Job well done on my part. I came away from the experience with a title, embarrassment and a lot of laughs. Good times.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

A Call to Arms

The following public service announcment comes to us from Ryan Olah. If this essay doesn't inspire you to start writing and contributing, nothing will. It's incredible in every way. This guy WILL write a bestseller someday.

Two things, however:

1) I am NOT the author of this site. I'm just a guy with a guitar, pouring his heart out.

But really, this site is meant to be a collection of authors. If you've got something good to say, we'd love for you to join us.

2) Just so there's no confusion: Bridgeton Legends is not meant to be limited to Lake Street Legends. We'll take any neighborhood, any era, as long as it's Bridgeton-related. But don't expect to top Lake Street Legends for sheer absurdity. And trust me, we've got a brutal group of witnesses so there will be no doubt by the time we're through: this shit happened.

Prepare to be inspired...

My Past Is Catching Up With Me
by Ryan Olah

Something I've failed to tell you before this point in our relationship: I was a warchild. Dear readers, please welcome the newest blog on the block, Bridgeton Legends. It just so happens that it's about everything that's happened on my block of origin. It's weird, the site is authored by Kyle, the guy who puts more work into holaolah than I do, and he's recruiting the old gang to immortalize the tales of the old neighborhood and town.

I'm excited and scared. Excited because there's a lot of gold in these stories. We had a very rich upbringing and there are laughs a plenty to be had by the readers/hearers of these legends. I guess the scared part comes with the fact that these stories are finally being put down. We'll no longer have the oral tradition to tell around the fires when we take our firstborn out into the woods to teach them the old ways of digging trenches for the impending Russian invasion, how to use a Wiffleball bat as a rock launcher, building match-head bombs, and the lengths that some of us will go to to complete our G.I. Joe collections.

The Lakestreetians will now be chronicled, and the embellishments might cease. We'll have to come to a communally agreed upon version of the truth. There is a danger in documentation, we might lose the flourish of a new voice in the retelling of our old tales. If I do commit the story of the "Fire on the Wire," will I truly be able to capture my father's pride in the event? Can I write it in such a way that will convey his tears of joy in making Mrs. Morvay lose her steaks? Another reason I am kinda dreading this venture goes something like this -- the legends that I am involved with usually end up with me being embarrassed or preyed upon in some way. The legend titled "Rusty's Cage" will basically end with me being captured by the older guys on the block and thrown into the pen of Kyle's horn-dog Golden Retriever, Rusty. To make a long story short, Rusty was a sexual predator, and the kids on my block stood outside his cage laughing as Rusty, well, used me as his bitch. Fun times. This is the reason that I prefer cats.

But really, all of the above can be chalked up to fear. At least we'll be doing something deliberate to try and get this stuff down. That's worth a lot. I think we can tackle all those previously mentioned concerns as they come up. For now, we're starting something, and that speaks volumes about the people of my hometown. There's no more saving this stuff for a rainy day -- waiting till someone pays us to write them or until one of us finds some sweet writing gig somewhere which probably won't happen. I do still think that Mr. Ira Glass and his "This American Life" radio-show should take notice of this cache of great storytelling.

It's like the old neighborhood gang is calling me out to play "Hide & Go Seek Army," or calling me out to fight for some reason I don't understand. There's no point in staying inside anymore, there's nothing on TV. The real life is outside, on the street. I guess I'll go out and play. And if they try and throw me into a dog pen again, make no mistake, I will fight any beast that attempts to have his way with me.

Let's write.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

The Lake Street War of 1984

Austin writes:

Not many people are aware of a small territorial war that occurred in the back yards of Lake St. during the 1980’s. This was not a conventional war. It was more of an oppression of the wild youth of that time period. On one side, you had Ryan Olah, Kyle McCormick, Zak Headrick, Jared Maier, and a few unsuspecting fishermen (non-Lake St. people---civilians, if you will). On the other side, a lone gunman, a BB Gun sniper. This sniper would fire at any of these enemies who dared fish the waters behind 109 Lake St. Most times, the sniper would miss several times before the victim would realize they were being targeted. Once they realized though, it would become a mad scramble for cover. Innocent kids turned into scared prey in the blink of an eye. That area of Jeddy’s became a mini-Sarajevo.

One August day, the first casualty of the war was taken down by the sniper. By this point, the mere sound of a window opening sent the kids scrambling for safety. The sniper spotted his target. A young Ryan Olah taunted him by fishing in the clearing behind the Morvays. Everyone knew this was a favorite Kill Zone. Yet, young Ryan threw caution to the wind with dreams of a 5 pound carp.

Many speculated the sniper had stocked Jeddy’s that year, just to lure the targets in, but this is nonsense. As the sniper pumped his air rifle, he planned a surprise attack. He would fling open the patio door and fire quickly to try to pin his prey down. Then, he could circle around Mrs. Woodruff’s driveway and rush Ryan’s hideout. Well, it started as planned. The door flung open, and the sniper quickly pointed the rifle and fired. The golden BB went sailing, as if in slow motion. The sniper watched it arc up and start back down. Could it be? No Way! A direct hit. The BB hit its victim in the back, dead center. Ryan should have earned the nickname, “Potato Sack”, because that is what he dropped like. Face first into the dirt. He let out a deafening scream as he went down. At first, the sniper feared he had shot a 6 year old girl. Initially, Ryan lay still, playing possum. But as the distinct sound of a BB gun being pumped reached his ears, instinct kicked in. He jumped up and took off. I fired two more shots at him, as he sprinted home, but just to keep him running. I didn’t want him turning me into the U.N. (i.e. Grandma Headrick). That would have meant some form of sanctions against me. Sorry Ryan, War is Hell.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com

Liftoff

This site is dedicated to the people of Bridgeton, NJ---past and present. If you've got a Bridgeton story, send it to us. If this thing takes off, the world will learn what the rest of us have known for years, that this town is rife with great material. Let's spread the word.

E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com