Joe and I were hunting buddies from the time he and I first got our hunting licenses when I was 14 and he 15. Joe used his dad's old Ithaca pump and me an old double barrel Winchester. Joes was famous amogst the group of us who frequented the Delaware River banks in search of ducks as the guy who couldn't hit anything. He took a lot of kidding about being a bad shot.

A year or so later, we were again down the Flood Gates looking for "diver ducks" when a state game warden stopped to check out papers and guns. Finding no illegal ammo or no more than three shells in Joes shotgun, the warden ask Joe if he could hit anything with that pump. I laughed at that and said he couldn't hit a "tweety bird" if sat in front of the barrel. The warden agreed as he said no wonder, the barrel is bent!

Glenn Simpson
Bear, Delaware 

I found out about the passing of my childhood friend a short while ago. Living 35 miles away and in another state made it impossible to make the funeral in time. It did, however, remind me of a couple of other funerals.

It was early Monday morning on that rainy April day as I sat in the back of the limo on the way to my father's funeral. The car was crammed with relatives and I was sitting on a fold down seat on the driver's side in the rear as we passed Joe's house on Memorial Ave in Gibbstown. There at a jog, in a suit with no rain coat was Joe struggling to get across an old brush covered field between his house and the  main street. My dad had died Friday night/Saturday morning and the services were being held early Monday morning so many of our friends did not know of his passing before the funeral services were over. Joe knew. And, at 15 years old, he was too young to drive legally in NJ so he walked/ran/hitch hiked to the services a couple of miles away in the rain. My only friend at the service.

Several years later, we were grown up and another funeral to attend. This time, Leon's, Joe's dad. As I walked into the funeral home in Paulsboro, Joe and Donna saw me and came to the back of the room and each grabbed an arm. They led be up front to the family's seating and sat me down where we all grieved for "Dad".

Glenn Simpson
Bear, Delaware