Article by Capt. Franky Pettolina
I opened the mailbox not expecting any big surprises. Bills, some junk mail, a new magazine, but then the surprise came. A letter from my friends Suzanne and Dale Timmons. A letter I had never expected in a million years. It was a letter from the Timmons family to their advertisers in the Coastal Fisherman explaining that they had sold the paper to Mary and Larry Jock. The letter said something about Larry “getting some sand in his shoes” and having a history in publishing and wanting to make the beach his permanent home. I was devastated. Dale and Miss Suzanne were a fixture in my life. Dale’s stories about Ben Sykes were my favorite fish stories. I could always count on their smiling faces whenever the Last Call had a catch worthy of the print. My fishing memories were Coastal Fisherman memories. How could they do this to me? I went in the house and called my Mom and Dad. I had tears in my eyes. The year was 2005.
That summer I met Larry. My first thought was “boy, he sure ain’t Dale.” He asked me some bizarre questions about the fish for the picture. I didn’t think he was good with the people. It was a WTF moment before that particular slang had even been invented! And by WTF I mean What the Fish!?!? What were you thinking I meant? This is a family publication after all! I was truly worried about what was going to become of my beloved Coastal Fisherman.
As the summer progressed Larry kinda grew on me. We butted heads many a time. I got ticked when he wouldn’t use someone’s nickname in a photo caption. Another time we had a heated argument when he didn’t run a photo of some of my anglers with a catch that I deemed paper worthy but he didn’t. He pretty much told me it was his paper and his policy, and if I didn’t like it I could take a walk right off the pier next to the Last Call. Which is just the sort of thing that would win me over. I have never been afraid to tell someone to take a hike myself, so maybe this guy was gonna be ok. Of course I was introduced to Mary too. That sealed the deal. I was going to let them into my fishing life.
Over the next 15 years Larry and I traveled the path from acquaintances to friends, from friends to good friends, from good friends to true buddies. I found out that his family had South Jersey roots in the same town I grew up in. Our families knew each other of old. Larry wasn’t a drinker but he would come hang out at the Marlin Club and watch football with me. I don’t recall who owed who the last cheeseburger from losing a bet on a Ravens/Steelers game or other such bet. Larry enjoyed Italian food and we shared many good meals with our wives over the years.
When I became President of the Marlin Club in 2008 Larry took the pictures of me presenting the seasonal awards for the first time. Something he did every year through 2019. I look back at pictures of the first year and see me wearing a sport coat and tie. Which triggers me back to a few years ago when Larry showed me the picture of my hungover self handing out a trophy before he did the photo editing to make me not look like a sweaty mess in my polo shirt and shorts. I think of all the times we shared smiles and laughed at an awards banquet or at the scales. My picture doesn’t hang with the other President pictures at the Club yet because I wouldn’t let Larry take it until I was done being President. We had plenty of time to stage that photo.
I think about my Paperboy T-shirt. Larry always said it was one of the last of its kind. It is blood stained and tattered but it is still my good luck last day of the tournament T-shirt. Seeing Larry point and smile when he saw me coming to the scales while wearing it will always be one of my favorite memories.
I think about sitting at the Marlin Club this past January. Watching the Ravens blowing it in the playoff game against the Titans. Looking down at my phone and wondering why my buddy Johnny Oughton was calling me when he knew I was busy watching the Ravens. I could see if they were losing to the Raiders, but he had no dog in this fight. Then I saw the text pop up. “Call Me. Important.” So I called him. The game no longer mattered to me. He was asking me to confirm something we both prayed wasn’t true. A few minutes later we both confirmed a nightmare. Larry was gone. I cried then. I am crying now. I cried for my friend Mary. For Little Larry. For his brother Tom. For Mrs. Jock and the rest of the family. For everyone whose life Larry had touched.
This is going to be a weird season for all of us in the Ocean City fishing community. That was going to be the case before this pandemic came onto the scene. Now it is just magnified. I am looking forward to continuing to work with Tom on the paper. We both have a new boss now, and I wonder how much of my shenanigans will be tolerated by Larry Budd. From the little bit of time I have spent with him I am guessing we will hit it off fine.
Jocko old buddy, I have missed you terribly. Writing this column and trying to make my deadlines won’t be the same. The scales and the banquets won’t be the same. But I promise we will keep the paper going strong and I will be there for anything Mary or Little Larry need. We will keep on fishing and I will keep wearing my lucky Paperboy shirt. Hugh said it best at your funeral. You were truly a Good Dude. I am a better person for having been your friend. I love ya buddy…
