John Nagy was a classmate of mine at Waterville Central School from Kindergarten to 12th grade, and one of those guys who was genuinely liked by everyone. He grew up to be a tall, confident, handsome paramedic/firefighter, but in the mid ‘90s, he was short, scrawny and bespectacled. Back then he was the epitome of a nerd, but had this quirky, disarming sense of humor that would make him an impossible target of bullying. Most Watervillians our age remember him as the kid who wrote and illustrated “Java Duck,” a bizarre semi-daily comic strip starring, if memory serves correct, a duck who drank coffee. To an outsider, this may sound strange but it was a BIG DEAL in middle school. I didn't get to know him well until we both rode the bench on the modified soccer team. Neither of us were particularly skilled at - or cared about - soccer, but we left that bench warmer after every game. He was the main source of comic relief during those cold Fall days, and inside jokes like “Noah’s Ark wood” and “cleats angry!” always elicited a colorful response from our coach.
After high school, I flunked out of two colleges and wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my life. Antidepressants weren’t working, I lacked interest in just about everything, and I lost contact with all my college friends. During this time I found myself frequenting the Waterville Area Volunteer Ambulance Corps (WAVAC) bay, because they had a good group of people hanging out there, and because they had a big TV. Nagy was a constant presence there and he, along with other friends, attempted to get me to become a member of WAVAC and signed me up for an EMT class. Being an EMT wasn’t really for me though, and I was pretty relieved when I failed the written exam.
I didn’t really notice, but at some point he became one of my closest friends. For guys, that usually means watching and making fun of a shitty movie and eating equally shitty microwave pizza. I remember multiple occasions when I would get out of work, stop at his apartment on the way home, watch Sealab, go home, then he would come over like an hour later. It wasn’t every day, but the time added up. We played Grand Theft Auto, ate beef jerky, and recommended books to each other. For a while, that’s just how things went.
I started writing around this time too. I was heavily influenced by David Sedaris and Maddox, which inspired me to write partially witty and unnecessarily misogynistic CD reviews. I actually landed a gig writing weekly reviews for a local music store’s e-newsletter, where I was paid $15/week in used CD credit. Nagy liked my writing, and in our spare time the two of us created a website. We named the site after our shared love of petty larceny, specifically taking place in restaurant bathrooms. “EmployeesMustWashHands.com” was where we both posted rants and reflections as “The Chopper” (me) and “Rumpo” (Nagy). I did most of the writing, but he was the kind of guy that somehow knew how computers and web design worked. That was handy. We sold some t-shirts, went on photo assignments, reviewed movies, and enjoyed spending time on it. We were our own biggest fans. While we pushed each other to improve and write more often, we couldn’t justify spending any money on the domain name after about a year if the audience consisted of the two of us. He is one of the only people I can credit with getting me back on my feet, which led me to a degree in journalism years later.
Somehow, we, along with Jarod Petrie (another Waterville classmate, soccer bench warmer, EMT, and friend) got the opportunity to move into a house together. It literally brought us closer together and figuratively drove us apart. Living with someone can be difficult - dishes are left dirty for weeks, someone uses up all the shampoo, your leftovers disappear - that kind of spiteful pettiness can strain even the best relationships. Often, Nagy would prank me and/or Petrie by doing things like leaving thumb tacks in my bed or writing racial slurs on the soap dispenser. It was memorable but less than endearing. This living situation lasted maybe a year, and by the time the we moved out I think we all needed a break from each other. Shortly thereafter, I had also begun smoking weed and my priorities for friends shifted from “friends” to “friends that had weed.” Since Petrie and Nagy didn’t fit into the latter friend category, it was even less likely that we would hang out.
I saw Nagy a few years ago at Hannaford in New Hartford, I introduced him to my wife and we said we should meet up sometime. I think we talked about chili. We didn’t meet up - that was the last we saw each other. I’ve noticed that when you start smoking weed you leave your old friends, and when you stop smoking weed you leave the new ones. So do ever you call up your old crew to hang out and ask, “I’m done with weed now, guys - wanna catch a flick this weekend?” No. Instead you just have awkward, random interactions at the grocery store years later and feign interest in getting back in touch.
I try not to have regrets in life, because there’s nothing that I can do about them. I rationalize anything potentially regrettable as a necessary stumbling block to becoming the person I am today. That being said, I wish that we spent more time together. But I guess wishing you had more time with a friend is a pretty good way to leave things.
Rumpo was one of a kind. Without him I wouldn’t be where I am today. He knew how to make the best of a bad situation. He stuck by me when I was at my worst and pushed me to be a better person - I imagine that’s what made him a great paramedic. He sort of turned "sticking by people when they were at their worst" into a career. And I, along with all those people he helped professionally, are much better off for having known him.
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