My recollection is that PJ and I met on a huge mound of snow, the remnants of a delightful blizzard that kept us home from school during the winter of 1959-60.

I could be wrong about the year, but we definitely met on a snow mountain somewhere near his house on Leland Avenue. So began a friendship that sadly ended on December 28, 2025 as a result of his untimely and unexpected passing.

Since Covid, a group of friends known as Da Bronx Boys have periodically gotten together on Zoom thanks to the Lou Fabrizio who reigned us all together to share updates and rekindle our Bronx memories.

Laughter was the common languange spoken by those of us who grew up together in the Bronx, and PJ was as big a contributor as any of us to the joy that we felt, and continue to feel, as we remember the lives we lived in the Beautiful Bronx.

There are so many stories that we all could detail and I have been blessed to have so many moments to keep PJ’s memory alive.

One of my favorites pertains to our journey to Hot Dog Beach in Hampton Bays for the Fourth of July Weekend in 1971.

We were well prepared for the weekend as we loaded our provisions into the trunk of John Crimmins’ car. Liquids and dry goods made up our the bulk of our weekend delights which is all I will write on this subject. Suffice it to say that it was 1971 and we were all in college.

We arrived at the beach at the sensible time of 11PM that Friday night. Sensible, especially if you were a fair haired, easily sunburned son of Erin. (The next three days would provide enough sunshine to tan our hides quite darkly.)

We were singing, drinking, and you remeber those dry goods I mentioned earlier. Before we knew it the son was rising just above the horizon. Naturally, PJ thought it was a good time to seek shelter and a little shut eye.

You see, the previous Fourth, we ventured down to the Jersey shore to celebrate the nation’s birthday without giving any thought to our own birthdays. In New York, being 18 gave us the right and privilege to go into any bar and order a cocktail or to purchase large orders of beer in a local bodega.

In New Jersey? Not so much.

So our celebration in the Garden State ended before it began. We wound up watchin Forbidden Planet on a black and white television in an un-airconditioned motel room. I think there was nine of us. I was one of the lucky ones and slept in a hard wood desk chair.

We cut our losses and came back to the Bronx Saturday morning. This did not sit well with PJ and he vowed NEVER AGAIN!

He took it upon himself to explore the Hamptons on Labor Day Weekend and came back as the Prophet of Hot Dog Beach. He met the renowned John Tent Man, who, had a tent in which you could sleep. He also had an eyepatch which made for easy identification.

So, on this Saturday morning of the Fourth of July Weekend in 1971, PJ and I searched Hot Dog Beach looking for John Tentman.

Our quest brought us to a number of guys working as a team with a common purpose, erecting a tent.

“Jimmy, this is it,” Pj announced. The two of us then entered the tent and made ourselves very comfortable. The trouble is the tent builders had yet to finish erecting their tent. Finally, the tent was completed and one of our hosts entered. I immidiately thought there was something amiss as this guy was NOT wearing an eyepatch.

He immediately went into attack mode and asked who we were. PJ attempted to defuse the situation. However, PJ’s attempt at explaining it all was just a tad incoherent. It included several attempts to explain that PJ was a friend of John Tentman. No matter how many times this refrained echoed in the tent, no one was buying it. Finally he gave up and turned to me. “Who the fuck are you then?” I went for the short reply and said while pointing at PJ, “I’m a friend of his!”

Ironically, we actually did get to meet John Tentman but it did us absolutely no good at all and we had to resort to three nights sleeping on a bed of sand.

God Bless you PJ as God blessed us having you in our lives.