Johnny Boy Marketing

(Editor’s note: Welcome to Living Eulogies. All recollections are accurate in the author’s mind only. Apologies in advance to everyone who has different recollection of the same events. Send all complaints to your Tucker Carlson. Apply liberally.)

Writing these Living Eulogies has brought up many things — for me, for the people who have read them, for the people they’ve been about. One odd thing that keeps coming up for me, personally, is that I have only a vague recollection of how I actually met or became close with people who turned out to be extremely important in my life.

If only we could know that the significant events in our lives were the significant events when they were happening. How much closer attention we would pay to the subtle nuances of those moments! The sights, the smells, the feel of the air, the music playing in the background — anything to soak in all those significant times had for us!

Alas, many — perhaps most — significant events come without warning and only become significant after too much time has passed to really take it all in.

But then there are those people whom you’re predestined to meet by virtue of something you had no control over. Amanda Bortz (now Greene) was one such person in my life.

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As my school years began, I quickly became accustomed to the desk in the front row by the door of just about every classroom I was in. Because of my last name, I was often at the top of each teacher’s class list, and when they went about assigning seats, they often just started at the top and put the first kid in the front row, closest to the door.

Perhaps that’s why, given the choice, I now gravitated toward the back of any room I’m in. I’ve done my time up front.

By virtue of our last names, I got to know certain people better than others. Nicole Ardissone, for example. Any class we were in, the two of us were usually pretty near each other, which was cool. She made me laugh and was good natured and could give the innocent teasing as easily as she could take it.

In junior year chemistry class, thank God Amanda Bortz’s mom didn’t marry someone with the last name Stevenson or Zeller. Otherwise, it’s quite possible I’d be a 48-year-old man still attempting to pass chemistry.

Me and math involving letters were not friends. We still aren’t friends. I continue to have nightmares about Mrs. Lambert’s math class. Chemistry was math in disguise, and our teacher that year was horrendous. I think she learned mid-year that her contract wasn’t being renewed (probably because she sucked at teaching), and from that point on, she — somehow — became worse.

It’s not all her fault, of course, that chemistry was beyond my still-evolving brain at that time. She just didn’t help matters.

Amanda did.

We were teamed up in a lab group by virtue of our proximity, and thank God. I say that not just because I would not have passed the course if not for Amanda’s persistence, patience and mathematical acumen; I say it because me plus chemicals plus math minus competent supervision could have been a literal disaster.

That I didn’t accidently blow up the school is thanks largely to the fact that Amanda sort of took me under her wing and shepherded me through the lab work that involved flames and potentially explosive substances. I’m sure she did this as much for self-preservation as she did it out of kindness — but that’s not to suggest Amanda wasn’t kind. She was. Very kind.

That’s what I remember most about Amanda. She was smart — brilliant, even — and she was humble. She had a good sense of humor, and she was, as I said, patient. She had too much pride in herself and her own work to simply say, “Here, idiot: Write this down and turn your paper in.” Rather, she showed me how to do what I didn’t understand.

In doing that, she helped me become a better learner.

Eventually, learning clicked for me. It wasn’t until junior year of college, and by that time, Amanda and I had long since gone our separate ways. We’ve kept in touch via Facebook over the years — nothing too deep or personal, but always cordial and fun. I’ve let her know in the past that I’m grateful to her for helping me get through that class and out of Fox Lane High School. Lord knows I needed to get the hell off the East Coast and start living a different life. Amanda helped make that possible.

Yes, there are people in my life who meant a lot to me whom I have no real idea how I met. But with Amanda, who helped bust down an obstacle on my path to graduation, I know exactly how I got to know her.

Alphabetical order can sometimes be a beautifully simple thing.

So let’s raise a glass to Amanda, my fullback through chemistry, a kind and patient person, and someone who helped me not accidently blow up the school. To Amanda! Hear Hear!

Who should be the next Living Eulogy? Email me at johnagliata@gmail.com.

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