Friday, February 02, 2007
Jimbo Piescorz
I first met Jimbo Picscorz years ago when I was living in Florida in a little dumpy town known as Deerfield Beach. Deerfield had two claims to fame and neither had anything to do with fields or deer. I think the town was named a long time ago when people used to let utter morons name their towns.
Deerfield’s first claim to fame was the pier. It wasn’t particularly long or clean or any of those things you’d think piers should be. It’s just that it was the only one in Deerfield. Pompano beach, just to the south, had a Pier. And I think there was one to the north all the way up in Lake Worth but hey, those weren’t in Deerfield.
Deerfield’s other claim to fame was Jimbo Piescorz. Personally, I think Jimbo should be considered Deerfield’s biggest claim to fame. You couldn’t walk out to the end of Jimbo and cast your line into the ocean. Nor could you ride a bike on him, but that’s not saying much, you couldn’t ride your bike on the pier either. I guess the point I’m trying to make is that if you go to Deerfield don’t bother taking a bike. No, that’s not right. The point I’m trying to make is that Jimbo was a heck of a guy. The pier was never a heck of a guy.
The thing that made Jimbo special was that he liked people and he loved to fish. It could be that he hated fish and by contrast gave the illusion that he liked people… anyway, he was nice to me. He also had the rare honor of being stone deaf.
Jimbo was almost always featured in the Sunday paper for having caught a particularly large fish. I remember the picture one Sunday featured Jimbo next to a seven foot Pompano; suspended by the tail. How Jimbo got suspended by his tail I’ll never know, but it was an impressive fish.
Pompano, or Jacks as the Deerfieldians call them, are usually caught in the breaking waves a couple feet off shore using sand dabs on a small hook. They rarely ever get to be any more than 3 pounds. This is exactly the reason Jimbo was so famous in Deerfield. Here was a guy who could snag a seven foot freak fish just a couple feet from shore on a single #7 hook, wrestle it to shore and still manage to get caught up in a fish hanging device.
The following Monday I tried to congratulate him for his fine catch and equally fine escape from the fish hanging device but it fell on… uha… he didn’t understand me. So the better part of the rest of the day involved me mouthing the words “I said, nice fish” while he yelled back at me “Ob. But did ooo ball be?”
The weird thing is that I never saw Jimbo with any fishing equipment. He never had rod or reel in his car. He was never sun burned. He never even wore hats advertising fishing tackle. Yet every Sunday, there he was with another freakishly huge fish.
Jimbo was a very generous guy and everyone around him profited by his fishing. He’d roll up to you with a cooler full of white marlin or record flounder, unload a couple pounds in your arms then roll on down the road. That’s probably why people liked him better than the pier. All you ever got from the pier was splinters.
Needless to say I ate a lot of fish in Florida. I ate fish that I never knew existed. I had Black Drum for breakfast, Atlantic Croaker for lunch and for dinner it was record breaking White grunt. I midnight snacked of grouper, brushed my teeth with Rock Bass and dreamed about Amberjack in my bed made entirely out of King Mackerel. Man, was I sick of fish.
Every Sunday, there he was next to another leviathan hung up in the fish hanging device. And every Monday morning, there he was with some new fish. “Ear Ob. oor ooo.”
“Thanks, Jimbo.”
“But?”
“I said Thanks, Jimbo.”
“But”
“Hanks, Bim bo”
“Ooor belcome”
A couple months later I left Jimbo and Deerfield to go live with a certified psychopath in an even smaller and crummier town, the details of which I’ll save for another pointless story. And I never heard from Jimbo Piescorz again.
Do I ever think of Jimbo, you ask. No I don’t, partly because I made him up, but mostly because I hate fish.
Will I ever visit Deerfield Beach again and look him up? What’s with all the questions?
Today Deerfield Beach is a much different place. The Pier is still there but is overshadowed by huge hotels and timeshare condos. The local color has all but been squeezed out. Still, I’d like to think that Jimbo is still down there, decimating the fish population and burdening the locals with his catch of the day. So if you find yourself down that way and someone rolls up to you with a cooler and lays a fish on you tell him that, “Ob” says “I”.
Deerfield’s first claim to fame was the pier. It wasn’t particularly long or clean or any of those things you’d think piers should be. It’s just that it was the only one in Deerfield. Pompano beach, just to the south, had a Pier. And I think there was one to the north all the way up in Lake Worth but hey, those weren’t in Deerfield.
Deerfield’s other claim to fame was Jimbo Piescorz. Personally, I think Jimbo should be considered Deerfield’s biggest claim to fame. You couldn’t walk out to the end of Jimbo and cast your line into the ocean. Nor could you ride a bike on him, but that’s not saying much, you couldn’t ride your bike on the pier either. I guess the point I’m trying to make is that if you go to Deerfield don’t bother taking a bike. No, that’s not right. The point I’m trying to make is that Jimbo was a heck of a guy. The pier was never a heck of a guy.
The thing that made Jimbo special was that he liked people and he loved to fish. It could be that he hated fish and by contrast gave the illusion that he liked people… anyway, he was nice to me. He also had the rare honor of being stone deaf.
Jimbo was almost always featured in the Sunday paper for having caught a particularly large fish. I remember the picture one Sunday featured Jimbo next to a seven foot Pompano; suspended by the tail. How Jimbo got suspended by his tail I’ll never know, but it was an impressive fish.
Pompano, or Jacks as the Deerfieldians call them, are usually caught in the breaking waves a couple feet off shore using sand dabs on a small hook. They rarely ever get to be any more than 3 pounds. This is exactly the reason Jimbo was so famous in Deerfield. Here was a guy who could snag a seven foot freak fish just a couple feet from shore on a single #7 hook, wrestle it to shore and still manage to get caught up in a fish hanging device.The following Monday I tried to congratulate him for his fine catch and equally fine escape from the fish hanging device but it fell on… uha… he didn’t understand me. So the better part of the rest of the day involved me mouthing the words “I said, nice fish” while he yelled back at me “Ob. But did ooo ball be?”
The weird thing is that I never saw Jimbo with any fishing equipment. He never had rod or reel in his car. He was never sun burned. He never even wore hats advertising fishing tackle. Yet every Sunday, there he was with another freakishly huge fish.
Jimbo was a very generous guy and everyone around him profited by his fishing. He’d roll up to you with a cooler full of white marlin or record flounder, unload a couple pounds in your arms then roll on down the road. That’s probably why people liked him better than the pier. All you ever got from the pier was splinters.
Needless to say I ate a lot of fish in Florida. I ate fish that I never knew existed. I had Black Drum for breakfast, Atlantic Croaker for lunch and for dinner it was record breaking White grunt. I midnight snacked of grouper, brushed my teeth with Rock Bass and dreamed about Amberjack in my bed made entirely out of King Mackerel. Man, was I sick of fish.
Every Sunday, there he was next to another leviathan hung up in the fish hanging device. And every Monday morning, there he was with some new fish. “Ear Ob. oor ooo.”
“Thanks, Jimbo.”
“But?”
“I said Thanks, Jimbo.”
“But”
“Hanks, Bim bo”
“Ooor belcome”
A couple months later I left Jimbo and Deerfield to go live with a certified psychopath in an even smaller and crummier town, the details of which I’ll save for another pointless story. And I never heard from Jimbo Piescorz again.
Do I ever think of Jimbo, you ask. No I don’t, partly because I made him up, but mostly because I hate fish.
Will I ever visit Deerfield Beach again and look him up? What’s with all the questions?
Today Deerfield Beach is a much different place. The Pier is still there but is overshadowed by huge hotels and timeshare condos. The local color has all but been squeezed out. Still, I’d like to think that Jimbo is still down there, decimating the fish population and burdening the locals with his catch of the day. So if you find yourself down that way and someone rolls up to you with a cooler and lays a fish on you tell him that, “Ob” says “I”.
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