I met Nic Baker in the Fall of 1962. We both rode the same city buses (either 17 East or 15 East) that transported us across the Salt Lake valley from the North to the East Bench. At that time, Codge, Nic, and I attended Cathedral, a parochial elementary school that was a stone’s throw away from downtown near the Mormon Temple. Salt Lake City was built around the Mormon Temple, also regarded as Temple Square. Most streets in the city run north-south and east-west, numbered according to their direction and distance from the southeastern corner of Temple Square. Thus, the first street to the south of Temple Square is 1st South. The street five blocks east is 5th East.

I knew that Nic lived in our neighborhood a couple of blocks from our house at the corner of 13th South and Shannon Street. At the time I was in the fifth grade, Nic the sixth, and Codge the eighth. Nic and I were the same age but he was smarter than I and thus one grade ahead. Nic was about two inches shorter than I and was stocky in build. He had a head of thick wavy brown hair and his facial expression was chameleon-like in that he could adapt to any situation on the spot. In the presence of grown-ups, his charm was almost sycophantic. When off by ourselves, he could be abrasive or affable. He had moments of being a punk or a gracious diplomat. Nic was his own person.

Cathedral’s mandatory dress code was a white shirt, a navy blue wool sweater, white socks, black shoes, and an unsightly pair of corduroy-like pants mottled with black and gray spots. Damn, they were ugly! Leave it to the nuns to make a mess of fashion. One fall day, Nic and I caught the same home-bound bus. I was reading a science fiction book and decided this was a way to introduce myself and break the subordinate grade school class distinction. Nic accepted my friendship on the spot. I recall that Nic liked to read all types of genres that included sci-fi. He was also a talented writer, composing short stories and poems, in addition to writing lyrics with Codge.

Nic and Codge formed a friendship a few months later and eventually we began to hang out together. Aside from just liking each other, we had not yet discovered the catalyst that would bring us together in a life-changing way. That was about one year away.

I remember the Potter family taking a summer vacation in August of 1963. Dad and Mom had hatched a scheme to drive a 5,000-mile round-trip from Salt Lake City to Rumford, Maine in two weeks, just to visit relatives. With Mom and Dad in the front seat and us kids in the back, our 1961 beige Chevrolet Biscayne successfully transported us on this whirlwind tour across Canada and the States that gave us four days to spend in Rumford.

Upon our return, we arrived in the Salt Lake valley about 5 on a Monday morning. The rest of the family crashed into their beds but I was so wound up I got up and went outside to see what was going on in our neighborhood. Beside the kitchen doorway next to the steps was our milk box. I opened up the lid and noticed a small soft-cover book lying inside. It was a book of elephant jokes. You know the kind – “Question: What did Tarzan say when he saw the elephants coming over the hill? Answer: Here come the elephants over the hill!” Inside the front cover was a handwritten note from Nic. It was a welcome home gift for Codge and me. I sensed that Nic was feeling kind of alone during our two-week absence and looked forward to our return.

I sat outside on the kitchen steps reading Nic’s elephant joke book. It was about 6 when I noticed Nic walking down 17th East on the opposite side of the street in the direction of our house. I thought to myself, “Where is Nic going at this time of the morning?” The neighborhood was very quiet, hardly a car on the street and no sign of human life save Nic Baker. At that moment, I sensed a lonesomeness in Nic that was deep and profound. My understanding of his home life began to sharpen as I came to see him as a loner, often unsupervised by his parents. But that was part of Nic’s appeal. In retrospect, I realize that Nic raised himself during the course of our friendship. As our companionship with Nic grew, Codge and I realized that he had a “dark” side to him, conducting his late night jaunts around the neighborhood. Some of the funniest memories of Nic are about his years “working the night shift.”

I called to Nic. He looked in my direction bearing a huge grin and ran in my direction. We were both glad to see each other. I thanked him for the book. Without replying, he thanked me for coming home so we could hang out again.

If you like this series, check out my book East Bench on the front page. I think you’ll like it!

Filed under: Tales From The Bench by JimPotter