"BABY OTT," MAN OF A THOUSAND NICKNAMES

When I was fourteen, Ivan Cure, a sixteen-year old in my neighborhood was so driven to become a doctor that he insisted on being called, "I. Cure."

In 1970, Canarsie High had so many students that a split session was necessary.  That meant that swarms of incoming sophomores like me, started class at 1:00PM.

A friend of mine, Stewart "Otter" Ott, and I had a routine where he came to my house at 12:30 and we walked the ten blocks to school together. The previous June, Otter and I became friends at the John Wilson Junior High ninth grade trip, (ninety miles away, at the Peekskill Dude Ranch).

Soon Stew started dropping by my house at noon, so we could watch, "JEOPARDY." To spice up the festivities, we developed a system to keep score and compete against each other.

CREATED BY MERV GRIFFIN, "JEOPARDY," HAS AIRED OVER 9,000 EPISODES SINCE ITS DEBUT IN MARCH 1964.

My mother didn't like Stewart.  She was an excellent judge of character and didn't think the Otter nickname fit him.  So behind his back, she called him the "Piss-Ant."  Mom's instinct was pretty amazing because she had no way of knowing about the angst caused by Otter's hated, authoritative and cheap father.

Otter's austere dad was a hunched-over IRS examiner who wore his suit pants and dress shirt in the house until he went to bed.  He was probably under fifty, looked sixty and acted seventy. While I was at their house, the man never acknowledged me. On the other hand, Stewart's friendly mom, in her signature beehive hairdo, was attractive, bubbly, and in her mid-thirties. Today, we would call her, a trophy wife. 

Mrs. Ott was supportive of Stew.  But when dad was around, her hip, butterfly attitude reverted to that of an ugly, irritable caterpillar, as her face contorted to an unnatural, neutral indifference.  Even worse, she obediently agreed with everything Mr. Ott said, especially when pressuring Stew to live up to his potential to become a doctor.

My mom was usually in the kitchen (the adjoining room), during Stew's TV visits. So she had a fly on the wall perspective during our conversations.  But Otter never brought up his dysfunctional family.  My mom saw only the effect, not the cause...so her negativity was based on him being a jerk after he (almost always), beat me in Jeopardy. 

He and I never mentioned, "I. Cure's," nickname or Otter's need to lampoon his father, to my mom.  So after beating me in Jeopardy again, he bragged about his wealth of knowledge and intellectual mastery over me. On our way out, he informed my mom of his latest victory and proclaimed that he now preferred being called, "Doctor Ott."  Mom in turn called him, "Baby Ott." 

Otter was short and good-looking so, he took mom's nickname as a compliment.  A lot of people called him, "Flea," so I'm guessing he liked mom's name because he perceived a certain level of cuteness from it.  But his cuteness only took him so far.  When it came to meeting girls, his brash personality usually got him his foot in the door but he was unable to follow through because like his dad, he was insensitive, sarcastic and abrasive.  My mom recognized these traits and called him Baby Ott because she thought he was infantile.

When I realized mom was right again,  I reflected back a few months to the dude ranch.  Otter had said that his mom had lied to his dad...and gave him, her squirreled away "mad" money, so he could go. To rationalize his absence, she told Mr. Ott that Stew was visiting old friends in Nanuet (NY).  Unfortunately, this arrangement left him no pocket money on our trip.  So like moths attracted to a floodlight, to make a few dollars, Stew gathered a bunch of schoolmates behind our bunkhouse and drank Aqua Velva...for money.

AQUA VELVA WAS INTRODUCED AS AN ALCOHOL-BASED MOUTHWASH IN 1929.  IN 1970, IT WAS A POPULAR AFTERSHAVE.  TODAY, AN AQUA VELVA COCKTAIL COMBINES, VODKA, GIN AND BLUE CURACAO.  IT IS TOPPED WITH SPRITE AND ICE AND GARNISHED WITH AN ORANGE SLICE OR MINT.  PLEASE NOTE, ACTUAL AQUA VELVA IS NOT AN INGREDIENT.

At the dude ranch, the horse back riding, archery and native American craft sessions went unappreciated. The real action was our unchaperoned carousal after dark.  Other kids were smoking pot, breaking windows with a cricket bat and having pantie raids...so I didn't think Stew's antics were that much out of the ordinary.  That is until we got back and I heard kids call him, "Stewed," "S. Ott," "Idi-Ott" and  "Aqua Velva Man."

He lived up to those names during one of our walks to school.  He told me that his Waspy, Nanuet friends got him into drinking mint gin. Then like a commercial he said, "Plus, it's only two bucks, tastes great and makes you feel good."  A few days later, at a moment of weakness and curiosity, I let myself get lured into the web of stupidity by his spider-like, multi-example rationale, (in retrospect, I think he only needed me, for my dollar). 

Like bedbugs waiting to jump onto a victim, we staked-out the liquor store next to the Bamboo Lounge, (on Avenue N at Locust).

IN THE MOVIE, "GOODFELLAS," THE BAMBOO LOUNGE'S FACADE WAS USED  DURING THE NIGHT CLUB FIRE BOMBING SCENE.  THE LIQUOR STORE THAT WAS TO PURVEY OUR GIN, IS OFF-CAMERA, TWO DOORS DOWN FROM THE TUXEDO STORE.

Otter finally approached a man wearing a Beetles tee-shirt and asked him to buy us the pint.  When he agreed, Stew handed over my dollar bill and his fist full of change, (including pennies).

I'm guessing the man wanted to teach us lesson.  He said they were out of mint gin so he got us "almost the same thing," lemon gin.  I never had Castor oil but lemon gin was worse than any all-purpose, icky-tasting medicine I ever had forced down my throat...but I swilled it anyway.

At about 2:00AM, we were wasted, sitting on the steps in front of the Charcoal Chef Restaurant by the Seaview Theater.  A neighbor spotted me, dragged me home and woke my folks.

Like a hornet's nest in my head, the next day's hangover, vomiting session and lingering dry heaves were nothing compared to my parent's tongue lashing. I never got that messed-up, EVER again!...till many years later.

Otter was now off limits.  Like a pesky gnat, he followed me around school and begged my forgiveness. Eventually, I let down my guard. I defied my parents and allowed him back into my trust...even after he lit up a roach on our first walk home. Soon, I found out that mom was still right about Otter. 

At the same time, I was dating a girl who confided in me that she once used a handful of sleeping pills to attempt suicide.  They rushed her to the hospital and saved her life by pumping her stomach.  I told Otter.  "Mosquito Stew," stung me again.  Whether it was out of jealousy, ignorance or disbelief...I'll never know...but he found her and asked her about it.  She was insulted that someone in her circle had betrayed her trust.  She demanded to know how he knew. I'm certain she didn't have to resort to Chinese water torture when Otter broke down and fingered me.  I liked her a lot so it killed me to be called a termite when she cut me loose. I asked, "Why?"  She said, "Ask 'Mr. Booze-Breath.'"

When he confessed, I went off on him and permanently ended our relationship. 

Forty years later, (the other day), a Facebook friend brought up Otter's name. The thing I found most curious was that Otter fulfilled his father's, "Dr. Ott" wish.   Apparently, Stewart Ott obtained a doctorate in entomology and has been studying insects...forever. He travels all over the world and at some point in 2011, he was on a polar expedition near the South Pole.  It wouldn't shock me to find out that the good doctor was cruel to his trophy wife and makes her bore the holes into the Antarctic's frozen tundra.

Too much time has passed and even from a distance, I'm not interested in tracking Otter down.  But if I ever found myself confronted by him, in respect to my mom, I'd have to call him, "Dr. Baby Ott."  However, in a strange twist of fate, I researched every derivative of Ivan Cure...and it looks like, he never reached his self-proclaimed, "I. Cure," prophesy to be a doctor, dentist or even an exterminator.