Stargazing Off The Shore Of Coney Island

Pedaling down the boardwalk on an overcast July morning, I glanced toward the fishing pier in the distance. The threat of rain on this Sunday kept many away from the beach, but over one hundred people were clustered  on the east end of the pier. Cycling past the NYPD ceremonial unit in their white gloves, I knew everyone was gathered to say goodbye to Jason. Overcome by the support for our departed friend and holding back tears; I gazed toward the tumultuous sky knowing Jay’s journey was stirring the heavens already.

An avid fisherman, Jason was no stranger to the pier.  In fact, many boardwalk regulars recognized him. Between his intense charisma, his fishing skills and his tattooed appearance, Jay was a memorable figure. Generally soft spoken, I always appreciated how energetic Jay would become when he discussed his hobbies.

I knew Jason years before his ink and his custom fishing rods; before he was hired as a police officer, and before his injuries would isolate him to the solitude of his apartment. When I first met Jay we were teenagers hanging around the handball courts at the park. Our small group of mutual friends had a large spectrum of flawed interests that drew us together. While we didn’t pal out regularly, our common friends and our silly antics kept us in touch.

For many years Jay and I would both joke about our career choices, and while we always griped about the loss of character and leadership on the job, we always had non-police interests that kept us close. I remember laughing our asses off once as I told a fish tale from twenty five years before, when I was 15 years old and working on a fishing boat in Sheepshead Bay.

During a busy weekend I was running around the deck netting fish as my father watched from his own boat nearby. He had gone fishing with his friends and followed my boat to rub it in and prove they can do better. I hear a commotion on one side and quickly net a fish I had never seen. Now onboard, I reach out to remove the hook when I hear a muffled voice screaming above me.

“Don’t touch that fish!” said the boat captain from the top deck with a cigar clenched between his teeth. “It’s a rare, prehistoric fish that can electrocute you. It’s called a stargazer. Just cut the line and throw it back.”

Amazed, I couldn’t believe I saw a rare electric fish. Nobody except the captain had seen or known anything about this fish. I yelled to my dad but his boat had drifted too far, and they were busy netting their own fish. I couldn’t wait for the work day to end so I could ask my old man about the stargazer. That same day I remember listening to the boring testimony of the Iran-Contra hearings on a fisherman’s transistor radio. Looking into it now, the date was July 1987. Exactly twenty five years prior.

Interestingly on that same day, my dad had also caught a fish he and his buddies had never seen. Curious to show the guys back at the marina, he unhooked the fish and put it in a bucket of water. Dockside and tipsy from a day of drinking, my father called to the other men gathered on the dock. “Hey, you guys ever see this ugly fish before?” Bending down, my father reached into the bucket to lift up the fish, and ZAP! The sudden shock sent my father backwards falling onto the deck. With the luck of the intoxicated, he wasn’t injured as the others approached laughing. Being an engineer, my father’s first thought was of an electrical short somewhere onboard. The low current shock, while jolting enough to knock a bent man over, was not initially considered from the rare catch in the bucket. When one of the boat owners approached with a fish encyclopedia, and compared the sketch, the group learned a drunken lesson together.

Aside from having a gaping mouth and beady little eyes atop the fish’s head, the Atlantic Stargazer is equipped with large side fins used to burrow in the sand motionless and await its prey. Not larger than two feet long, the fish uses plates in its skull to conduct a shock as a defense mechanism. The only redeeming quality is a yellow spot under the head.

Bizarre and truthful, I love telling this fish story because it always makes me laugh. I remember Jason laughing with me as I told the tale of the rarely seen catch. Fast forward twenty five years and I’m gazing toward the sea, fondly remembering my departed friend. The eerie plunge of Jason’s bio-degradable urn into the ocean jolts me back to reality. Everyone is gripped by the sound. Our friend is finally at peace. No longer a slave to the pain of his accident, or the prescribed methods that brought us together on the pier.

Jason Scher will never fade from memory. He was too charismatic for that. Two days later I’m fondly reminded of my friend again. July 31^st 2012- two days after the most touching ceremony in my life, and exactly twenty five years after the first stargazer- I’m enjoying the company of my now elderly father on the same vessel where he was sent flying backwards. The day is sunny and clear. We are drifting within swimming distance from the Coney Island Pier when dad’s pole starts to bend.

Lifting the fish on board, my dad struggles to see through thick glasses, “What the heck is that?” Staring at the odd fins and the yellow spot under the head, I say “You don’t recognize that fish? With your experience seeing stars, I thought you’d remember forever.” I quickly reach for my cellular phone camera and get a close up. I now have photographic proof and the story has new life.

A quarter of a century has passed, and I have yet to meet anyone that has caught this fish. I look toward the pier and smile. I know Jay and his antics are somehow behind this.