Free THE FOURTH WATCH by Edwin Attella

first joined, it wasn't
even here. When the I-190 highway had been built the old Y was
demolished, and so they built a new one over here on the lake. They
constantly paint walls and move offices around and upgrade
equipment, but it seems the same, it's comfortable.
    I stretched out and did 200 stomach crunches,
then I ran two miles on the track that circles the weight room.
There is nothing quite so boring as the herding weight lifters -
which is exactly what you feel like you're doing as you grind
through the 44 laps that make up two miles. When I was finished I
had a good sweat going and I hit the speed bag for ten solid
minutes. I can make it dance, If I do say so myself, and I got it
spinning pretty good. When I was finished I pounded on the heavy
bag for a while, then went through fifteen nautilus stations,
moving rapidly between exercises, not letting the primed muscles
rest, pushing myself to muscular failure on each station. I moved
over to the free weights, and was just loading the bar at the bench
when I heard a voice call me across the room. I turned toward it
and saw Jack Healy pulling on a pair of lifting gloves and coming
across the track toward me from the locker room.
    "Action Packed," I called smiling, "Vas
sup?"
    Jack Healy is a big raw-boned Irishman with
jet-black hair, chiseled features and piercing blue eyes that you
can't look away from. His massive frame is lean and taunt from
years of athletic activity. Fifteen years ago he was the top
schoolboy athlete in the state, bringing championships to St.
Anthony's High School in basketball, football and baseball. Ten
years ago he led St. Joseph's, a sixteen seed that barely made it
to the NCAA tournament, into the round of eight where they lost to
a heavily favored Duke team by one point in overtime. Jack scored
34 points, pulled down 15 rebounds and dished off 12 assists. Duke
eventually won the national title. He was the toughest kid I had
ever met, and the kindest.
    We shook hands. "Kato, Que pasa, eh?" he said
and gathered me up in those eyes. He smiled at me easily and
slapped me on the shoulder. He is and always has been my best
friend.
    Jack and I grew up in a Catholic orphanage run
by St John's Parish across from the Church on Temple Street. My
father died of a heart attack digging a hole at a construction site
in Framingham when I was six years old. My kid sister was four. My
mother moved us into the Great Brook Valley projects because it was
the only place she could afford, and she got a job as a secretary
with a cab company in the city. She worked hard and kept a roof
over our heads and she loved us and kept us together until cancer
got her and killed her when I was eleven. Two months after we got
to St John's, Jack showed up. His mother had died giving birth to
him and he had grown up with his father, a mean drunk who blamed
Jack for his mother's death. The old man abused Jack something
awful, and as his drinking got worse the beatings got worse.
Finally, the old man almost killed him with the buckle end of a
belt. When Jack got out of the hospital the state took custody of
him, eventually placing him at St. John's.
    The ticket out for both of us had been sports.
I was on that St Anthony's round ball team that won the state
championship with Jack. St Anthony's was a private Catholic school
that the Priest at St. John's got us into because we were good
athletes and St. Tony's didn't have any. I played basketball, and
worked hard for my grades. Jack played everything, was the star on
every team, and got straight A's in school. It all came easy to
him. After high school Jack went to St. Joseph's on a full
scholarship. I got a scholarship of my own to Hofstra. I started at
guard my last year, and did pretty well, but we never got to the
NCAA's and none of the pro scouts ever looked at me
seriously.
    The same could not be said for Jack. He was
drafted by the Pistons in the first round after his senior year at
St. Joe's. He thought about it briefly, and