When it comes to Johnny, I have memories that stretch the entire spectrum. Good memories. Bad ones. Crazy, Insane and Downright bonkers ones, too. But I would have to say that a great majority of my memories with Johnny have been downright pleasant.
The particular memory I want to share takes place in the Spring of 1994.
You know that first weekend in Spring where you check the weather and it’s going to be awesome? Well, it was a weekend like that. Temps in the high 70’s. Low 50’s. In a word, it was perfect.
A couple days prior, I had talked to a handful of buddies about going down to Old Man’s Cave in Hocking Hills for a day of hiking and then camping down there somewhere. Anywhere. I didn't care. I just really wanted to get out of Columbus and do something different.
But nobody could go.
On Saturday morning, I took turns dialing up friends on the old hand-held phone, to no avail. I was almost going to throw in the towel when the phone rang. It was Johnny Neville!
“Hey man,” he said quietly mumbling over the phone. “You doing anything today?”
“Yes, I am,” I said. "And hopefully you are too!"
I invited him on my journey frolicking around the forest. He agreed. The game was afoot. In less than an hour, John dropped by my house and we loaded up my Chevy Spectrum with a 3-person tent, food, water and – pretty much that’s about it. For some reason, we forgot to load up sleeping bags and pillows and toothbrushes and the like. But oh well.
We headed down to Route 33, but not before stopping at a local 7-Eleven where we purchased a case of beer. A quick stop at a Burger King and an hour and some change later, we were in Hocking Hills. Prior to our hike, we smoked a joint, chugged a couple of beers, and headed on our way.
Old Man’s Cave trail is, by far, the most popular and busiest trails in the Hocking Hills area. To our surprise, it was noticeably … not busy. Matter of fact, we were the only ones on the trail for quite some time. When we reached the waterfall at the bottom of the hill. My head was spinning; but in a good way. And it was pretty intense.
We hiked for another half-mile or so, chatting, laughing, commiserating—when Neville stopped in his tracks near a sign that said: “Stay On Trail. Off Trail Hiking Is Illegal and Hazardous.”
A mischievous grin cast over his face. “Let’s go off the trail,” he said. “Let’s have an adventure.”
So, there we were. Hopping, running, climbing, leaping, death-defying, and just having a boatload of fun like two grade-school kids at recess. It felt like two compadres sharing a fun, mystical experience.
It was around 3 p.m. in the afternoon. Bodies inhaling oxygen. Taking deep breaths like athletes after a game. We made our way back to the trail. John and I were drawn to this big boulder implanted beside the stream—big enough for both of us to sprawl out comfortably and take in the sights and sounds. For a long time, we sat there listening to the trees blowing in the wind. The birds chirping. The distant conversations of other hikers on the trail. Squirrels and chipmunks scratching up and down dead logs and dirty ground. A slight trickle from the stream. It was a perfect moment. The perfect, peaceful time with the perfect friend. Just relaxing and enjoying life. I remember looking over at Neville, his head raised to the sun. His eyes were closed as he was taking in the splendor and beauty of this wonderful day.
Then, just as quickly, he hopped off the boulder and said, “Let’s go drink some beer.”
By the time we got back to the car, it was dusk. We made our way to a local KOA campground up the road. Again, just like at Old Man’s Cave, there weren’t very many people around. It was kismet. The manager set us up in a campground far away from the few campers who were there. We ordered a pizza from the KOA manager. Remember cellphones weren’t as readily available in those times. Then we started a campfire.
John pulled out this little transistor radio that I hadn’t seen him load up in the car. It’s almost like he knew we were going to need it, for this exact moment. We found Ohio University’s public radio station, which so happened to be playing an 80’s dance mix the entire night. The pizza arrived. We ate. We drank. We laughed. We listened to endless tunes echoing into the darkness of our campsite. We talked about life. What we were going to do after college. Where we wanted to travel. Places we wanted to see. We talked about girlfriends, and school, and movies, music, and of course politics. The birds began chirping. The sun was coming up. We hadn’t yet hit the hay.
“This was a great Saturday,” I told him. “Yeah,” he said. “It was pretty fun. We should do this again sometime.” Ending a day of great memories filled with happiness and camaraderie, we crawled into our tent and fell asleep.
And that’s my visual image of John Neville. The positive, happy-go-lucky friend. The practical joker—always looking to pull a prank, poke and prod and have fun. A great attitude with a youthful zest to experience life. Just a fun-loving, jovial dude who always wanted to have fun, hang out, and shoot the shit.
That’s the way I’m always going to remember John.
