AN OLD SCHOOL BALTIMORE LUNCH AT JIMMY’S FAMOUS SEAFOOD

SEAFOOD, FRIENDSHIP, FAMILY, AND THE AMERICAN DREAM IN THE AGE OF TRUMP

If you’re fortunate and healthy and wise enough to love your neighbor as yourself, you will occasionally share a meal with old friends that will confirm for you what a life well lived actually is.

On Easter Saturday I had such a meal in the Dundalk neighborhood of Baltimore, Maryland. It was no accident that it was at Jimmy’s Famous Seafood, which has recently raised its national profile by standing up to ignorant, anti-American wokesters on X.

First of all, let me say Jimmy’s Famous is real, it’s attentive, and it’s fantastic. Here’s their reply back to my X post about our lunch. And yes, my pint of PETA’s Tears was as satisfying as it sounds. Definitely check out this link to the Fox News story about how Jimmy’s came up with that name. Classic Bmore!

Besides the praise I delivered in my post, there are two things about Jimmy’s I very much appreciated, one, it’s easy to find (more on that later) and, two, it’s American leisure dining as it should be. You can come dressed up or dressed down. Jimmy’s Famous is Old School Baltimore at its best. We were there on a sunny spring Saturday, and the dining rooms were packed. Smiles everywhere. I saw families and friends enjoying each other’s company over great seafood in a town known for great seafood. Not fancy, just great. Not pretentious, just great. The wait staff knew their jobs and did them well. The kitchen staff knew their jobs and did them well. The basics were solid, and the extras were delivered with just the right amount of extra to be exceptional.

That said, what made the day memorable for me was it was a reunion of sorts with my old school friends, Mark and Jorge, whom I had roomed with during my years at the University of Maryland. We settled on Jimmy’s Famous because of all the pro-Trump attention they were generating during the Winter Olympics, plus, for us, it was a centrally located.

When we met in college, Mark was a Little Feat-loving kid from Baltimore, Arbutus to be exact. Jorge and I hailed from the D.C. suburbs, Rockville and Potomac, respectively. Jorge played bass guitar in a band. I was the outdoorsy whitewater kayaker. We had quite a cast of characters in our dorm. Thanks in large part to Mark’s easygoing leadership, we became lifelong friends and fans of all things Baltimore.

By the way, as the news out of the Middle East roils all our lives, the Iran embassy hostage crisis began in November 1979, just as Mark, Jorge, and I were getting to know each other as typical American college dudes, more interested in girls, beer, music, and grades than international upheaval.

That was forty-seven years ago. Now, look where we are. All of us.

The stated purpose of our gathering last Saturday was retirement. We are all facing it. By October, all three of us will be drawing Social Security, paying into Medicare, and planning for our so-called Golden Years in Donald Trump’s America. Hashing that out was part of what drew us together.

But there was more to it. After 47 years we are in the midst of a lot of change—in our world, in our country, in our lives. So, we sat down and talked and laughed and talked some more about our accomplishments, our losses, and our relationships.

Right out of the gate, we raised a glass to our moms and dads—by name. All but two were gone. Memories of our parents flickered back into focus. My dad had captained a Coast Guard patrol boat in St. Thomas where I was born. Jorge’s dad had earned his doctorate and worked for the National Institute of Standards and Technology. Mark’s dad had been a Baltimore police officer in a simpler time. The mortgage on his house during Mark’s childhood was $50 a month. Of all our parents, my mom and Jorge’s mom are the only two still around. We’re looking after them.

Mom was an artist at the Torpedo Factory Art Center in Alexandria, Virginia, during my college years and all the way up until a couple years ago when she closed up her studio to take care of Dad. He died this past Father’s Day in his own bed after a couple years of daily care. I was there with him for most of it. The thing is, when my friends were getting married, I gave Mom’s artwork out as wedding gifts. Mark married his high school sweetheart, Leslie, right after graduation. They got one of Mom’s prints. Mark told me his daughter still has it on her wall. It’s titled Serenity Flow. I told Mom this on Sunday as I was prepping our Easter dinner. She remembered well my friendship with Mark and Leslie. She chuckled when I mentioned Serenity Flow. Back in the day, that was her accomplishment.

Leslie wasn’t there with us for lunch. She died in December after a month in intensive care. She had battled health issues for a long time, and it finally caught up with her. Mark, who was devoted to Leslie from the day I first met him, is devastated. All of us who knew and loved them both are, as well.

That was the other reason for our gathering. Jorge and I wanted to check up on Mark. But of course, we had to pick a cool lunch spot and suggest he pay for it—which he did, because, of all our group, he’s that guy.

Next time we do our lunch, Jorge and I are splitting the bill. That’s the deal, Mark. It’s already decided. Jimmy’s Famous, here we come.

So, with retirement and recent deaths on our minds, we talked about, what else, health insurance. Jorge explained about how he had paid out of pocket for a shoulder surgery because it was cheaper by about 4x. Then he canceled his insurance. Now he’s on Medicare, as am I. Mark will be on it this fall.

I don’t worry too much about doctors because I’m active and healthy. Mark runs a sizable company. He told us what they spend on health insurance per year. It totals more than I’ve earned in my entire life. Nothing about health care has improved in our country in 47 years. I hope Secretary Kennedy’s MAHA policies can change that.

Jorge then regaled us with tales of his retirement in Amish country, just up the road in Pennsylvania. He moved there a few years ago with his wife, Kathy, who grew up in Baltimore. They have kids and grandkids and love their quiet life amongst the Amish.

Turns out, on top of Jorge’s part-time duties at the local country club, he and Kathy have become heroes to their neighbors, who need their help with motorized transportation. As Jorge explains it, the Amish sometimes need him to drive them somewhere beyond horse-and-buggy range. And since he refuses money, they bring him their fresh eggs, chickens, produce, bread, all kinds of farm-raised food. “I’ve got more eggs than I know what to do with,” says Jorge.

The families are big, the kids go barefoot, and they‘ve taken to Jorge and Kathy so well they were invited to the community Christmas celebration. Best of all, the Amish call Jorge “Englischer,” which cracks me up because his family is originally from Mexico, and he makes the best chili I’ve ever had.

Jorge told us how after one family in the community had a bad fire at their house and barn, all the men and boys gathered together and pulled down the burned-out structures and rebuilt them for free with materials donated by their Amish-owned sawmill and lumber yard. No cost to the family. All work completed in three weeks. No inspection delays, no contractor or supplier issues. Just a simple task accomplished communally. That’s the Amish way.

Turns out they do their health insurance the same way, voluntary and collective. It wasn’t lost on either Mark or I that the amazing community spirit Jorge is now a part of wasn’t taught to any of us at college.

It was while we were digging into the appetizers (tasty and generous) that I asked Mark how he was doing, and I was not prepared for the reply I got. Neither was Jorge. I wasn’t expecting a story about Leslie on her deathbed, but that’s what we got. I wasn’t expecting it to be so funny, but, yeah, we got that, too.

Mark, in his self-deprecating, Baltimore way, told us that as Leslie began to fade into extended semi-consciousness, the treatment team began to get more concerned. Nothing was working. Finally, Mark’s son, Sam, tried to boost Leslie’s lucidity by writing a beloved family slogan on her hospital room whiteboard. Of course, it was from “South Park,” and, of course, it was X-rated. It was their family’s inside joke, and it worked. Leslie, barely conscious, weak and sedated, finally roused herself to the point of whispering that X-rated phrase back to her son and husband. It was their joke, and she was still in on it, because Leslie loved a good joke. Her barely audible reply shocked the nurses and doctors. And I mean, shocked.

Mark’s a storyteller, and that one was packed with love and humor. As he told it at Jimmy’s Famous, Jorge and I hooted so loud every diner in the room was staring at us. I was pounding the table I was laughing so hard. It was a funny story, and it was also Mark’s way of paying a heartfelt tribute to the love of his life. “She was there with you,” I said to him.

“She’s here with us now,” said Jorge.

And she was.

And that was the point—of Mark’s story, of our lunch, of our friendship. We were there for each other, as we always had been. He told us that story because he needed to tell us that story, and he needed to tell it to us because we’d understand what it meant to him, Mark, our old friend. And we did.

Not long after Leslie died, my eldest son Jack and I went to College Park for a Maryland basketball game, which was one of my Christmas gifts to Jack. While there, we made a video outside of the dorm where I had roomed with Mark. Our message was that it was thanks to Mark and Leslie that Jack and I were father and son. Jack said thanks, and I said thanks. I sent that on to Mark, and he very much appreciated it.

You see, Mark and Leslie introduced me to Jack’s mom, my first wife, Zsuzsi. She has long since moved back to Hungary. Jack visits regularly. He phones often and tells his mom about goings here. Zsuzsi was sad to hear about Leslie. I know she’ll be glad to hear about my visit with Mark and Jorge. It just shows how you never know how far and wide and loving a friendship will go.

By the time the main course arrived—each of us ordered the very satisfying seafood sampler with Jimmy’s awesome crab cakes—we were on to me talking about my younger kids, and their passage out of high school and middle school respectively. At one point, we all toasted our great country. As Americans at this stage of our lives, we have much to be proud of.

Included in that conversation was my sadness and confusion over my recent divorce. Mark and Jorge were at our wedding. They understood. Like I said, so much has changed in our country and in our lives, and that’s what I’ve been writing about for these many years.

My contribution to the gathering was talking about how much strength and peace of mind I’ve drawn from daily prayer. Based on how I used to act in college, that was the last thing those guys expected. But, as my old, dear friends, they listened and accepted.

I also shared with them my plan for a late summer personal pilgrimage to England. I’ll be explaining more about that in future posts.

As always, Mark and Jorge were encouraging. We were all encouraging for each other. That’s what friends do for each other, that’s how we’ve always been. Whether it’s during a chat over lunch Jimmy Famous Seafood in Dundalk, or over dinner at the U of M dining hall, we recognize the world and its issues spins on and on. It always has. That will never change. But with friends who share their sadness and joy and families who love us no matter what, we eventually figure out what a life well lived actually is.

Eventually. Prayer helps.

I look forward to seeing Jorge and Mark in the near future, maybe with some other characters from the old crew, probably at Jimmy’s Famous—because it’s an easy place to find and the food and atmosphere are great.

How easy is it find Jimmy’s Famous? Real easy. On I-95 through Baltimore, take Dundalk Avenue exit toward the harbor. A couple of blocks in is Holabird Avenue. Take a right and Jimmy’s Famous is immediately on your right. Go there with someone you love. It will be worth the trip.

All for now. Talk soon. As always, paid subscriptions are a big boost.

And don’t forget about my new website AuthorMikeMccormick.com, featuring all my books including my awesome novel The Big Burn.