I don't know how Jason stayed sober. For years he'd been a falling-down drunk, and co-workers at the mental hospital would find him passed out on the grounds even before his shift started. Fed up with his chronic lateness and absenteeism, the hospital administration was about to can him. Then, without AA, rehab or even detox, he quit drinking and never touched the hard stuff again. Keeping his room above the Patriot Bar, he still hung out with all his former drinking partners below. He laughed, threw darts, shot pool while sipping his ginger ale. After he died from a sudden heart attack, I went to the Patriot to ask his buddies if they knew a place Jason really loved where I could scatter his ashes. "Sheepshead Bay," they said, "Jason loved to go fishing there." They told me to come to the bar at 4:30 Sunday morning and they would drive me. I got there on time and these guys were already knocking back boilermakersÑto them it was breakfast. They drove me to Sheepshead Bay, baited my hook and showed me how to cast. I sprinkled Jason's ashes onto the receding tide. Then I caught a flounder, which the guys gutted and I ate for dinner. It was like my brother gave me a tasty filet to remember the day.

Gil Fagiani