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Initially a Problem

by Kenneth B. Lourie


I live less than 50 yards away from a neighbor whose face I know but whose name I can’t remember. And I’m not talking about his last name, either. No, I’m talking about his first name, which, given the title, is not a name in the most literal calling but rather a pair of initials. And my not remembering those initials is somewhat ironic, considering, throughout my formative years I was nicknamed K.B., my first and middle initials.

This neighbor, a man approximately my age, is living in the house next to mine, for the second time. Previously he was a tenant. Then he moved away.

Now he’s back, as a newlywed and an owner. Obviously I’ve not interacted with him enough to commit his initials to memory, and there’s really no excuse for that. Except, living in the fast lane (Ha!) sometimes makes it difficult to stop and chat up the neighbors. Still, there’s been ample opportunity to commit his initials to memory, especially since he has offered, on more than one occasion, to help the computer-challenged, illiterate living in my house (yours truly) learn some basic computer skills.

You see, this man is a computer repair/rebuild/resolve troubleshooter of the highest caliber. He’s the professional the manufacturers refer to you to come to your home and do whatever it is these technicians do. I should know. I have benefited from his expertise. The first time my computer crashed (froze?), I called him. Luckily (for me) he was home, and happily he obliged and came right over. He sat down at my computer, and within a few minutes he had keystroked his way into my heart and didn’t seem to mind. Then he offered, almost unconditionally, and for free mind you - even though he’s already on call 24/7 to service paying customers - to assist me in my computing. So he’s been in my house, and yet I still can’t remember his initials.

I want to say A.J., but that’s my co-worker Andrea’s son’s name, as well as the name of Lt. Roberts’ son, named after the judge advocate general himself, A.J. Chegwidden, on the CBS television program “JAG.” I know it’s not R.J. That belongs to R.J. Reynolds, the tobacco conglomerate. And of course his initials are not M.J. We all know he wears No. 23 for the Washington Wizards. And it’s certainly not O.J. We know who he is, and he’s not my neighbor. Nor are his initials B.J. That name belongs to B.J. Honeycutt, a character from the CBS television series, “M*A*S*H” (played by Mike Farrell), son of Mrs. B and Mr. J. Honeycutt.

His name could be J.B., but since it’s football season, it’s more likely those initials belong to James Brown, host of Fox’s Sunday NFL pre-game show. It could be T.J. but, I think I remember William Shatner’s (or maybe it’s Heather Locklear I remember) post-”Star Trek” television series (and character) T.J. Hooker. And it’s definitely not C.J. I believe that was Pamela Anderson’s character’s name on “Baywatch,” during its early years.

I don’t think his initials are J.D., either, especially now that the televised NHL season has begun. J.D. is the name of the longtime color analyst and former goalie, Jon Davidson. And it’s certainly not D.J. To me, D.J. is Dennis Johnson, starting guard on the last two Boston Celtic, NBA championship teams in 1984 and ’86. Nor is his name L.J. Those initials belong to Larry Johnson, the UNLV, Charlotte Hornets’ and New York Knicks’ basketball star, (and the former Grandmama), forced to retire prematurely from the NBA due to a back injury. And finally, I know it’s not J.C. Because as any Washingtonian should know, those initials belong to only one person, J.C. Haywood, local Channel 9’s long-appearing daytime and occasional early-evening broadcaster.

But J.C. sounds close. It’s not J.P., it’s not J.V., it’s not J.Z., it’s... J.T.! That’s it! J.T.! Finally.

Now I can relax, so the next time I see him I won’t have to stammer my way through “Hello.” I’m sure it will be much easier starting a conversation, now that I know his name.

Lourie is a regionally syndicated columnist who resides in Burtonsville, MD.

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