He was named after his father, Chester, and called Sonny as a youngster.  We knew each other as children because our parents were friends, and his father and uncle worked with my father on many church and community causes.  There was also a familial relationship: his mother’s sister was married to my father’s closest friend.  Our families visited each other’s homes and we attended each other’s birthday parties, documented in the 16 mm home movies my father took on all notable occasions and even once in the social column of the Bayonne Times.

There was a two-year difference in our ages.  When I was three, my Mother organized a May party.  The children all wore costumes and paraded with a May Pole to the park where we enjoyed games and a picnic lunch.  I was dressed as  Queen of the May, complete with cape and crown, and Chester was my escort.   In the picture, he didn’t look thrilled with his role.  Since we lived at opposite ends of the city (Bayonne, NJ), we attended different parochial schools and didn’t have much contact during our elementary years.

After grammar school Chester went to St. Peter’s Prep in Jersey City, and I went to St. Al’s Academy.  In my sophomore year, I was asked to be godmother for my parents’ friends’ baby daughter.  Chet was asked  to be  godfather.  We reconnected in our first experience as godparents.

Of course Chet, as he was now called, and I had changed over the ten years since we were preschoolers. He was thoughtful and serious but pleasant and sociable.  We talked about our experiences in high school, and he told me about his interest in music, that he played the trombone in the school orchestra and even had his own jazz quartet. His dream was to take the group on tour and become a world famous  musician.

Chet called me a few days after the christening and invited me to go to the movies.  I was just fifteen and not yet allowed to date, so I was very excited at the prospect  Even though he was Polish, went to St. Peter’s Prep, and my parents knew his entire background,  my father said NO; but my mother intervened and convinced him to change his mind.   So I went on my first date.

We saw “One Touch of Venus” at the State Theater in Journal Square.   It was a lighthearted romantic comedy starring Ava Gardner and Dick Haymes.  Shortly after we were settled in our seats, Chet put his arm around my shoulders.  Not knowing how to react, I froze and don’t think I exhaled until the movie was over.  We returned home on the bus,  and he held my  hand as we walked.  All in all the evening was a very nice first experience.

When we got to my door, before saying goodnight, Chet asked me go with him to his Senior Prom.  OMG—if my father was reticent about me going to the movies, I didn’t know how he’d react to this invitation.  I turned to my mother for advice and assistance.  Dad still said ABSOLUTELY NO!.   His objections were that I was too young (most of the others at the dance would be seniors),  it wasn‘t safe to be in a car with an inexperienced driver; and since the drinking age at the time was  18, there might be liquor available at or after the dance.  He was adamant. I was crushed.

Chet’s Uncle John (Dad’s best friend) then came to intercede on his nephew’s behalf.  Dad was still not swayed until my mother came up with a plan to overcome his objections.  Her younger brother, my Uncle Ted, who had just returned from military service would be our chaufer and chaperone for the night, assuring that we would be safe and sensible.    Dad finally relented and allowed me to accept the invitation.

The Prom was held at the Meadowbrook Night Club in Cedar Grove, NJ, and the feature attraction that night was Vaughn Monroe.  Chet was excited about seeing him and perhaps getting the chance to meet him because the entertainer represented what Chet hoped to accomplish in his career.  In addition to being a singer, Vaughn Monroe  was an accomplished musician, a big band leader who toured the world, and a successful entrepreneur.

Our seats were right up in front near the stage.  Vaughn Monroe  sang his signature song “Racing with the Moon” and several others he had recorded, then came over to our table, sang his latest hit, “Hopscotch Polka,” and handed me a roll of butterscotch lifesavers.  I kept them for years as a remembrance of a wonderful night.   We had a delicious dinner, danced to both the slow and fast tunes and had a great time but had to leave the party at eleven to be home by midnight.  That was part of the agreement.

On the way home Chet and I sat in the backseat of the car.  He held my hand and we chatted with Uncle Ted about the evening.  Every once in while our diligent chaperone would check us out in the rear view mirror. Nothing was going on.

When we got home, Uncle Ted and his date for evening—my cousin Jean—waited in the car while Chet walked me up the long flight of stairs to my front door.  We walked into the vestibule, and he closed the door and proceeded to put his arms around me.  The nuns had warned us that this might happen when we were alone with a boy and instructed us to be prepared with some form of protection—like a needle or a book that could be held between us.  I was not in possession of any such ammunition, but lifted my little basket evening purse as a buffer.  Chet removed it from my hand and said, “You don’t need this.”  Then he gave me a long sweet kiss that was unlike any of the hundreds I had received from my family over the years. Before it could go any further, we heard a short beep of the car horn reminding us that Uncle Ted had promised to get “Prince Charming” home by the stroke of twelve.

Over the next few weeks I attended a concert at Prep at  which Chet was featured in a trombone solo.  Then I attended his graduation and the party afterwards, both events in the company of his parents.  And we spoke on the phone.  While I was babysitting, he would call after my charges were asleep and we would talk for hours about his dreams and plans after graduation.

But our relationship did not continue.  Chet’s parents did not share the enthusiasm for his chosen career or support his dreams to take his show on the road.  He stubbornly refused to follow a traditional path to college and a more practical life style.  I didn’t see him again.

Over the years, I heard through the grapevine that Chet had made some unfortunate choices and got on the wrong track, causing his family disappointment and  distress.  Twenty-five years later, I was married and living my perfect life in the suburbs, when my Mother called to tell me that Chester, the father, had had a fatal heart attack.  In deference to our long standing family relationship, I attended the wake.  There were many people I hadn’t seen in years, but Chet was not there and his mother was in a nursing home.

Two weeks later, my mother called again and told me “Chester died,”  “Yes Mom, I know, I was at this wake,” I said.  “No, Young Chester,” she replied.  I was stunned.  He was only forty-two.  It was déjà vu being at the same funeral home with the same name on the casket and the same mourners.  Chet had not fulfilled his idea of becoming  a famous jazz musician, touring around the world  and  having audiences pay to hear him perform, but I remember him as a dreamer and the one who gave me my first glimpse of growing up.

Eternal rest grant unto him oh Lord and may perpetual light shine upon him.  May he rest in peace .  Amen