My memories of Alan Assur 

I first met Alan down at the Pinecrest baseball diamond just off Braddock Road. This once holy site is now a pond and golf green.  Alan would peddle down from the dodgy side of Lake Barcroft on his bike. He crossed Columbia Pike, then shot downhill on Whispering Lane into Pinecrest. His return was all uphill! He rode a small bike with a banana seat and high handle bars like in “Easy Rider” but with long red plastic tassels. 

At the baseball diamond Alan joined the infamous softball team, the YMCA’s “Pinecrest Pirates” where he played most of the positions. 

In the summer between 6th and 7th grades some asshole scheduled our team to play a girl’s softball team on the 4th of July. The girls were bigger than us, but the same age. The girls must have practiced more than we did and ended up beating us badly. 

Alan had a wood pile in his back yard where he would trap chipmunks for my breeding project. 

Often Alan would call me and ask if I would like to go with him and his father to a horse show or the like at the DC Armory. Alan’s father was a DC fire marshal and would get “free” tickets to the circus and other venues.  

Alan’s father smoked cigars. I remember the day Alan’s father beat his ass good. Alan bought him an exploding cigar and when it went off, it dropped a ball of glowing cinders into his Dad’s lap and burnt a hole in his suit. 

When Alan and I turned 16, we bought some motor bikes. Alan’s was a Honda Super 90 (4 stroke 90 cc) and I got a 125 cc,2 stroke piece of shit made by Benelli. Alan removed his bike’s perfectly good muffler and replaced it with short blasting one and, boy, was it loud. One day we rode our bikes up to my cabin in the Shenandoah Valley. Then we went into New Market and revved up those bikes, and rode them up and down the streets. Even before we got back to Northern Virginia, people in New Market had called my grandmother who, in return, called my mother to complain about our rude behavior. 

For a long while no one ever saw Alan without him being on his Super 90. Once I heard someone ask about him constantly being on it, he responded, “If I could ride in my house to the bathroom I would”. 

I do not remember for sure, but I think Alan might have been on the motor bike trip to Florida where Steve Minor lost his life.  

Once or twice while we were at TJ, Alan and I went hunting up at my cabin. At least once, Loren Van Sickle, who I just found out has passed away, joined Alan and me for deer hunting.  

Alan told me that he had once “gotten lucky” with one of the girls in our class but I cannot remember who it was 50 years later. I do remember something like she was on the field hockey team. 

Real soon after high school, Alan went to work for Fairfax County at the Northern Virginia Community College doing grounds work. Every now and then I would run into Alan. Alan had bought into a property in Fort Valley just a few miles NE of Kings Crossing, and had continued to live a loud existence. He had bought himself a Mack 10 submachine gun that he loved to shoot while in Fort Valley. 

Until I joined this Class of 69 group, I was unaware of Alan’s death. 

Here I apologize for anything I might have misrepresented with my words. This is from my best recollection and without malice.