Catching the June Bug

Once upon a time, the month of June stood out from the pack. It embodied so much: long days, the school year's end, backyard barbecues, baseball in its many incarnations, and imminent summer vacations in exotic locales like the Jersey Shore and the North Fork of Long Island. Thirty years ago in June, I regularly attended a poetry open mic at a now defunct establishment called Sidekicks Café. A poet named Ron—who was especially good and the exception to the rule—recited his original verse in a soothing Southern accent, a muted cadence not typically heard in the Bronx. One poem of his repeatedly referenced the “June bug.” It was quite evocative as I recall. Brought to life was this awkward insect wandering the night, careening its way toward a light source, while rowdily crashing into countless windows and screen doors in the process.

In the beetle family, the June bug was not a sight for sore eyes. Contrarily, its nighttime companion, the lightning bug, was a welcome summer visitor. Flashing on and off as the fledgling summer days of June turned dark, few insects could compete with that light show. Meanwhile, the June bug might just as easily bump into your head as a window or screen door. I don’t imagine the creature was dangerous—not a carrier of malaria or sporting a lethal stinger—but it was gross nonetheless. Come to think of it: While the lightning bugs were impressive visuals on warm summer nights, human contact was not recommended. Their inevitable calling cards: a nasty, lingering odor not easily scrubbed away. And, too, in the bright light of day, they were rather unsightly.

June was the ultimate anticipatory month, a time to get the summer ball rolling. We had the June bug, as it were, and it impacted all ages—from those of us who waited patiently for the Good Humor man to make his daily evening rounds to the adult set who commenced with their nightly stoop sitting. Stoop sitting was an urban art form for generations. It’s still practiced to some degree, but not as extensively as when I was a boy. It supplied the ideal setting for neighborhood gossip, the perfect stopover for passersby, and furnished a ringside seat for the unexpected. Like the time a new neighbor and homeowner was seen chasing his sister down the street while uttering an extended string of profanities. I wonder what that was all about. Footnote: The man lived in the same house for fifty years before passing away last year. I don’t know whatever became of his sister, if she inherited his property, or if she's even among the living.

Just as Good Humor retired its fleet of trucks and became exclusively a supermarket brand, so many of those who caught the June bug along with me have gone the way of a funeral parlor’s laminated prayer card. It’s fair to say that I’m not quite as enamored with June as I once was. Still, the June bug lives on in nature and in many memories as well. I’ll have a grape-lemon-flavored Bon Joy Swirl please.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)