Starr Keeps Shining

Four years ago, I was getting my local scribe teeth cut at the Rivertowns Enterprise--a quad-village weekly and local presence out of Dobbs Ferry, N.Y.-- when I first met Billy Starr.

Billy was still a high school kid, working afternoons and evenings at the Tarrytown Bakery. The now-defunct joint served mouth-watering delicious food and sugar-laden treats (if you saw a picture of me lately, you can tell I ate a lot of it in my day) right near my Dad's pad, a stone's throw from the McDonald's on Wildey Street in Sleepy Hollow, N.Y.

I was from Hastings, living in Sleepy.

Billy was from Tarrytown, balancing the beam of education and part-time occupation as he finished his senior year at Irvington High School, before working with the Department of Public Works.

This was during the second semester of his senior year, a time when "senioritis" suddenly seems contagious and laziness creeps in.

With Starr that wasn't the case. Sometimes I wondered if the kid ever slept.

Billy was a UConn fan, and the relentless workhorse had been accepted into the school before instead choosing Towson in Maryland.

I covered UConn hoops for Hoopville Online-CSTV that season and Billy had read some of my work, so we became cool almost immediately.

Billy and I would passionately discuss the direction of the Big East program. Billy had weighty expectations for a team that boasted a torrent of callow talent with young players such as Stanley Robinson, Jerome Dyson, and Hasheem Thabeet, all of whom were freshmen that year.

One to always accentuate the positive and prophetically pinpoint potential upside, Billy assured my detracting, naysaying, and wise-cracking ass that the Huskies' stockpile of young guns would reach their pinnacle in 2009.

He eventually convinced me.

Y'all witnessed how that went down, with the Huskies--who faltered and faded into the abyss this season--advanced to last year's Final Four. It's clear this youngin, Starr, had a purity of vision.

Fitting as I believed that I possessed a purity of vision as well. Being a writer, I thought I had a good eye for writing talent and I would pride myself on having an eye for that talent.

So, when Starr soon began pitching his writing samples to the very same paper (partly at his own desire, partly at our Sports Editor's urging) that spring, I was instantly sold on the kid.

He was witty with quick, powerful, and effective sentences. Billy didn't fall in love with sophisticated words or try to get flashy with it.

In his embryonic stage of writing, Billy oozed of surefire STARR-DOM.

He was also an athlete himself. Having captained the Irvington football team as the Bulldogs' undersized yet tough-as-nails quarterback, Starr was a workaweek mention in those very same sports pages the previous fall.

He developed a rapport with our editors, both of whom loved his tough-nosed style of play on the field and personality off it. These editors would eventually become beneficiaries of Billy's writing. He made a seamless transition.

Back at the bakery, Billy would service my hallmark bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich (helping the bulge in my stomach balloon as I rapidly became twice the man I used to be that summer).

Behind the counter sporting a permasmile, Billy often laughed at my predilection for ordering breakfast sandwiches in the afternoon. It was juxtaposition in its clearest form.

He was already mid-way through his day, having completed his slate of morning classes at Irvington before trekking to the bakery at around noon if I can recall correctly.

Starr worked multiple jobs around town. He was a pretty accurate depiction of the town's kid (everyone from a Diddly-eyed Joe to a Bob, Jay, and Mo knew Billy and shot the bull with him on an everyday basis). He found the right opportunity, one in which he was a glove-fit, with the writing gig.

He had immense knowledge of sports. More importantly, Starr had all the essential ingredients. You know, the immeasurable intangibles to be successful. It started with his personality, picked up with his no nonsense reporting style and concluded his infectious, respect-and-be-respected swagger.

He was one of those kids that had it all. The athleticism, the confidence, the quick-quip humor, smarts, and the girls.

A kid embraced by the community was starting to open eyes with his new craft.

Don't get it twisted. I'd witnessed a lot of young, smart, and well-educated kids write their way into the paper, but Starr's brief stay at the paper was underscored by his unique blend of skill and work ethic, shaped by long grueling hours of jobs he went out and got for himself during the months when he was not absorbed by football.

Every week that spring of 2007, Billy would turn in some prose that made us question how old he really was. He was 18. In his first real paid writing experience, Starr was eating up the sports section in shark-sized bites.

As the incoming golden boy, Billy was writing me under the table. I didn't care, we were selling papers! Not too many folks can say they're doing that today...

Granted, we weren't getting paid big bucks (shocker for a journalism job, right?), though we immersed ourselves in the purity of writing. It became a hobby more than it did a job for Billy, and I could see the enthusiam and fun he was having with it.

Unlike a good chunk of today's self-proclaimed experts and self-labeled "gurus," Starr had authored his own athletic career. Thus, he saw the games and the situations beyond the daily scores, statistics and happenings. He was cognizant of his skill but never one to self-boast.

Secretly, I always wanted to make Billy my own project.

I was a little bit older and a bit more experienced--not by much, but somewhat.

I thought I could help launch his career or at least have a hand in it, but the truth is he was too far ahead of where you would project him to be. Billy's pace of production was relentless.

Billy and I enjoyed dipping our toes into the cold waters of the now-faltering industry. From Billy's first article in Rivertowns on, every trip I made to the bakery ended with a detailed conversation. Suddenly, writing became fun again.

We dissected aspects the of events we covered and stories we wrote. The "it" factor was evident in the young kid's work from the get-go, as he made the page stand out.

Sadly, Starr's writing success would be short-lived.

On August 13, 2008, William Charles Starr died as a result of a serious car accident nearly two weeks earlier. He was 19, entering his sophomore year at Towson.

Today, Starr's name is enshrined in our local sports and writing culture.

Starr's No.1 football jersey is painted in mural-like form on the massive rock that leads up to the Irvington field.

There is a youtube film dedicated to Starr by the Irvington youth, whom he so often seemed to be the promising face of.

His bylines and articles are clipped and I always take the time to read them when I come across old editions.

Perusing through some of his work the other day (as I sifted through a bevy of old papers stocked in my closet), it dawned on me that Billy has become a majorly significant source of inspiration. Not just for me, but for ALL of us.

Billy Starr lived 19 years of life to the fullest. The number of lives he touched i is incredible. Though our friendship was brief, I saw that he was a fun-loving, fearless, outgoing and self-starting individual.

Billy left his stamp on everything he did.

I challenge myself and everyone else to do the same.

So, to spit out the old cliche--today is the first day of the rest of your life. Jump at it, grab it by the horns.

The Sky is the limit. There are no ceilings.

LEAVE NOTHING... you know he wouldn't.

STARR will shine forever...

My man Billy was THE REAL DEAL.