You never know when or where you’ll find yourself when news breaks. That’s what we all tell ourselves as journalists and over the years I’ve found the toughest “breaking news” happens when it involves my friends and tragedy.
The date August 24th has been a rough day for me two consecutive years running. Last year I was on my couch watching the Orioles play when I learned in the early evening of the death of Mike Flanagan. This past Friday night and into Saturday morning I was awakened on a summer vacation in Moncton, Canada to learn that another friend had died unexpectedly while I was asleep.
In the era of social media and via the power to propel information into the palms of our hands from anywhere in the world, I learned of the death of my friend Scunny on my mobile phone in the middle of New Brunswick while having morning coffee.
In the hours following, my Facebook and Twitter feeds exploded with condolences, memories and immense cyber sadness regarding the passing of a giant in our community, a guy who we all kind of took for granted and thought would be immortal.
I also learned about the power of love in the world — a life well lived — and the legend of a man whose death dominated every corner of my friendship, business and civic circle in Baltimore. “Smalltimore” works that way and it’s especially illuminated in our time by the internet.
I’m convinced “Scunny” was the Kevin Bacon of our city, once removed from virtually every person in town.
For those of you who didn’t know him – and I’m not really sure that’s really possible that you could be from the Charm City and not know him because he seemingly knew everyone – Patrick “Scunny” McKusker owned Nacho Mama’s (and later created Mama’s On The Half Shell) and was truly a one-of-a-kind Baltimore character, restaurant owner, entrepreneur, civic champion, charitable soul and part-time beer drinker and philosopher.
Scunny died on Friday night just a few blocks from his Ocean City beach home while riding his bicycle that collided with a bus. He leaves behind a wonderful wife and two children.
There are varying reports about what happened and there’s an investigation going on as his tangled myriad of friends, peers, loved ones, family members and many patrons are left investigating this unthinkable tragedy that we all learned about at some point in the middle of our blessed lives on a Saturday morning.
I’m not really sure where to begin but writing is my therapy at times like these.
I met Scunny at Nacho Mama’s (like almost everyone else) when I began my radio career in the early 1990’s and was recruiting sponsors.
Scunny and I had a whole lot in common. We both loved beer. We both loved the Orioles. We both missed the Colts. We both welcomed and immediately loved the Ravens. We both loved Baltimore.
Scunny was missing a finger.
I was missing a finger.
Every time we ever saw each other he insisted that we “touch nubs” before we parted. It was our bond, right along with his amazing salsa and the soft chicken tacos that I’ve tackled at least a hundred times.
The stories about his generosity have been well chronicled and it was impossible to know him and not know about his work with Believe In Tomorrow. He also hired developmentally challenged people and gave them jobs and a purpose. He was a sweet man who would’ve won any “Character Bowl” competition John Steadman would’ve whipped up.
Along with a few other brave souls, he turned Canton into a Baltimore dinner and drinking destination in the 1990’s. In the 1980’s, our parents wouldn’t have let us anywhere near Canton after dark and I was from Dundalk. It was just not a very good neighborhood, as any honest person would tell you.
Scunny was “old school” before there was a word for it. He was playing Journey at 10 o’clock long before The Sopranos made it cool.
He started drinking Natty Boh long before I met him and never stopped promoting the brand, even when it went away. At one point, it was the only place in Baltimore to get a Natty Boh. In 2003, less than 10 minutes after I proposed to my wife on Federal Hill, we drove directly to Nacho Mama’s and told Scunny we were getting married. Of course, he bought us a round of Natty Bohs to celebrate.
His collection of Boh gear and old Orioles & Colts relics has adorned the walls of his O’Donnell Street institution from the beginning and is only superseded by his Elvis Presley velvet collection. (And I’m pretty convinced that most of the Ocean City gear in his place was stolen but I’m not telling anyone.)
Nacho Mama’s brand and growth and food – all of the kitschy Baltimore stuff of my childhood – worked to bring people into his establishment over parts of three decades but what brought people back was the legitimate and authentic way Scunny built his place. I always sent him tons of out-of-town business, even when he was rarely a WNST sponsor. Whenever anyone asked me where they should go to see “a real Baltimore place,” I’d send them to Nacho Mama’s and never have to doubt it being a local pearl of wisdom for any tourist or anyone wanting to discover what Bal’mer is all about.
Just like when I took my wife there immediately following her accepting my offer to live the rest of her life here in Baltimore with me.
There was always talk of a suburban location and Scunny told me he was searching to grow his burgeoning empire but never expanded off that Canton Square once he found the corner location and established “Mama’s On The Half Shell.”
Our bond through sports never wavered because he was a fixture at Ravens games, often in a crazy suit and usually as Elvis Presley. He also did Santa Claus for anyone who asked in December.
I remember him taking his pals to Indianapolis for his bachelor party in October 1996 for the first Baltimore Ravens game in the Irsay homestead.
The original Irsay dummy that resided in his bar in a casket was the same dummy that I carried on a stick through the streets of Indy during his bachelor party celebration. He asked if I’d display it at Nacho Mama’s and I told him it wasn’t mine to give. After a quick console with artist and originator Mike Ricigliano, the final resting home for Tiger Bob Irsay in Baltimore has forever been the northeast wall of Nacho Mama’s.
Like Scunny himself, it was a fixture around Baltimore and deserved to be at a cool, hip and awesome place like Nacho Mama’s.
We’re all trying to build a legacy in life and here in our hometown – and certainly Scunny was a kindred spirit who loved Baltimore as much as I love Baltimore. That was our bond and our mutual mission.
We all want our communities to succeed and thrive but many don’t give the way he did and participate in a way that was genuine. The next time you’re in Canton, think of our friend Scunny and all that he stood for. It’s inconceivable that the energy he propelled over the past two decades won’t be felt for a generation in East Baltimore, especially given the many tentacles of his friendships and influence.
He touched more people’s lives – in a personal way, not like some rented athlete or TV character – than anyone has in his 49 years in Baltimore.
If you ask me, they should immediately rename the Canton Square and dub it “Scunny Square” because he helped build it, nurture it and put it on the map in Baltimore.
What more could Scunny have asked for in life? He was a living legend. He really was. Ask anyone who knew him.
And as I walked sadly out the side door of his wake in Towson yesterday, there was group gathered on the tailgate of their SUV, parked next to mine on York Road.
There was a group of 15 men and women grieving on a warm summer afternoon while drinking Natty Bohs out of the orange and black Boh’s cans and toasting the life of Patrick “Scunny” McKusker.
I thought to myself, “That’s exactly what Scunny would’ve wanted.”
8He was one of a kind.
And I’m really going to miss him…
May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of his hand.
~Irish Blessing
To donate to Scunny’s favorite charity, please click here for Believe in Tomorrow information:
Believe In Tomorrow provides exceptional hospital and respite housing services to critically ill children and their families. We believe in keeping families together during a child’s medical crisis, and that the gentle cadence of normal family life has a powerful influence on the healing process.
