Charles and I

By Sean McVeigh

Charles Nopper and I weren’t lifelong friends. We weren’t best buds. But we were fast friends.

In 2017, a friend and I went for a drink at Jamesons. Like all fun-loving, good-natured people in Rockaway, my friend knew Charles well and introduced us. The next time I walked into Jamesons, Charles greeted me by name, drink already waiting, as if we’d known each other for years. That was Charles — and that is why his passing has hit this community so hard.

Charles was a fixture around town. Countless people in Rockaway shared moments with him — from big life events to brief everyday encounters — on both sides of the bar. In those moments, you felt his warmth and authenticity. When he asked, “So what’s new?” you knew he genuinely cared. That was Charles’ gift — he had a way of making everyone feel like they were his favorite person in the room. We won’t have those moments again, and we are all, without question, worse for it.

This past week, there have been so many classic Charles stories — and I know I’ll hear countless more in the weeks ahead. I’ve decided to share just the last two times I saw him.

About a month ago, my family and I went for brunch at Jamesons. When we walked in, Charles greeted us with his infectious smile. We sat outside and had a waitress, but I decided to pay him a visit and went to the bar to order the first round. After chatting for a few minutes, I brought the drinks to the table — only to realize I had forgotten my wife’s. She wasn’t drinking at the time; we had recently learned she was expecting our first child. We had only told a few close family members since it was still early. She wanted a Shirley Temple.

I ran back inside. “Sorry, Charles, one more — can Sarah get a Shirley Temple?”

He turned, grinned, and stuck out his hand. “Congratulations, buddy! How far along is she?”

I’d blown our secret! But there was no use trying to lie to Charles. And honestly — who better to tell? I shook his hand and spilled the beans. He made Sarah come inside so he could congratulate her himself. He was so happy.

Charles and I lived on the same street, so we’d run into each other coming to and from the beach from time to time. Just last week, I was walking down the block as he rode his bike back from the beach. He didn’t see me, so I called out from across the street, “What’s up, buddy?!” His face lit up and he shouted back, “Hey, pal!” We didn’t stop to chat. I really wish we had. But I’m still glad I saw him — he always put a smile on your face.

At times like these, words never seem to get the job done. We can say things like, “He’s gone too soon” or “How can this have happened?” but they never capture what Charles meant to so many in this community.

Charles Nopper leaves behind a legacy of decency, generosity, charisma, and kindness. His sarcasm and sharp wit were unmatched. He loved a good time — and when he was around, good times always followed. That was no coincidence. He will be deeply missed by the many lives he touched in both small and profound ways — mine included.

Rest in peace, Charles.