THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, August 24, 1995 TAG: 9508230154
SECTION: SUFFOLK SUN PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Frank Roberts
LENGTH: Medium: 84 lines
Julian G. Boyce was his name.
Who?
Tick. Tick Boyce.
Oh-h-h, yeah.
The just-about-legendary Tick died Friday at 79, leaving lots of memories, friends, bicycles - and junk.
His business on Pinner Street in Suffolk was called Tick's Bike Shop.
``He had about 5,000 bicycles,'' said Sandy Lupton, a close friend. ``You couldn't really count 'em. I asked him if he really needed them. He said, `Well, they (the people he purchased them from) didn't want much for 'em.' ''
Sometimes, he happily got nothing for them. At Christmas, he'd give away some of them.
``All year, you'd see him around town - 25 or 30 bikes in the back of his truck,'' said Annette Brooks, another of his multitudinous friends.
The truck got his day started.
``He'd come to his place, start the motor, sit in the cab and read the paper before going to work,'' said Wesley ``Shorty'' Brinkley, who runs a produce stand across the street. ``Then, he'd open for work but take off whenever he wanted.''
Wednesdays, he took off with Lupton for lunch at Subway or Wendy's.
``During his funeral, he was described as quiet,'' she said. ``No. He'd tease the waitresses, not in a nasty but funny way.''
His favorite eatery was the Dining Room. Emily Perry, a waitress-friend of 18 years, recalled, ``He said he'd buy the restaurant and kick us out. He said we'd have to give him our tips. We'd tell him to go to hell.''
Tick always left a dollar tip, partly in appreciation of his favorite dessert. ``He loved cheesecake,'' Perry said. ``We'd give him a little extra.''
He would give her a pumpkin every Halloween. Last year, there was an added touch.
``We always argued over the Redskins and the the Cowboys,'' said Perry, a Dallas fan. ``Last year's pumpkin was half Redskins and half Cowboys.''
Also among his friends was Mary Davis, an 83-year-old woman who worked for him as a cleaning lady for 30 years. ``I'll sure miss him,'' she said. ``He always said he could trust me.''
Davis's grandson, Ronnie Lee Davis, described Tick as ``the best man I ever worked for. He was caring and understanding. He joked around when he was in the mood.''
He was in the mood in the late `70s on the day he retired from the highway department.
``We had a retirement party for him,'' said Eric Brooks, who worked with him. ``Tick came in tuxedo, tails, top hat'' and brought a windup Victrola. He put a record on the machine, wound it up and, crystal clear, the voice of Johnny PayCheck sang, ``Take This Job and Shove It.''
The nickname of the junk man came about ``because someone couldn't say antique,'' Lupton recalled. ``They pronounced it antick. He became known as The Antick Man.''
The Antick Man seldom differentiated between antiques and junk, often claiming that some items came to him as junk, wound up as antiques.
His shop is still filled to the brim, as is a five-story warehouse.
``Whoever tackles all that sure has a job,'' Davis said.
Trying to find Tick's will is quite a job. Lawyers and friends are sifting through the junk, antiques and bikes in search of the precious paper.
Finding a softer heart would have been equally difficult.
``He was always lending people money. He had a long list of people who'd tell him - lend me $25 till payday,'' Lupton said. ``I was constantly nagging him not to. Most of the time people paid him back. When somebody stiffed him, he was genuinely surprised.''
Tick was not surprised if he couldn't get through one pile of junk to find another.
``If he couldn't reach a piece someone wanted to buy, he'd just say it had been sold,'' Lupton said.
``We're gonna miss him,'' Perry said.
``He was here a few days before he died,'' Shorty said, sitting sandwiched between boxes of produce. ``I gave him a peach. He loved peaches. He talked about his junk.
``He's really gonna be missed.'' ILLUSTRATION: Julian G. ``Tick'' Boyce
Owned Tick's Bike Shop
by CNB