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Date with fate post 63 - New Year's, January 1st, 1981
This entry was posted on 10/12/2011 1:30 AM and is filed under Fate Fairies.
If you live long enough, there will come moments of lost dignity. The author has had his share. The backdrop of one such case of indiscretion is the dance club in the basement of the bowling alley I worked at. In retrospect, it seemed like I worked there for five years. But, in reality it was around a year - from mid-summer 1980 to late summer 1981. It speaks perhaps to gleaning heaps of new experiences in a short time period which makes the stint of time seem so long.
The drive from Whitewater to Lake Geneva was a challenge. Gas prices were high for the time, my vehicles were a couple pickup trucks and a couple aging motorcycles. The trucks got poor milage, the motorcycles were perilous during the bitter Wisconsin winter. So, I hunted down a room or two to camp out in during my tenure working in Lake Geneva. It is a hit and miss exercise, this room renting gig. You may find yourself sharing a bathroom, a kitchen, or god knows what else. One landlady, kept her way-too-personal clothing and lady-type belongings in my closet. She had cleared out a foot of space for me. I went through a series of these rooms before I settled on a cool attic loft in the old Victorian. It was and still is a giant old house on the edge of the lake; at some point in history it had been converted in to rooms for rent.
The Victorian stands with three solid above-ground floors. My attic was on what would be a fourth floor offering. But, that is only significant in that I had quite a bunch of steep and narrow stairs to climb. A challenge even when sober.
I have always allowed myself to become a victim of bigger global pictures. The job did not pay much and I would need to find a second job. I had queried back at the school bus company - breaking an unwritten rule of, it-probably-ain't-so-good-to-go-back-to-a-former-job. But, be that as it may, I was needing to scheme yet again in the "misery recession" of the late '70s early '80s. A scheme to scratch up some more cash.
There were plenty of excuses to logically reason out, putting on a good drunk. With my economic situation in life bumbing me out, a pending New Year's party at work was just what the doctor ordered.
Some times I drove old Uncle Art's equally old truck the mile and a half from the Victorian to the bowling alley - especially in winter. While I prepared the bar for the inevitable throngs of party goers that fateful night the old truck - fenders rusting slowly off - sat patiently in the bar parking lot. Uncle Art on the other hand sat in a nursing home. His pending New Year's would no doubt involve a cup cake and some apple sauce in the community room.
This night it would be easy to fade into the rabble. I would be serving up beer at the bar. So, I poured myself a glass of straight whiskey in a ten-ounce beer glass and placed it neatly under the bar by my little work area.
Long story short. By midnight, I could not quite remember what year we were celebrating. By one a.m., I could not really piece together what we were actually celebrating - perhaps a wedding, graduation, maybe Halloween.
No one seemed to notice my indiscretions. What ever the case, I diligently kept pouring the beer for the many revelers. One or two were hoisted by me as well - along with my whiskey stash. I do recall, not necessarily cleaning up the bar very good at the end of the party. As could be predicted by even the most naive among us, before we all left for the night, my head began to spin.
There was a woefully inappropriate comment by yours truely to one of our waitresses; I am told I proclaimed I would singlehandedly put the entire Lake Geneva Police Department in their place with only my bare hands; I do remember popping another bouncer in the face who was merely trying to keep me on some kind of straight line (in bouncer world there was later no hard feelings); and, there was the proverbial skirmish with concerned pals in the parking lot as I insisted in climbing in the old truck. Keep in mind this was years before the "designated driver" and "friends-don't-let-friends-drive-drunk" rubric.
Said friends managed to pour me into somebody's car and get me to the Victorian.
Somehow my beleaguered co-workers got me up the four flights of stairs to my attic. Once we sat down I calmly offered them all a bottle of Huber Beer ($2.65 a case) which I always kept in reserve. With everyone seated about on the floor, my bed, and my one chair, some reminiscing ensued. Someone made a crack about Huber Beer, and my hospitality was short lived. I tossed a bottle at said offender and he easily ducked the projectile as it hit the wall. Laughter ensued and I threw another bottle at no one in particular and hollered a demand that everyone must drink my beer..., and enjoy it.
As the gaggle of good samaritans scrambled out the door, my head hit the pillow and I slept for a bit. Awakening an hour later to relieve my distended bladder, an epiphany emerged. I would walk back to the bowling alley and get my damn truck.
The last thing I remember was making the top of the second floor landing at the Victorian. Below me was the longest stretch of stairway which ended at the ground floor. When I woke out of my haze I was upside down with feet up a few steps from the bottom. My head was on the wood floor. And, looking at me with incredulous wonder and upsidedown to my view, was the quirky young woman that ran the place. She always gave me a Fifty Cent Piece for change when I paid my $27.50 weekly rent.
"You ok?" she quietly asked.
"I got to get to my truck," I said as I pulled myself up, left young landlady in quandry, and headed out the door.
The next time I woke up was just before dawn as a light snow had gathered on my cloths and face. When my head cleared, I realized I was on the sidewalk out front of the Victorian by the street. My truck keys were no where to be found.
It speaks to a tourist and tavern town. No one bothered to call the cops or stop to check my pulse..., in plain view of the main street. Why I did not freeze to death will always be a mystery?
I never found my truck keys. No one has ever taken credit for hiding them. Why I never had ut an emergency magnet key under the bumper is likewise a mystery. Later that afternoon I called my dad to ask if he might bring me a spare set.
"You'll have to wait until tomorrow," he said with that dad finality.
When the knock came at my door and Dad peeked in my little room, he gave me a once over.
"What the hell you do Bub, fall down that damn steep stairway?"
"You have no idea," I thought and smiled as he handed me an extra set of keys.
Note: This blog "Fate Fairies" Category does not list the brushes with fate chronologically - I write about the experiences as they pop up in my memory and I often revisit an older event. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Fate Fairies Page for an ordered chronology.
Wisconsin Military Service Person Special Mention of the Week
(each week Cooldadiomedia mentions a Wisconsin service person killed in Iraq or Afghanistan)
Army Reserve Private First Class Gregory Ronald Goodrich, 37, Bartonville, Illinois (family ties to Hillsboro, Wisconsin), died on Friday, April 9, 2004, near Baghdad International Airport, Iraq. He was killed when his fuel convoy came under attack by Iraqi insurgents using rocket-propelled grenades and small-arms fire. Private First Class Goodrich was assigned to the 724th Transportation Company, Army Reserve, based out of Bartonville, Illinois.
The Wisconsin Department of Veteran Affairs notes that Goodrich is the son of Barbara Havlic Goodrich Jones and R. Dale Jones of Hillsboro, Wisconsin. The Web site iraq.pigstye.net using information from the Peoria Journal Star notes that at the time of the attack, two other Reservists were missing and later identified as killed; several other Reservists were wounded, and several private contract drives were also missing and or killed; and, one contractor was known to have been abducted and then escaped 24 days later.
The Web site legacy.com posted an obituary regarding Gregory Goodrich which said he was born in Phoenix, Arizona on November 8, 1966. Gregory grew up in Warner Robins, Georgia, where he graduated from high school in 1985. He received a Bachelor's Degree and Master's Degree from the University of Georgia. He had been in the Army Reserve about two years and had been in Iraq less than two months when he was killed.
An article in the Chicago Tribune mentioned Goodrich was single and childless; he was remembered as a free spirit with a love of the outdoors, hiking, camping, and an instinct to help others. He played guitar, kept a journal, and visited the Peoria Library weekly. He had spent some time in the former Czechoslovakia as an English instructor. In Peoria, Illinois, he had worked at an auto parts shop for six years.
At the time of his death Private First Class Gregory Goodrich was survived by his father and stepmother, Major Ronald N. Goodrich, USAF, Retired and Teresa Goodrich; his mother and stepfather, Barbara Havlic Goodrich Jones and R. Dale Jones; his sister and her husband, Robin R. and Patrick Kilgannon and their two sons, Ryan and Sean; and, his stepsister and her husband, Michelle and Rick Idone. Goodrich was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart. He was laid to rest at Greenwood Lutheran Cemetery, Hillsboro, Wisconsin.
Army Reserve Private First Class Gregory Goodrich is the 94th military service person that has been identified by Cool Dadio Media as having Wisconsin connections, and that has died in Iraq since the Spring of 2003.
As of this blog entry's posting date:
102,868 Iraqi civilians have been killed in Iraq since Spring, 2003 (actually documented).
10,125 Iraqi Security Forces have been killed in Iraq since Spring, 2003.
4,481 Americans have been killed in Iraq since Spring, 2003.
1801 Americans have been killed in Afghanistan since October, 2001.
318 Coalition soldiers have been killed in Iraq since Spring, 2003.
954 Coalition soldiers have been killed in Afghanistan since October, 2001.
1 American/Coalition casualty in Libyan "Operation Odyssey Dawn" since March, 2011.
32,200 U.S. troops have been wounded in action in Iraq since Spring, 2003.
592 Wisconsin military service persons have been wounded in Iraq since Spring 2003.
14,342 U.S. troops have been wounded in action in Afghanistan since October, 2001.
192 Wisconsin military service persons have been wounded in Afghanistan since October, 2001.
107 Wisconsin military service persons have been killed in Iraq since Spring, 2003.
36 Wisconsin military service persons have been killed in Afghanistan since October, 2001.
3 Wisconsin military service persons have been killed in the U.S. related to "The War on Terror" since September, 2001.
150 journalists (several nationalities) have been killed in Iraq since Spring, 2003.
22 journalists (various nationalities) have been killed in Afghanistan since September, 2001.
5 journalists (regional and independents) have been killed in Libya since March, 2011.
Wisconsin military service person special mention of the week, military casualty, and journalist casualty information sources: Committee to Protect Journalists; cnn.com; Milwaukee Journal Sentinel; washingtonpost.com; thehighground.org; Wisconsin Department of Veterans Affairs; iraqbodycount.org; www.defense.gov/news/casualty.pdf; and, icasualties.org.
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