Brother David and I getting sworn into the Nebraska Air National Guard, August, 1998.
I'm not bragging about my role modeling, but I suppose following my lead wasn't the worst choice he could have made. He did do some things on his own like pursuing the martial art of karate, and he didn't follow my every lead, staying away from the cross- country team. He's become enough like me that we're occasionally mistaken for twins. David is now very large and you can tell by the way he carries himself, that he likes it that way.
It was the early 70's. We lived in Big Rapids, Michigan. I must have been an elementary aged student, I think about an 8-year old second grader. My brother was probably about 4, and hadn't started school yet. I was his hero and idol even then. We were watching a show on television with our older siblings. Evil Knievel was jumping Snake Canyon, or something of comparable difficulty.
Andy and Rick took a break from beating each other with the orange 'hot wheels' tracks when I'd overheard them, and my sister, Angie, talking about how brave and daring this man was. That was all the inspiration I needed to provoke me into performing what I thought would be an equally brave and daring act.
David was willing to assist me in doing just about anything, even if it was dangerous and death defying. We dragged my old Schwinn that still had the training wheels on it out of the garage and up the stairs of our house without being seen. It wasn't a big bike, so going around the corners was cake, but the small size of the wheels should have been the signal that it wasn't meant for the stairs (or any surface above sea level).
I'd asked Dad to remove the training wheels a couple years prior, but with his busy schedule, it hadn't gotten done yet. I know, I know, lots of you are asking why I didn't take them off myself. Even in my later years as an avionics mechanic, I wasn't the most mechanically inclined individual in the world, so I patiently waited on Dad.
Back to the story. Once we got the bike into our bedroom, we managed to get it out the East window that let out onto the garage roof. There wasn't much pitch to it, and it was probably only ten feet off the ground, but to David and I, it was as high as the silver water tower that shaded a good portion of our back yard.
David's job was to watch for adults and older siblings, just to make sure nobody would try to interfere with my attempt at stunt-man glory. My job was to successfully ride the bike off the roof and land it in the yard. In hindsight, I didn't think about clearing any objects from below, I just wanted to fly through the air like Evil on his rocket cycle. The landing was the last thing on my mind.
David was doing his job, sort of, and watching me through the window at the same time. I backed the bike up to the top of the roof, as far as I could without quite reaching a point where I was leaning backward on the other side of the roof, wheels straddling the peak. Heaven forbid go down backward, you could get killed! If I'd looked over my shoulder, I'm sure I would have had a beautiful view of the Ferris State College campus.
I leaned into it and peddled as fast as I could. Just as I cleared the edge of the roof, the bike vanished! It was jerked right out from under me. A split second earlier, I was thinking pull up, just like Evil, but there wasn't anything to pull on. Time moved in slow motion at this point, and I got curious, so I looked under me where I thought the bike should be.
I sort of rolled while looking between my legs for the bike, and I saw where it was and landed at the same time. Have you ever done a somersault? The kind where you expertly tuck your head, sort of land on you shoulder blades and roll out of it, right back onto your feet? Me too, but that isn't what happened here. It started out that way, sort of. I tucked my head because I was looking for the bike, which I found, and then I landed on my shoulder blades. The perfection stopped there. Probably because my mother had laid out some mattresses to air out that somebody had peed on (it wasn't me, I swear). The mattresses broke my fall, but they really slowed down the perfection of what could have jump-started a career in gymnastics.
This is about the time I realized that the slow motion stopped and the bike that I still had my eye on was being released by the offending rain gutter that had previously jerked it out from under me. The bikes release from the gutter is the time that the missing roll- out from my somersault kicked in, only sideways. Or, it could have been a reaction to avoid the falling bicycle. David looked down at me through the window and said, "Well, you finally got your training wheels off." They were hanging from the rain gutter. Again, I forgot to take a before and after weight.
The next story involving David has to be told. He probably doesn't want it to be, but it just wouldn't be right to hold back one of the most heroic (or stupid) things he's ever done. I'll apologize again, just in case I need to later.
It was his 30th birthday, May 8th, 1999. David and I were celebrating by consuming large quantities of alcoholic beverages in multiple locations. He would show his ID card, and get a free drink, and I would pull out my money-clip and attempt to keep up with him. He volunteered to drive downtown, but he was bound and determined that he wasn't driving us home. I'm not quite sure he had to go to such extremes.
After losing count of the drinks consumed and establishments visited in the downtown area, David and I wound up in a place whose name escapes me. I think it was an old movie theater once. I know it was old because the bathrooms had very old glass in the door. The key word in that last sentence is 'had'.
David and I were in the head together, taking a leak, when some offensive person started talking smack to me. I'm not an extremely large individual, but I never needed a bodyguard or protector of any sort. Regardless of my needs, my brother frequently appointed himself to this position when he was in this state of mind.
David attempted a spinning round house kick to the side of this pricks head, but missed (first time ever).
His foot went right through the window and sort of hung there for a millisecond until he withdrew it. It wasn't stained glass, but it was fairly decorative. Again, 'was' (wait, last time it was 'had') being the key word. The prick ran for his life, and after contemplating the attraction that the broken glass might incur, we ran to escape the blame (and expense) for what used to be the window.
David led the way out of the bar, and we hung a sharp left once we were out on the sidewalk. We sprinted about a block and a half, when David approached an ambulance and started getting in! I couldn't claim at the time to know what the heck he was doing, but I overheard bits of the conversation.
The medics on the scene listened in as David told them that someone had cut the back of his leg in the bar with a knife or a beer bottle, and that they were now responsible for taking him to the hospital most riki-tik.
He threw me the keys to his black Ford F-150, and told me to meet him at the hospital. One look at the blood, and the medics didn't question him. They just loaded him up and off they went. I ran an additional four blocks to where we had parked the truck and I drunkenly raced to the hospital. I parked the truck and made way to the emergency entrance where upon I caught the attention of many employees with my out- of-breath announcement of who I was and what I was there for. I was expecting someone to point a finger, or provide some direction.
Since they continued to look at me like I was out there with Neptune, I began to approach the desk, and was about to reach over it and bring someone closer to ear shot. Then there was a commotion behind me. I had beaten my brother's chauffeur to the hospital by about ten seconds.
David wound up getting internal stitches to mend a 'nicked' Achilles tendon, and external stitches to close the gash in his leg. Further research has determined that it should have been impossible to run let alone walk with his lower extremity in that state. Must have been FM.
Why most of the adult stories involving David include alcohol, I can't know. Maybe that's a sign that we should do something different. There once was a place out West '0' by the name of Joe's. We hadn't been there in awhile, and we were close, so that was as good an excuse as any to stop in for a few drinks.
'Up to and including four, but not to exceed ten, unless absolutely necessary.' That was our motto, borrowed from Ted Glock, an extremely humorous individual from Rising City, Nebraska. I added the 'unless absolutely necessary' part. I don't think Ted would mind.
David decided to school somebody in pool. I provoked the innocent idiot by telling him that David had won the Cornhusker state games in billiards for 6 years in a row, or some other weak-ass lie like that. I went to the bar to order a Morgan, and it so happened that there was an attractive young woman sitting at the bar.
Being the faithful husband that I am, I only made polite idle conversation with the young lady. Upon receiving my drink, I turned around to see a young Hispanic man with several of his entourage at his back. He appeared somewhat confrontational when he asked me if I was hitting on his 'old lady'. I wasn't, and even if I was, I would have been wise to respond the same.
Before I had the chance to offer that response however, my self appointed protector arrived on the scene. I observed that someone had conveniently left a couple pool sticks leaning against the bar, and David was without his, so I coolly handed one to him and uttered that statement that almost always signals the beginnings of a skirmish. "Got