BY BILLY SNEAD
Crow
and Beverly were getting married on Saturday and it was Friday
evening before one of us, I don’t remember who, realized that some sort of
farewell to bachelorhood party needed to be organized. A few phone calls around
the regular loop and the affair was set. It was decided that C.I. would be too
public, that the party might draw in some losers whom we didn’t want around,
and so we chose Chiocca’s on Belmont across from Lee School
as a more intimate setting.
At
about eight thirty that night, the guys started drifting in and the bachelor
affair began. By the time 10:45 rolled around, we tried our favorite ruse of
ordering several beers to make the party last, but Mario, the proprietor, would
have none of it. With the tables cleared and us still thirsty and by now hungry
as well, we all agreed to have an extended party in the form of a wiener roast
in Bryan Park. Why and who conceived this idea we don’t know to this day
because nobody will admit it. A Road Trip to Bryan Park!
We
filled two cars. One car had the beer assignment while mine with its five
passengers were responsible for the food including all the condiments and other
fixings. I drove to Wood’s Market at Robinson and Stuart and a couple of the
guys, Dickie and Bubby went in for the buy. They seemed to take forever in the
store while we, in the car, grew more and more impatient.
When
they finally came out, I started my car and we took off.
Now
I don’t know what got into me, maybe it was the beer reaching its peak effect.
I started driving like those Hell Drivers you use to see at the Fair. Gassing
the engine, slamming on brakes at some corners and racking others on two
wheels. I headed for Bryan Park up the Boulevard when Hawk, in the back seat,
said he didn’t feel good and wanted to go home.
I
racked a right off Broad and raced wide open to Robinson and racked that right
and kept moaning it. When I stopped at Park, Hawk abandoned ship. He was smart.
I continued right on Park to the Boulevard and hung a sharp left, the car
tilting dangerously. When I got to Kensington I was going way too fast to make
the right turn, but by now I was unstoppable as I rolled the steering wheel
hard as I could. Unstoppable alright! All the way up until my front bumper,
grill, and fenders wrapped snugly around the second Elm tree on the south side
of Kensington.
If
you’ve ever been in a car wreck, you know the ugly aftermath scene. I’ll say
first, that none of us were hurt badly. I was thrown head first into the hedges
that surrounded the Battle Abbey without a scratch. Bubby cut his hand on a
mustard jar, Tiddle hurt his wrist, and Crow getting married in a few hours,
had a long gash just below his lower lip.
The
car, my two-toned green ‘53 Plymouth was the only fatality. The
scene was eerie. One headlight was shining, smoke from hot oil and steam from
the crushed radiator was wisping through the light and the smell of fresh
rubber from the skidding was still strong.
Fortunately
Johnston-Willis Hospital was only a half block away and the walking wounded
slowly emerged from the dead car and started edging their way in that
direction.
The
cops came out of nowhere and were soon followed by a tow truck.
I
was sitting on the curb with my head in my hands. Officer Tullington asked me
if I was OK and once assured, he said, "No sense lying, I know what
happened and you and your buddies are damn lucky. There’s mustard and ketchup
thrown all over that car, where’d that come from?"
With
that he wrote me up for careless and reckless driving and handed the ticket
to me as the loud tow truck was hauling away my car. Then, they
all left at once and I was left alone in the night. I sat there on the curb for
what must have been a while because when I finally walked to the hospital, they
had been patched up and gone.
I
was wondering about the other carload sitting in Bryan Park drinking beer and
cussing our no show. I then walked to Crow’s house, knocked on the door, got no
answer, walked to his parents’ car at the sidewalk, got in the backseat and
went soundly asleep. After all, it had been a long evening.
I
didn’t want to go to the wedding the next day but I didn’t have the guts not
to. Hawk, the smart one, picked me up and after the wedding drove me to the
reception at the Jefferson.
Crow,
the groom, looked as good as he could with eleven ugly stitches just below his
lower lip, and several of the ushers were limping with bandages here and there.
His mother made me feel much better as I walked through the reception line.
"I know everybody’s mad at you, but I just want you to know that we all
love you and forgive you, you little fart".
It
did make me feel a little better.
Before
the honeymoon was over, I had appeared in traffic court, fined $103.35 and my driving permit suspended for six months. Soon
after I joined the Army and my driving permit was mailed to me at
my new home at Fort Knox, KY.
The
wedding ceremony was beautiful and the reception was first class, as well as I
can recall.
