I am writing as honestly as I can about this time in my life and aspects of my life surrounding it. I don't blame myself for this accident. I do not regard myself as having been a competent mechanic's helper, but that's unrelated to the accident. It's a part of the context of the accident that I am reporting. Likewise, the days leading up to this accident did not cause me to have this accident, but provide a picture of what my life looked like in the summer of 1973.
*******
The only outlet for playing baseball in Kellogg after being too old to play American Legion ball was slow pitch softball. I don't know quite when slow pitch softball got popular in Kellogg and Coeur d'Alene and other places, but it was all very well organized by the time I was 19 years old and joined the Dick and Floyd's team.
The most fun part of playing slow pitch softball was the tournaments. In the summer of 1973, Dick and Floyd's team travelled to Lewiston and Missoula for tournaments.
I rode to the Missoula tournament with Keith Green and Don Knott. Keith had cassette tapes of the Beach Boys and travelling with Keith meant lots of sunflower seeds and at some point a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. And it meant beer. I don't know how much beer we bought to get us the 130 miles to Missoula, but I know we drank the whole way and sang "California Girls" in lust/fantasy voices about 100 times and ate tons of sunflower seeds.
Once in Missoula, we checked into our motel room and hit the bars. Don and I went to the Knotty Pine and played pool, tried to strike up some people to bullshit with, and eventually we left. We had a bunch of change and on our way back to the motel, we gave some guy about four dollars in change in exchange for a cigarette apiece.
When we returned to our room, we were locked out. Instead of going to the front desk and getting another key, we passed out at the threshhold. Eventually, some of Kellogg ballplayers found us, helped us regain consciousness, and put us to bed.
The next day, Dick and Floyd's eventually got ousted from the tournament after winning a game or two and losing two. Being ousted meant watching other teams play and drinking. For some unknown reason, I bought five fifths of Boone's Farm Strawberry wine.
It was hot in Missoula. It was late afternoon. I was hungover from the night before. The Strawberry wine was easy to drink. I got drunker and drunker. At some point, I decided to try to throw the third or fourth bottle of wine I drank into a large waste can near homeplate backstop.
I missed. The bottle shattered. Kids of ballplayers were barefoot and playing around the area of the broken glass. One of my sober teammates, Wayne, intervened and picked up the glass. I was too drunk to help. No one was hurt. My teammates took the rest of my wine away.
Similarly, when Don and Keith and I rode together from Kellogg to Lewiston, we drank all the way. Once there, I went with Dave Braun to the Stables, a bar in Lewiston where my dad had once tended bar and did a lot of drinking in college.
I partied the next night at someone's apartment. I have no idea where I was or who I was with. Sunday morning, we had an early game and I played the outfield, unable to see our opponent's batters. I was still drunk.
Dick and Floyd's was eliminated in that game, but Don Knott's team stayed alive longer, so Keith and I drank all day, watching Don's team, waiting to see how they did and waiting to take Don home.
We all left Lewiston late in the afternoon. We stopped at bars all along the Lewiston to Kellogg route and drank beer in the car. At one bar, a woman walked in with an ice cream cone and I crushed it. We got kicked out. In St. Maries, we stopped at a store for more beer and Don swiped a helmet off the seat of a motorcycle.
I was nineteen years old, stupid, drunk, lacking a compass.
I was injured on July 23rd. The weekend leading into the accident was the weekend of the Kellogg Softball tournament. It was the same story as the road tournament. Drinking, drinking, drinking.
More Boone's Farm. Beers in the swimming pool parking lot with a guy who claimed to have played for the Spokane Indian baseball team. Ditched him. Off to Dennis Carlson and Rick Waldvogel's apartment and more beer and dancing to the blasting sounds of Spirit and their album, "The Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus" and laughing when someone dropped a bowling ball in another part of the small apartment.
So, when I got up to go to work on Monday, July 23rd, I had been drinking, playing softball, and carousing around. Drinking, playing softball, and carousing around pretty much shaped my life, along with work.
That was about to change.
The most fun part of playing slow pitch softball was the tournaments. In the summer of 1973, Dick and Floyd's team travelled to Lewiston and Missoula for tournaments.
I rode to the Missoula tournament with Keith Green and Don Knott. Keith had cassette tapes of the Beach Boys and travelling with Keith meant lots of sunflower seeds and at some point a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. And it meant beer. I don't know how much beer we bought to get us the 130 miles to Missoula, but I know we drank the whole way and sang "California Girls" in lust/fantasy voices about 100 times and ate tons of sunflower seeds.
Once in Missoula, we checked into our motel room and hit the bars. Don and I went to the Knotty Pine and played pool, tried to strike up some people to bullshit with, and eventually we left. We had a bunch of change and on our way back to the motel, we gave some guy about four dollars in change in exchange for a cigarette apiece.
When we returned to our room, we were locked out. Instead of going to the front desk and getting another key, we passed out at the threshhold. Eventually, some of Kellogg ballplayers found us, helped us regain consciousness, and put us to bed.
The next day, Dick and Floyd's eventually got ousted from the tournament after winning a game or two and losing two. Being ousted meant watching other teams play and drinking. For some unknown reason, I bought five fifths of Boone's Farm Strawberry wine.
It was hot in Missoula. It was late afternoon. I was hungover from the night before. The Strawberry wine was easy to drink. I got drunker and drunker. At some point, I decided to try to throw the third or fourth bottle of wine I drank into a large waste can near homeplate backstop.
I missed. The bottle shattered. Kids of ballplayers were barefoot and playing around the area of the broken glass. One of my sober teammates, Wayne, intervened and picked up the glass. I was too drunk to help. No one was hurt. My teammates took the rest of my wine away.
Similarly, when Don and Keith and I rode together from Kellogg to Lewiston, we drank all the way. Once there, I went with Dave Braun to the Stables, a bar in Lewiston where my dad had once tended bar and did a lot of drinking in college.
I partied the next night at someone's apartment. I have no idea where I was or who I was with. Sunday morning, we had an early game and I played the outfield, unable to see our opponent's batters. I was still drunk.
Dick and Floyd's was eliminated in that game, but Don Knott's team stayed alive longer, so Keith and I drank all day, watching Don's team, waiting to see how they did and waiting to take Don home.
We all left Lewiston late in the afternoon. We stopped at bars all along the Lewiston to Kellogg route and drank beer in the car. At one bar, a woman walked in with an ice cream cone and I crushed it. We got kicked out. In St. Maries, we stopped at a store for more beer and Don swiped a helmet off the seat of a motorcycle.
I was nineteen years old, stupid, drunk, lacking a compass.
I was injured on July 23rd. The weekend leading into the accident was the weekend of the Kellogg Softball tournament. It was the same story as the road tournament. Drinking, drinking, drinking.
More Boone's Farm. Beers in the swimming pool parking lot with a guy who claimed to have played for the Spokane Indian baseball team. Ditched him. Off to Dennis Carlson and Rick Waldvogel's apartment and more beer and dancing to the blasting sounds of Spirit and their album, "The Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus" and laughing when someone dropped a bowling ball in another part of the small apartment.
So, when I got up to go to work on Monday, July 23rd, I had been drinking, playing softball, and carousing around. Drinking, playing softball, and carousing around pretty much shaped my life, along with work.
That was about to change.
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