The Hollow Men - Episode 4
The legend of El Guitarra tequila teaches the gang another lesson about the dangers of drinking, Drew has a horrible Saturday and Barry tells a tale of a fight with Jack-in-the-Box.
Last week in Episode 3 Drew gets a job as a draftsman at Southwestern Tank Company, and realizes that too many beers can alter one’s perception of reality and taste.
A matter of color, part 4
I've learned to like Saturday mornings at SouthWestern Tank. I come in at 7:00 am, usually with only a few hours of sleep, draw or run calculations for most of the time, have a coke at 10:00 to wash away the last effects of the night before, then coast until noon. Then I drive off, sometimes straight to Golden Acres for lunch and an afternoon round, sometimes home to take care of the lawn and catch a nap before going out Saturday night, sometimes over to one of the parks where a group is getting together to play volleyball, drink beer and listen to music.
The third Saturday of June 1977 was different, it started off bad and just kept going that way.
I had a little too much fun the night before and I was paying dearly for it. We started out at Art Kilmer's house. Art was going to Odessa College like several of us, and had a good paying job working at his dad's oil field service company. That spring his parents built a new three car garage on their lot and converted the original garage into two one bedroom apartments each with a bath for him and his older brother. It was a pretty sweet deal and several hard nights started at Art's place. This one was no different than any of the others. The plan was to have a few beers then head out for one of the bars. At 9:30 Lyle Timmons and James Peterson showed up. They were both working at the Pinkies at University and Grandview and brought some extra supplies with them, including a large guitar shaped bottle of tequila called El Guitarra. None of us had ever heard of that brand so we initially stayed away from it. My suspicions were aroused because of the male El associated with the female noun Guitarra.
We had a good crowd that Friday night. J.T. and Sue were there, so was Mark after a hard year at SouthWest Texas State University. Jack, Kate and Rick were there. So was Barry, add me, Art, Lyle and James and we had a real good crowd. Everyone brought plenty of beer. We figured since Al was providing the room the least we could do is make sure he had plenty to drink. Everyone had a story to tell about what happened to them since the last time since we had all been together.
The music was good, Art had very good taste in music, that night he was playing a nice mix of The Beatles, Van Morrison, Bob Dylan, The Byrds and Neil Young. The company was great, everyone was having a great time talking and laughing. And the beer was cold. It really couldn't get much better than this.
It was near 11:00 when we finally decided we were definitely going some place. We settled on The Ticket, a fairly popular bar for our age group on 8th street just past Grandview. As we were leaving Lyle had the brilliant idea of opening up the bottle of El Guitarra and taking a swig of the tequila. He did, and didn't choke on it all. He passed it to James. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said “Damn, that's not half bad. Pretty smooth.” Before we were done and out to our vehicles all of us, save for Sue, J. T. and Kate, had a couple of swallows. James was right, it was the smoothest tequila I had ever had.
I don't remember much of the details from the rest of the night, only that I had to have a good time, because I ended up spending about 20 dollars and at 1.50 a beer, that's a lot of fun. Maybe I was a good tipper that night, I'm not sure. I got home safely around 2:15 am and crashed on my bed. At 5:30 am my Dad woke me up. I stumbled into the shower and soaked for a good 15 minutes just trying to wash the booze out of me. It didn't work. By the time I was out of the shower, Dad had left for work. I drank two glasses of ice tea and that helped a little bit, but not all that much. Food didn't appeal to me too much, but I forced myself to eat one and a half peanut butter sandwiches. I had fixed three sandwiches but I knew Kaiser would expect his fair share. Around 6:40 am I left for work. Kaiser had curled up on the living room couch with a smile that said he had enjoyed his peanut butter sandwiches.
I had turned off of West County Road onto Murphy Road when the next shitty thing happened. I saw a car pulling a flat bed trailer behind coming towards me. The trailer was big enough to carry a car. I was driving around forty to fifty miles and hour, so was the other car. I looked down to change tracks on my 8 track player and when I looked up I had a surprise. The trailer was passing the car, and headed right for me. I looked at the driver of the car, he was scared shitless as he watched the trailer pass him towards me. I considered my options. Going left would be crazy, that would be a head on crash with the car. Staying in my lane didn't make much more sense as that would lead to a head on crash with the trailer, which by now had completely passed the car. My only option was to slide off the road to the right and hope the trailer would go around me. There was no shoulder on this road, but that is what I did, I took my foot off the accelerator and slid off to the right into the grass and dirt. I now only had one problem and it was a problem of timing, there was a telephone pole straight ahead and it looked like a tight fit between the trailer, my truck and the telephone pole. I gave the trailer as much room and time as possible, then cut back to the left to avoid the telephone pole. I missed the telephone pole but the trailer didn't miss me, it grabbed the left rear of the truck, bringing my run to a quick end, slammed me against the windshield and brought the truck and me to a stop. I lifted my head, felt a warm taste in my mouth, looked at the pretty refraction of light bouncing off the cracks in my windshield, then looked in the my rear view mirror and saw the trailer bouncing off the road and into the grass and dirt.
The car had come to a stop on the other side of the road and the driver had jumped out of his car and ran over. I was still a little dazed but turned the engine off and stepped out.
“Oh, shit, man, I'm sorry. I had driven the trailer in this morning, unhitched it, then noticed one of the tires was near flat. I decided to drive it over to the gas station to get it aired up. Guess I didn't lock the hitch. Shit, then I hit a little swell in the road and the damn think jumped off the hitch and hit you!”
I didn't say anything, I just looked at him, then looked at my truck. The windshield was busted and the left rear quarter panel of my truck was gone, just sheared off and crunched by the trailer. My truck was still drivable, but it sure as hell didn't look very pretty.
“You have insurance?”
“Oh, god, yes, of course, And yes, it's all my fault, all my fault.”
He looked at me for a minute then said “I've got a radio in the car. I'll have our dispatcher call the police.”
“Damn good idea.”
About ten minutes later the police arrived, surveyed the situation and wrote the driver a ticket. We exchanged insurance information. The police asked if I was okay, I told them that I was fine. Truth is I didn't know how much of what I felt or didn't feel was because I was still almost drunk. I didn't talk much because I didn't want to get too much of the police's attention.
The police drove off. I shook hands with the driver and drove the remaining few blocks to work. I arrived at 7:35 am, thirty-five minutes late, damn!
Of course, once I got there everyone rode me for being late. I had to show them the truck. I got a little sympathy then, particularly when Bucky noticed I had a nice little bump on my forehead from hitting the windshield.
Normally, I wait until the 10:00 am break for my first Coke, but not today. That combined with three Excedrin from Ned's stash made things a little more bearable. The rest of the morning was all right. I helped Bucky close up the shop and he and I were the last ones to leave for the day.
I drove out the same way I came in that morning, going down Murphy Road. Right in front of me, one of the staff at Dixie Electric, across the street from SouthWestern Tank, is in his car and heads out the same way, down Murphy Road. As I turn on to Murphy Road I see down the road two police cars have pulled over one of the cars of our welders. It looked like Tino Muniz's car.
The person from Dixie Electric drives on past Tino and the cops. So do I. Looks like they are just about done with Tino. Then I see the lights flashing in my rear view mirror. Apparently Tino is not the desperado they want, it looks like it is me.
I pull over to the side of the road and watch as Tino drives off, waving at me. One of the cop cars pulls in front of me, the other one pulls up behind me. Doesn't look like this Saturday is getting any better.
I roll down my window, pull out my wallet and wait for one of them to walk up. The cop from behind walks up and says: “Necesito su licencia de conducir.” in a strong West Texas accent.
That threw me off, his accent was strong but I was pretty sure he asked to see my drivers license, so I gave it to him.
“Gracias.”
“De nada.”
He looked at my drivers license for a long moment. Something about it seemed to throw him off. He waved to the other cop who walked over and they both looked at my license then at me.
“¿Dónde nació usted?“
Sometimes I'm a little slow. After all, I was hungover and had been in an accident this morning so it did take me a little longer to put all of the pieces together. Piece of shit vehicle, yep, Tino drove a banged up Olds Cutlass. I was driving an old truck that had a busted windshield and a sheared off left rear panel. Dark skin, dark hair, yep, Tino's skin was dark, so was mine from playing golf and hanging out at a pool or a park every weekend. Tino's hair was black, so was mine. A cop that was speaking Spanish to me asking where I was born.
“Hey, hey, you don't have to talk Spanish. I'm American, born right here in Odessa. I'm a citizen, naturally born.”
My speaking in English with nothing other than a West Texas accent sealed the deal for them. The cop handed my driver's license back and told me to be careful.
“You looking for illegals?”
One of the cops nodded his head.
“You thought the way I looked and the truck I'm driving made me a little suspicious?”
Neither one of them responded to that. They just told me again to drive on and be careful. I did.
Saturday wasn't over. I drove home. Mom got excited about my accident and was worried that I might be suffering from a concussion. Elizabeth just thought it was all funny.
Around 2:00 I put my golf clubs in the bed of my truck and drove out to Sunset Country Club. I really didn't feel good enough to play a full round but I thought I would hit some range balls and play the par 3 course. With a beer, 9 iron, 7 iron, putter and three balls I played the par 3 course. It was hot that afternoon and not very crowded so I didn't have to talk to or play with anyone. After I had played nine holes I walked over to the grill and went inside.
I was still hungry so I ordered a cheeseburger with jalapenos, chips and another Coors. Man, that hit the spot. My headache cleared away and save for a little soreness in my back I was feeling good. Around 5:00 I drove home.
Mom and Elizabeth were back from the mall. Dad was back from the oil fields. He looked over my truck and asked a few questions about the accident. Satisfied that it wasn't somehow my fault he went inside. I followed him and we sat down for dinner.
After dinner I showered and put on some clean clothes for the evening. The bump on my head had bruised up but other than that I looked all right. Around 8:30 Rick dropped by. I said my good nights to my family and I rode with Rick over to Art's. Mark, Sue, J.T and Art were watching television when we knocked on the door. Everyone looked a little rough, save for Sue and J.T. No one really said anything for awhile. We just watched television and drank beer. Around 9:30 Lyle, Barry, Jack and James came over.
“Anyone want some El Guitarra?” James grabbed the bottle, opened it, and took a swig. He started coughing right off the bat.
“What the hell is this shit? God Damn, this is the worst tequila I've ever had.”
My mind went back to the ham sandwiches at Woodies that Jason and I thought were the best things ever, until I tried one this past summer.
“Let me try a drink.” I stood up, took the bottle from James and took a swallow. Oh, God, it was rough! Not at all smooth, how any of us managed to drink that last night I'll never know. Well, that's not true, I do know, just like the ham sandwich at Woody's, if you're drunk enough, damn near anything tastes good.
We kept things relatively quiet that Saturday night. No one had a really good Saturday morning and all of us felt a little rough. Everyone had their tale of what a shitty Saturday they had, but I just smiled and listened to their tales, knowing when it came my time to tell my story I would win hands down. And when it came my time, it did. Being hit by a run away trailer, having my bell rung by hitting the windshield, followed by the police pulling me over for possibly being an illegal, no one could beat that.
Barry offered his view of things. “Drew, you had the roughest day, but I had a Saturday earlier this year that I think was a little worse. I had a fight with Jack-in-the-Box in San Marcos.”
That got our attention. Before Barry told his tale I made sure I had a fresh beer.
“It was last April, the semester was winding down and we were all going crazy. Saturday night we were going hard at Cheetum Street. Hard enough that I gave it up by 11:00 and headed to the dorm. But I stopped by Jack-in-the-Box first. To me there is nothing better to fight off a pending hangover than a Breakfast Jack, fries and a coke before crashing in bed. I pulled up to the Jack-in-the-Box speaker and placed my order. I didn't notice that I had pulled up at a bad angle and a little too close. As I pulled away from the speaker, my rear bumper caught on the speaker and brought the car to a quick stop. I was drunk so instead of thinking I pushed on the accelerator. There was a loud scratching, tearing kind of noise, which made me nervous, which made me push on the accelerator some more, then there was a loud pop, a squawk and I was free. I drove away and down the street before I noticed I was dragging Jack-in-the-Box with me. You've seen the set up, the speaker looks like the Jack-in-the-Box character, big ol' clown head, little hat. I was dragging the damn thing by its edge and a handful of wires. I drove to the end of the block throwing up sparks before I stopped, got out and pulled it off my bumper. I then drove away fast and back to the dorm. I didn't get my Breakfast Jack. I didn't drive at all for the next few days, scared to death I would be arrested. I've never, ever been back to that Jack-in-the-Box.”
“What happened? Did you get ever get caught?” I said in between sips.
“Nothing, nothing at all, other than the sure fear I would get caught. Apparently, no one at the Jack-in-the-Box saw my license plate. The next week I took my car to a repair shop and had the damage to the fender and rear end repaired, then got me a Maaco touch up to hide scratches. Didn't look as good as new, but it looked good enough.”
Barry paused, took a long sip and said “And that was my worst Saturday. Makes me want to go get a Breakfast Jack right now."
We all had a good laugh at that, drank a few more beers and ended up watching Saturday Night Live at Art's. When that was over we all went home, save for Art who was already home.
Tuesday I met with the insurance agent. He looked over my truck, wrote up an estimate to get it repaired. The next week I picked up the check from his office. Over the next couple of weekends, Jack, my Dad and me replaced the quarter panel and windshield. In July I got the Maaco paint special. Doing it ourselves I managed to clear about $400 dollars.
The summer wore on and as it came to an end people started heading back off to college. Except for Mark. His grades hadn't been terrible at SouthWest Texas State University, but that hadn't been all that good. His parents felt he should go to Odessa College for a year in order to get his grades back up. If he did, then he would be off to UT in Austin the following fall. For awhile he would be walking the hallowed halls of Odessa College with the rest of us still stuck in Odessa.
Author’s notes
Next week in Episode 5 of The Hollow Men Drew finally answers one of Rick’s recurring questions, Drew and Andrea’s relationship becomes a remote one, and Rick and Drew decide to take a chance on the booming West Texas oil and gas industry of the late 1970’s.
Cold beer, Beatles, Bob Dylan, and Neil Young--just couldn't get much better than that indeed. Hope you're well this week, Anthony? Cheers, -Thalia