It began in the Navy when the Russian guided missile frigate came after Norm’s ship at midnight. The missiles were aimed right at him as he was walking aft for midrats. A Tomcat fighter came down from above at mach1 and the Russians veered off , That was a miracle and death was averted. (Six day war, a proxy war between Russia and us.)
Next time, Norm was in lockup for a drug crime he did not commit and the man he pointed out as the culprit was in the same bullpen as he was. He came after him at night and a best friend fought the man off. The next night, Norm and his friend escaped by climbing down a three story drain pipe and went on the run. Eventually, the charges were dropped and the record expunged. Military stuff. Brig time for the escape and an honorable discharge followed.
A motorcycle adventure with another good friend went sideways down in Kansas. They had foolishly given small town girls rides on their motorcycles. Attracted to these ‘romantic’ motorcycle men, by their bold appearance perhaps. They camped outside of the town and after the pleasant riding, the small town cop asked them if they would like to spend the night in his jail. Startled them and then the cop told them “their boyfriends are coming after you tonight at your campsite” We declined as jail was unappealing. We thought about the warning and what we would do if those townies came. Bruce ( a vet fresh back from ‘Nam”) put forth the idea that we could take the tent poles and hold them under our arms with only the metal ferrules exposed and they would appear to be shotguns. “Is that the best idea you’ve got?” It was, and sure enough the slam of pickup doors resonated close by and it was time for the walk to the parking lot. Side by side they walked in the moonlight with those tent poles pointed at the sidewalk and Bruce spoke, “Don’t shoot till they get close” The pickup doors slammed shut and the big block truck roared off.
The town cop showed up soon after to view the carnage and we stood there, unarmed, and told him it was all peaceful.
We decided to beak camp and head for Oklahoma quickly. Night riding and the traffic was light in rural Kansas.
As we motored into a very small town in Oklahoma the next day, Bruce’s bike came to a halt and with throttled twisted would not move. We quickly dissembled a few parts and found a woodruff key had sheared off to the driveshaft. Great. A young man appeared behind us and asked about our trouble and as he jingled his key ring. he proclaimed, “it’s Sunday but my dad owns the hardware store, let’s go take a look!” Inside the back door he pointed out a Graymill’s cabinet and the top drawer had woodruff keys in compartments. “Eight millimeter right? Better take a few” Very few people have experience with a shaft driven motorcycle and know the size of that key by glancing at the empty half moon slot. Especially in a rural town with about 600 people. A miracle for certain. ‘His dad owned the hardware store’, it took quite a few decades to understand that truth. his Dad owns everything. Everywhere.
Back at the bike the key fit perfectly with a satisfying ‘snick’ and we turned to thank the young man and he was gone. “What a conicedence!” people say sometimes about this story. Providence is a better word.
At our destination in Berkeley, I began to work for a group of men that smuggled heroin in airplanes. Good money. I really liked the drug. As I was getting ready to take another hit, I heard a voice in my room say: “Life or death, Choose now” I hesitated a bit, and then chose life. No withdrawal nor desire and I was quickly out of work. Bruce rode back to Minneapolis. He had been on painkillers when he was blown up overseas in battle and he knew the struggle with them. He left before I got hired by the ex-Luftwaffe pilot. Not warning just, “watch your six” The fed’s were very interested in the pilot from previous ‘business’ experiences and found me at my new job. I knew nothing and they also knew that. I went back to where I was living at that time. Enjoying Maclure’s beach in San Francisco while relaxing at my new home, the back of a Chevy pickup with a wood camper I had built. It had french doors and I would sit with the doors open and heat up a can of Dinty Moore beef stew. Next day I would go back to work in Oakland.
I lived in that truck that I traded for the worn out Enfield bike and made my living on a limited salary playing guitar in front of Safeway supermarkets. A big young man came up to me and stated. “what you goin’ to do if I take that guitar?” Immediately I told him, “I’ll just fight you for it till one of us dies” We stared at one another for a while, unblinking, and he turned away and said “that’s cool” Soon after I drove off to a commune in Eugene and stayed for a bit as the bread baker and part time mechanic. The bay area had lost it’s romantic appeal. The summer of love had faded. Saved again. Providence.
Back in Minneapolis I had a girlfriend I met on a folk music tour out east and we had a comfy little house on the west bank. I worked hard on a railroad track gang and it was OK. The truck was traded for a 1941 Ford coupe with a new flathead V8. One night, while I was out at the 400 bar, the neighborhood rapist victimized my girlfriend in our bed. The next night, I walked the streets of the westbank neighborhood with a German 9mm military luger tucked in my back, looking for that man. A half block away, a cop walked across the street and I quickly placed the gun behind a bush. I ‘lost interest’ in revenge and later came back and retrieved the side arm and gave it back to a gangster that gave it to me. Saved again by providence it seemed. The girl and I parted company. The usual consequence of trauma for her.
Five decades later, I had moved to rural Wisconsin right after the West bank experiences, got married and have two wonderful sons and a beautiful wife. Minneapolis had lost it’s charm and Bruce lived a half mile away from my new run down farm. The house got fixed up gradually and a new friend told me to remodel the kitchen because that is the way to find a good woman. It worked and I eventually met my wife. (That story is in ‘Bicycle built for two’ at this website) more providence.
Now, as a man that embraced his Lord Jesus (finally!) I realize who had my six, my back. Saved me again and again from myself and danger. I am Now on a media and prayer team at a large church, back in Minneapolis working with my oldest son, the team director. I know without a doubt that I have been set in a place I was meant to be. Almost 80 now and in love with my rescuer from sin. I Thank God’s Mercy and Providence again and again . It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.
Jack gators grace notes 