THE ACCIDENT

At least once a month Myrtle and Lew Clark would pick me up at Glassboro State on their way to Philly to bring son Lewis “Bub” Jr. home for the weekend.  On our last ride for the semester as we drove on the freeway leading to the Walt Whitman the three of us marveled at a glowing cloud formation right in front of us.  It was a yellow and red cross illuminated by the setting sun in the purple cloud hovering over the city – little did we know this was an omen of what was to come that weekend.

Bub and I were both bushed from catching up for our finals of our Junior years in college.  But being young and foolish – fatigue was not an option on a weekend.  We dropped off the folks and headed for our rendezvous with fate.  We drove to Somers’ Point to make the rounds of the watering holes in search of some “action” – yeah right - both of us were always the optimists and rarely successful in our quests.

Our first stop was Tony Mart’s for some beer and the throbbing music – the bass made our eardrums flex.  Today I would not venture into a smoke laden den of iniquity like this – but in my early twenties and legally able to drink for most of that year this was called FUN?

We stood in the weaving crowd and scanned the scene.  

Most of the girls were wearing madras Bermuda shorts and penny loafers.  The guys in tee’s or sweatshirts that ballyhooed their colleges (and some even attended them).  The joint wasn't jumping at 10:40 PM – but hell the night was young.  Bub declared, “this place is dead!”  And we sauntered across the street to the much larger drink-a-porium – Bayshores.  

It looked and sounded just the same as Tony’s.  But Bub, always the optimist declared, “now yer talking!”  I was a bit chagrined at this  – but it was far to loud to argue.  Here we saw a couple kids we knew.  And we toasted summer vacation with a couple of bottles of  the local vintage, Schmidts Beer – “Schmidts of Philadelphia…Schmidts will ring a bell fa ya…”  Little did we know our bells would soon be rung.  We hung around, shuffled with the music and imagined getting dates to dance with – and soon decided that our “fun” was over for the night.

Instead of driving the shortest way back to Millville.  Bub decided we “needed check out Ocean City.”  So we motored across the bay and cruised by the Chatterbox – a burger joint for the local college set in this very dry town.  The place was empty so we decided to return home and get some rest so we could do this fairly mindless quest all over again tomorrow.

As Bub drove his father’s new giant 1964 Buck Roadmaster up the dark Central Avenue in the mostly vacant town (the summer season would not start for almost a month) I started to doze off. The buick did have such comfortable leather seats as big as a LazyBoy. 

I woke with a start.  Flashing lights, sirens.  Where? …What was happening? 

I was strapped down and my head was in a foam box thing and a guy in white was waving a flashlight in my eyes.  Gads I'm in an ambulance!  He ordered me to lie still and assured, “that I would be alright.”  All right? From what?  Was this real?

Unfortunately - It was real. 

I learned a couple of days later what had taken place.  After I fell asleep.  Bub decided to join me. 

We drifted across the avenue and hit a parked car head at approximately 40 miles an hour.  I was ejected from the car.  The car with Bub continue on and crashed into a porch.  It burst into flames.  I apparently in a state of shock had revived and was able to pull my unconscious friend from his car leaving his shoes by the door.  I had managed to drag him away from the flames.  I was found by the police walking down the middle of the avenue crying for help.

I remember nothing of this!  Apparently about 10 minutes had been erased from my memory banks = perhaps this is nature’s way of protecting us from life’s traumas – and that was a good thing.

Post script:  We both spent 3 days in the hospital.  I had a fairly serious concussion and Bub had 14 stitches in his tongue which he almost bit off on the impact.  We had totally destroyed two cars and burned down a porch.  But the most important – we had both survived. 

I regret that my mother had to get a call from the police that midnight – the call every parents prays not to get.  This incident affected her for years to come – she always worried about me anyway and after this she would never fail to remind me of the many dangers I could encounter driving.

The Accident – as it would be called for years to come changed my summer.  I missed a couple of finals at school and had to take some makeup tests in the fall to clear “Incomplete's”.   I was not allowed to work at the glass plant – too soon in my recovery to stand the heat and noise Dr. Rosen decided.  

But we both recovered – and I got a counselor job at Camp Hollybrook.  I would be the “Chief” of the Apaches – the 8 and 9 year old day campers.  (Which will be covered in an upcoming post).

Such is life.  The up side of this disaster – I think we both learned that in an instant all our hopes, dreams and plans for the future can vanish. And I especially learned to be more careful who I trusted to drive me around. 

But most important I realized for the first time that I was not immortal – and this changed everything.