Back On The Bench
Stay tuned to this section of the web site. As more of the new book is written I will start to post chapters as they are ready. I know what you are thinking, "Jon, quit writing a book and make this story into a movie." Hey, great idea. But until then....
Back On The Bench
By
Jon Cunningham
Introduction - Mind Travels
Introduction - Mind Travels
It’s amazing what can trigger your brain to remember something that took place so many years ago. You can be going along in your day to day life setting at your desk at work, driving in your car, or watching something on TV. Then it suddenly happens. It can be a song on the radio, hearing someone’s name, smelling a scent, or whatever. You hear it, see it, or smell it and immediately it takes you back in time.
In a matter of seconds your mind can take you back 10, 20, 30 years or more. I guess the older you are the farther back in time your mind can take you.
For an example if I hear the song, Still the One, by Orleans I am immediately taken back to a place called Scooter’s Pizza. While living in Webb City, a small town in Missouri I worked at Scooter’s during my high school and college years. The owner of the pizza place was named Max and he use to play the song on the juke box for his wife Billie. Juke box? It’s a large box that plays records. Records? Think of them as very large CD’s. Anyway, by the time I started working there Max and Billie had been married for several years and they had one son, Scott which they called Scooter. Thus the name Scooter’s Pizza. They may have called him Scooter but most of the workers there called him a pain in the butt. What a turd of a kid.
Max and Billie worked long hours at the restaurant and Max also drove a truck for Yellow Freight so he was out on the road several nights during each month. All the guys working at the pizza place thought Max was a fool for leaving Billie alone all the time since we all thought she was pretty hot. To me she looked like a red headed Cher. A little larger than life nose and long dark red hair and parted down the middle like Cher’s.
I think the long hours at the restaurant for Billie and the countless nights on the road for Max wore on both of them. And it seemed to wear on their marriage too. To most of us their relationship seemed a little shaky but still late at night after the restaurant had closed and we were cleaning up Max often found himself putting in a quarter in the juke box and playing his favorite song, Still the One.
Max and Billie eventually sold the restaurant and they moved to another city and I heard they ended up getting divorced. So I guess Billie isn’t “Still the One” for Max but every time I hear the song it reminds me of them.
Since I watch a ton of sports on TV this next one happens to me a lot. Every time I hear the word “coach” my brain gives me an instant visual of Coach Tom Gosch. Even if I hear the word coach tied to another name such as Coach Anderson or Coach Smith or whatever, as soon as I hear the word “coach” being spoken the name I hear next in my head is Gosch.
Coach Gosch was the head football coach for the high school football team but I first crossed paths with him as a 7th grader. He was our gym teacher and he was the most intimidating person I had met or have probably ever met. He looked like what you would think a football coach and a gym teacher would look like. A block of a head, black rim glasses, huge shoulders and forearms that would make Popeye’s look like mere twigs. I can still remember standing in line in gym class with our backs against the wall as Coach Gosch would slowly make his way down the line taking role. As he passed the B’s and made his way to the C’s I could feel my heart rate increasing and my breathing becoming erratic. And as he glared at me with a pencil in one hand and a clipboard in the other, he would bark my name, “Cunningham?” At which I would struggle to find the strength to say, “Here.” I knew that was the right answer and I knew it was the only answer I could give and yet each time I felt like I had somehow got it wrong and I just knew Coach was going to drop his pencil and clipboard and pound me into the ground.
But he didn’t. He just looked at me. Put a check by my name and moved onto the D’s. At which point I could always feel a drop or two of urine dribble into my jock strap.
I recently ran into Coach Gosch at a fellow classmate’s funeral. Due to the fact it has been over 40 years since he was my gym teacher and that now we are both adults I felt less intimidated and I was able to smile and give him a big hug. But I must admit, as he turned and walked away I was tempted to look down at my pants to make sure I hadn’t wet myself.
Another time travel trigger is the smell of pipe tobacco, especially cherry blend. It takes me back to my early childhood and reminds me of Dale, my stepfather. Occasionally he would give the cigarettes a break and fire up the old pipe. Loved that smell. Loved that man. He is gone now but I would give anything to set in the den of my parent’s house and take in a good laugh with Dale and the sweet aroma of his cherry blend tobacco.
But by far the most traumatic trip down memory lane is brought on by the word, “fishhook. “ Anytime the word is spoken in my presence the nightmare of an early morning fishing trip with my older brother takes over my mind. Oh, we have had hundreds of great fishing trips over the years and I treasure every moment we get to spend on the water and I am always looking forward to the next one.
But let me hear the word fishhook and I start this little uncontrolled twitch. Due to the dramatic end to the trip it is likely the only fishing outing that I have been on that I can’t remember if a single fish was caught. My brother Eric, a friend of mine Scott and I were all fishing in a boat that was probably way too small for three people to fishing out of but that didn’t keep us from launching out on the great adventure on Morton’s Pond near Alba, Missouri.
Again, I don’t know if we caught anything that day or really how long we had been fishing when all of a sudden the trip took a dramatic turn for the worse. Eric being the eldest took on the role as the guide for the trip and he sat at one of the end of the small flat bottomed boat. Scott was at the opposite end and I was, unfortunately seated in the middle. Due to the fact that Eric suffered from the same disfigurement as our father, he was left handed. Left handed people don’t fit very well in a right handed world. Well, at least they don’t fit very well in a right handed boat.
I am sure Eric had the greatest intention when he reared back to make that eventful cast. I am sure visions of a lunker bass danced in his head as he launched his six inch Rapala minnow lure into the air. Did I mention it was a six inch Rapala lure with THREE sets of treble hooks? Three treble hooks equals nine individual hooks with barbs design not only to penetrate the tough mouth of a large mouth bass but to remain hooked to the fish as he wildly leaps from the water as he tries to throw the lure from its mouth. I am sure by now you know where this is story is heading.
There I was enjoying the day on the water with my brother and a friend. And then POW! Out of nowhere I feel this sudden blow to the back of my head. I wasn’t sure what had just happened. It felt like a huge bird had flown into the back of my head however I am not sure why I think that since I don’t recall ever having a huge bird do that.
I didn’t know what happened other than that I had been hit by something in the back of the head. And I thought it had something to do with Eric’s last cast. Unfortunately I was correct in my thinking.
When I was struck my head violently flew forward and the boat began to rock I heard my brother say, “Oh crap!” I have to stop here for a minute and say something. To this day I am not a 100% sure why my brother yelled out the “Oh Crap” phrase. It could have been the simple fact that he noticed his lure had found the back of my head instead of the pond. Or and I am only guessing, but it could have been the fact that he suddenly realize what a huge backlash he had in his reel. The line suddenly balled up in his reel and I am sure he realized that this was going to cost him some valuable fishing time as he tried to fix the huge hairball that had found its way to his reel. I guess we will never know.
There I sat with a fishing lure stuck to the back of my head. Thankfully, and now as I type the word “thankfully” I am not so sure I really am thankful for it. At the time of this event Eric had progressed to the high ranks in the Boy Scouts and would eventually go onto West Point military academy and then serve our country for 20+ years in the Army seeing duty in the Gulf War. Just the kind of person you would want in a time of crisis. So I should have been thankful that he was in the boat. So you would think.
Still in the rocking boat Eric quickly assessed the damaged. One of the hooks on the lure had indeed penetrated into the back of my head. I think he hoped it was just tangled in my version of a white man’s afro but unfortunately for me the hook had found skin. Eric quickly cut the line to the lure so we wouldn’t accidentally pull on the lure.
Step one in trying to remove the lodged hook was the ever popular and profound procedure of “pulling and wiggling” it until it comes out. This procedure when performed by the best trained physician is usually best done on a stable exam table. It’s not usually a recommended technique while the patient, doctor, and able bodied assistant are all setting in a boat tossed about by the wind and waves. So with this in mind the medical team chose to move to the nearest bank.
Once on shore Doctor Eric then abandoned the pulling and wiggling technique and moved onto the “try to hold still while I cut this out” technique with an old pocket knife he found in the bottom of the tackle box.
Believe it or not I had three things going for me at this point. First, the lure was in the “back” of my head and not the front so I couldn’t see what was going on. Secondly, there was actually very little pain. Well, up to this point. One of the great designs of man by God is that he put very little skin on the back of our heads. Thus there are very few nerves to be found. The third thing on my side was the totally blind trust and faith in my older brother. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me if he could help it.
So with one hand trying to steady my head he tried to cut the skin that was holding the hook in place. Didn’t I say earlier that I was in very little pain? OK, this is where the pain-free part of the story ends. With me starting to squirm a little more Eric continued trying to push my hair aside so he could get a better cutting angle but to no avail.
Once again stopping to access the problem my “unskilled” surgeon and his “totally useless” assistant figured they needed something sharper to really be able to cut the hook out. At which point I heard my brother say, “Hey Scott, why don’t you run into town and see if you can find someone that has a razor blade.”
And before I knew it Scott returned with exactly that. A package of brand new and very sharp razor blades. But I think by now I was beginning to tire of the whole ordeal. I tried to set still while Eric “scissor hands” tried to once again retrieve his lure but I was starting to lose faith in my medical team.
So we finely decided to abandon the thought of getting to fish anymore that day and loaded up and headed to town. Driving into town we soon arrived at Jane Chin Hospital. A hospital with not the greatest reputation but believe me I was ready to see someone, anyone, that was wearing a white coat and by now that would include a butcher or the Orkin man. The three of us made our way to the check-in area and were greeted by the receptionist who dutifully asked, “How can I help you?” At which point we all just chuckled and I simply turned around and revealed the infamous Rapala lure. Which was followed with her response and our second, “Oh crap” of the day?
Finally I was in the hands of the professionals. Or so I thought. They took me back to an exam room and after a quick look the doctor told his able bodied and I must say better bodied nurse than I had in Scott, to bring him so many CC’s of some sort of painkiller. At which he proceeded to inject in the area next to the hook. Holy sweet mother of Elvis! I just about came off the exam table. Up until that exact point this entire incident had been about a 5 on the 1 to 10 pain scale. Suddenly we just hit 25 on the same scale. I don’t really like needles but give me a hundred shots in the arm or the butt but don’t ever give me another one in the back of the head but that’s exactly what they did. Apparently the term “so many” CC’s isn’t really a medical term that can be accurately measured. At least not by my professional team so another shot was ordered and unfortunately administered!
With Doctor Frankenstein sufficiently satisfied that I was back among the pain free world he quite simply and very quickly took a pair of cutters and snipped the barb of the hook off and slid the hook back out. At which point I think I heard my brother say, “Rats, why didn’t I think of that?”
I will tell you why he didn’t think of that. Cutting the barb off would damage the lure and a damaged lure is not near as effective when it comes to catching large mouth bass. So having a damaged lure would mean buying a new lure and buying a new lure would have cut into my brother’s beer money fund! A buck fifty lure can make a huge dent even though at that time you could buy six beers for a dollar and get a dime back in change. OK, maybe he wasn’t thinking all of that. But then again.
So please, if we ever cross paths down the road don’t ever use the word, well don’t use the word that I mentioned above. It’s
a memory that still haunts me.
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Time travel in our minds is truly an amazing thing. And it affects us all. We all have that trigger word or scent that somehow can transport us to a new time and place. Fresh baked bread can take us back to grandma’s kitchen or a song on the radio can mentally reunite us with our first love.
In most cases the mental journey is quite short. Just a quick thought will pass through our mind then just as quickly we are onto something else.
But then sometimes, as in the case you are going to hear about, not only can our sensory system send us on a mental journey, it can also put us on an actual journey.
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