I was asked on my birthday in 2017 what my most “memorable” birthday was, and here, to the best of my recollection, is an account of the near death experience..
I was 21 years old, and my best friend at that time, Dan Dietz (RIP), and John Durkin, went with me to the Faucet Tavern. I was already a “seasoned drunk” by the time I had arrived at the age of 21, but being able to “legally” enter taverns and bars seemed like a big deal at the time (I had been getting into bars since I was 16 years old, usually accompanied by Dan). The southwest Portland Faucet tavern seemed like a great place to visit, as it was famous for its turtle races, and its all-around “party hardy” atmosphere.
Dan and I bought a bottle of booze, and we kept it in the trunk of his car, to “sip” from, in between beers at the tavern. I started out my birthday evening by playing several games of pool, gambling $5 a game with some “locals”. At that time of my life, I was a very good pool player, and I removed a few bucks from some very unhappy patrons. One unhappy patron followed me out to Dan’s car, where I was grabbing a swig off of a whisky bottle. He let me know that he did not like me having so much fun at his expense, and tried to fight with me. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but somehow the fight got “postponed”.
I walked back into the tavern, and enjoyed a couple more beers with Dan and John, and played some more pool. I was quite the “happy drunk”, though my behavior did not make the outraged individual I had already taken $20 from feel any better about me. The next time I walked out to Dan’s car, that unhappy man grabbed two of his friends, and they all tried to “teach me a lesson”. Dan looked out from the tavern door at his car, and saw that I was in trouble, and secured the bar manager. But it was too late, one guy pulled a knife, and the fight was on. There were a few lunges at me with the knife, and a couple of punches thrown (none quite hit me). There was a lot of loud voices, and some yelling and screaming.
The manager called the police, but at that same moment, the guy with the knife took a final stab at me. According to the reports from Dan, I spun kicked the knife out of his hand (which was an act of pure, unadulterated luck on my part), and then I threatened to take his head off with the next kick. The sirens of the police cars about to arrive there scared the three attackers away, and it also scared Dan and John, who quickly threw me into the car, and we drove off up Beaverton Hillsdale Highway towards Wilson High School.
I got angry with Dan for not coming out to help me with the attackers, and he told me that calling the police was the best that he could do. He then not so politely, invited me to walk home from close to Wilson HIgh, to Milwaukie, about 7 miles or so. I was fortunate to make it home in one piece, and not be arrested for being drunk in public, or for drunken walking. I visited Dan the next day, and apologized to him. He was in really bad shape, and he was still pretty hung over. And he was the designated driver!
Sadly, Dan and I ceased being best friends in 1981, after he assaulted my wife of that time, Donelle, while she was drunk and insane. Dan died of a heart attack around 1997, not even making it to 45 years of age. Many of my other drinking and drugging buddies have also died young, through suicide or disease, or are presently disabled due to the excesses of their young adulthood.
I became “sober” in 1987, after my own suicide attempts led me into an epic underworld journey. It is the stuff of movies, and of nightmares, and has been documented elsewhere.
I am still “21 years old”, but with 44 years of extra experience! The last 33 years have been pretty sober, however, with a couple of minor slips. The world rests a little easier because of my sobriety, I am sure! I know that I rest easier.
Life can be some kind of fun, huh? What a long, strange, miraculous, healing and redemptive trip it has been.
The photographs are from my first wedding, which was 22 months after this 21st birthday near-death experience.. Fortunately for those who survived our bacchanalian young adulthood, there are no selfies, or cell-phone photographs to be persecuted with in our “older age”.
