It was the spring of '69. I was 18 and a freshman at Willamette in Salem, Oregon.
At spring break a few guys were headed to the Bay area to protest Vietnam.
They needed another rider for gas money. So we headed south with the
ubiquitous gallon jug of cheap wine. A few chugs on the jug and the rhythm of
of the road put me to sleep in the station wagon.
It was dark when we got to Oakland. We stopped at a brightly lit service station to gas up.
I went to the bathroom to pee. Two brothers were there and one showed me
a large bag of weed. Did I want to buy some? Okay. When I finished peeing, the guy with
the weed was gone. His partner said that we had to go around the corner to score.
So we went around into the dark neighborhood.
I didn't see it coming--the guy hit me so hard I would've fallen down except for
the parked car behind me.
I feinted to the right and ran to left, back to the lights of the gas station.
My friends were mad for making them wait.
My nose was broken so bad it almost laid on my cheek. Lots of blood'
So we were off to the hospital. The young intern asked if I had been drinking.
When I admitted to the wine he said no pain killers, brace yourself.
He pulled my nose back, then stood with his thumb up, as if to see if my nose
was plumb. Then put in five stitches. He said don't turn over while sleeping
for two weeks. Put a brick on each side of your head.
= new reply since forum marked as read
You knew it was coming!
OK I hope
