We, the Coronado Scribes, consist of both professional and amateur writers. We have in common a desire to learn, by sharing our efforts and listening to other writers. We hold pressure-less sessions every Wednesday, at the Coronado Library conference room, starting at 1:30. Often we have guests who wish to just listen. They are welcome, and so are you.
Each week on eCoronado, we feature a different piece of prose or poetry produced by one of our writers. Please feel free to comment or ask questions in the comment section below.
Unintended Consequences:
And the Police Came (Part 3 of 3)
By Mike Lavin
Billie McDonald, my pledge partner, and I were dropped off at a desolate road intersection encircled by corn and soybeans. Billie was a short, peppery kid who loved to laugh and make others laugh with him. I felt fortunate to be with him. Billie purloined several beers from the brother’s stash. We started walking, drinking the beers, without a clue which way to go for a phone. As we walked, we made fun of the knucklehead brothers. Red-winged Blackbirds greeted us sensing our joviality. The heat was building early and the tar on the road became sticky.
Our forced march continued for an hour or so. We saw in the distance what appeared to be a small gas station-café. We both sensed reprieve and elation knowing a phone was nearby. As we moved closer to the station, two men carrying shotguns came around the corners of the café. Billie and I were utterly stunned, mouthing holy shit One gent, the boney one with the shaggy beard and coffee stained jeans, pointed his gun directly at the two of us and demanded in a loud voice “lie down flat on the cement.” We saw that the customers in the restaurant lowered their heads from the window. The other younger, impatient fellow mentioned that they had heard on their radio that “two prisoners escaped from a state penitentiary in Louisiana wearing stripes and lugging balls and chains.” I did not have the bravado to mention that Louisiana was several thousand miles away. “If you move, we’ll blow those stripes right off your uniform.”
Billie had fear in his eyes and that made two of us. “The cops have been called so you just rest right there til they get here.” I mentioned to these gents that, “we were just playing out a fraternity prank. “Look, you can see the Greek letters, ADG, attached to the balls,” They looked and pushed the guns into our backs harder claiming that “fraternity Geeks are just a bunch of homos.” Billie and I had wiseass reputations; we were wiseass funny, maybe the best wiseass comics on the Chicago’s North side. If ever there was a situation to break out with a wiseass joke, it was right there in shotgun heaven. However, with guns in your backs, comedic rants remained subdued. We spent the time struggling to mollify our host.
We heard the noise of police cars as they circled the café. Next, a helicopter hovered over the gas pumps. A trooper cautiously approached and as he got close enough to see us, he started laughing loud and intense. He yelled for to his legions to come up and see the trouble “these crazy Greek Geeks have got themselves into.” We got up and everyone laughed, even the shotgun folk. The cameras in the helicopter were humming.
Part 3 How a ball and chain can lead to trouble.
The trooper said he would find a way to get us back to Chicago, putrid Carp stench and all, but that it would take a little time. The police made hay with this experience and shuttled us back to the city but more like a convoy where they would drop us off at various police stations on the way. Photographers would take pictures of Billie and me sawing our chains and then off to another police station. Our convoy ended at Richard J. Daley’s mayoral office and Billie and I routinely began sawing the chain as flashes lit the room.
So there you go, one swerve, on the way to becoming a fraternity member. That deviation could have had a disastrous ending; that cool, ADG blue windbreaker would just have remained an illusion. I made it into the fraternity; the sheep returned; we celebrated hard and heavy the next day. “Pledge disbursement” ended that next semester.
