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Post by roadking on Jun 19, 2021 1:22:32 GMT
I may need to dig up that old .txt document I wrote some years ago...
Never did anything with it, because everyone who was there for it said, verbatim, "you ought to write a book about your life, but no one would believe it wasn't fiction"...from folks that were there. It's been a fun ride.
It's on one of the computers/laptops/flash drives... a 30+ year memoire (of what I can still recall...11 concussions kinda blur some things...LOL!).
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Post by roadking on Jun 29, 2021 2:23:41 GMT
Found the big meat and taters...many other stories, but here are the big ones. Please forgive me for the "History of the World" by Mel Brooks opening line...
My Life...thus far.
In the beginning, there was life; I was born. I wasn't really aware during the first 10 years that I was born into a rather well off family. My mother was a stay at home mom, my dad was self employed from the time he was 16 in the home construction field. I later learned that our entire neighborhood was a developement he created, as were many others in the area. Majority were single family homes of moderate size and expense, however he had done everthing from town homes and twins up to custom million dollar homes and estates (he continued into his early 80s, at the office at least 3 days a week and active on several boards of directors for 2 of the bigger hospitals in our area). His proudest achievement was the development of a private retirement community; 225 individual condos as well as an 84 bed fully staffed nursing facility. He owned and ran it for 25 years, each year it was ranked as top 10 in the state. Not too shabby for a guy who barely finished high school.
The retirement community construction is when I really started to figure out that we were different than my friends' families...heck, most of them worked for us. Some of our closest employees were with my dad since they were in high school. He was very respected...except by the unions...we were non union. Here is the event that really opened my eyes...
Union approached him. "You will hire 2 union carpenters. They will never show up, but you will pay them a salary and not terminate them". When my dad refused, they threatened "what a beautiful family you have...would be ashame if something happened to them". Well, one thing you don't do is threaten an Irish carpenter, especially my dad. Let's just say the union boss got a visit that night at his dinner table, in his home with his family from my dad. The visits from the union ceased immediately.
Yup, we were not typical.
Anyway, life was pretty calm until about 14 when I bought my first vehicle; a 1973 Ford F-100 XLT. Inline 6, 3 on the tree. We lived on 33 acres, had 6 horses, turned one of the outdoor pools into an indoor with house for my grand father. Those fields were where I learned to drive and fuel my passion for one of my dad's favorite hobbies; dirt racing. I'll get to that in a bit...trying to stay on a time line. Legal age to race was 18.
The next 4 years progressed as most teens in my area...cars, girls, school and skiing. Here is when I realized I had a lot of my dad in me...no concern for self or bodily injury.
Summer of 1989; My buddy In had just graduated high school and was to head to Carnegie Mellon in the fall, so I decided to give him a good send off. Took him and my other buddy "Doc" to West Palm Beach for a week...on my dad's 55' Ocean Yacht. To say they were excited is not even close. We get there (drove) and stow our gear. That's when they met Eddy, our captain Great guy, great captain, great chef). In was certified for SCUBA, as was Ed, but Doc and I weren't...yet. Got a 3 day cert course and passed our test. They never dove Florida, so the dramatic change was a thrill.
We weren't done yet. Ed comes to us at breakfast the next morning and asks if we all had ID. Yeah, we do. "Okay, we're going for a ride". I figured just a cruise on the intercoastal, maybe fuel up. We passed the fuel doc and headed for the inlet at Riviera Beach. Cool, going to dive off the big boat...but what's up with the ID? "Ed, we heading to Boca?" "Nope, Walker's" (Walker's Cay, northern Abaccos, Bahamas. So off we go on a 90 mile crossing of the Atlantic...A trip I had made and would make several times in my life...there is another story later.
The excitement of Florida quickly waned compared to the Bahamas. A trip they remember to this day. Funny twist; it had been 30 years since Ed and In saw each, just that one week, but at my dad's funeral, they were both there. Ed and I were talking when In came over. Ed; "Explictitive IN?" Nice. At the funeral reception, my wife went out for a smoke and a few high school friends were catching up and brought up the reunion of Ed and In, hust as my wife came back. Game time. Convinced her that his name was actually "Explicative In Choi", spelled phonetically, of course with a Ph, and an F. Played it up for a while until we couldn't handle it anymore and lost it laughing. Like I said, I put the "fun" in funeral and dysfunction!
That Summer I earned the "Dioscean Scholar Award" which granted me 4 college course during my senior year of high school at one of 10 local Catholic colleges. Well, the choise was easy...Chestnut Hill College...an all girls college. When you're in an all boys high school, the choice was a no brainer...the only guy 2 nights a week for 2 semesters.
I had been on skis for a long time, but decided it was time to step up the game...went to 210 cm skis (longer ski, faster speed). Did well for a bit, then upped it tp 220s. I learned a lesson here...when you get new skis, ADJUST THE BINDINGS! Yup, wiped out, bad. Left ski didn't come off. After several cartwheels, I came to rest, face down with my left ski over my right shoulder and under my chin. Destroyed my knee...total reconstruction, plastic joint, you name it. Surgery went well, but there was another consequence; I had just been accepted into the Coast Guard Academy...never got there. The injury made me unfit physically. So off to Millersville University instead; majored in accounting and business administration/management and got my degrees in 4 years.
These were 4 years of "you can't make this stuff up if you tried".
Chapter 2: The racing "career"...
18 rolls around. In the Fall, so race season was over. I had plenty of other things to occupy my time, but they will be different chapters. Spent the winter building my car; rail 2x4 boxed steel frame, roll cage, 600 hp small block Chevy hooked to a Jericho 2 speed transmission linked to a Franklin quick change rear. Covered in an Oldsmobile Cutlass skin... looked nothing like it's name sake, that how the modifieds were...body style was determined by the rear side windows.
In college, so only got home to work on it on weekends, so the extra time was a good thing. Spring rolls around. It's time! I could only run 3 races if I wanted to be eligible for "rookie" competetion the following year when the track would be paved. Fair enough.
Flemington Speedway was pretty much heralded as the fastest 5/8 mile dirt track on the east coast, and from experience, I call that the truth. We were turning incredibly fast lap times.
First 2 races were an absolute blast! Flying down the straight away, pitching it hard and broadsliding thru the turns, then back on the throttle! Every young mans dream! Did pretty decent for being a newbie.
My final dirt race comes around. Well, I'm going all out. I had gotten to 3rd and was battling this one car; we were almost equal in speed, but I'd gain on him going into turn 1. Standard procedure was to lift out of the throttle at the flagger's satnd, turn left and dive back into the throttle. The lifting allowed for the front end to make better contact for steering. Well we hammered it out for about 6 laps...each lap gaining some ground...and driving in deeper and deeper before lifting.
Finally cleared him about 20 feet past the flagger's stand, lifted and...nothing! Car didn't slow down, wheels turned but car still going straight at full speed (around 120-140). Didn't even have time to hit the brakes...BOOM! Head on into the wall. Throttle return spring broke. Got my bell rung pretty good, but with some help from the track crew, managed to get out of the car and stagger back to the pits. Car came back on a forklift...tow trucks weren't enough. Made for a busy off season (as well as converting to an asphalt car). Little did I know, my girl friend was in the stands...with her mom...directly where I piled it in. She wasn't 18, so she couldn't get into the pits until after the races were over.
When the checkered flag fell, the grandstands could come in and meet the drivers. Well, she finds me and is just sobbing. Remember I said I got my bell rung? Yup, didn't know who she was...surprisingly, she stayed with me into the next season... But didn't come to many races...it was too much for her.
Spring 1991; the track is paved, and it is even faster than before. Beautiful looking track and pits. I'm officially licensed to run in the rookie championship...there were 7 of us.
Hot laps (practice). Car is vibrating so bad, it hurt to hold onto the steering wheel. Told car owner (my dad) and crew there's a problem. Nah, you're just not used to the asphalt...get out there and when you come out of turn 2, punch the throttle to the floor.
Okay...did as told, felt like the car was going to shake itself apart...and it did. The yoke from the transmission to the drive shaft let go...must have had a stress crack that didn't matter on dirt, but the more intense pressure from asphalt caused failure. Loud BANG, clatter, crashing noises and a searing white hot pain ran down my left leg. Drive shaft was still attached to the rear and was flailing wildly in the cockpit; blew the floor pan out, scatter shield gone, cut the brake lines, frame and continued to thrash my leg from ankel to butt cheek.
No brakes, trying to stay conscious, the car made a full lap until it slowed enough to lay her on the inside fence to stop. Ambulance was waiting, pulled me from the car and off to the ER. Left leg looked like raw hamburger. My dad was in the ambulance and I asked him to call my girl friend and tell her not to come...I knew my day was over.He dials the phone..."Yeah, it's Matt's dad. There's been an accident and he's on the way to the ER. Don't bother coming up. 'click'"
He just smirked...he wasn't exactly fond of her, but that was almost cruel...lol!
It was very disconcerting to climb into the car the following Saturday and look down and see the driveshaft between my legs, but I did. Ran the race for rookie class, took second. The field of modifieds was a little sparse, so, in their infinite wisdom, the track decided to allow the rookies to run with the big and small block veteran drivers. Didn't do too bad, got a few dents and dings, gave a few dents and dings...the year was off to a better start.
The next 2 years were just typical Saturday night racing. Some good days, some great days and of course some not so good, but no ambulance or ER. That is until...
It was either late August or September. Had a new girlfriend for a year and a half. Married her, BTW. She came on my pit crew; time keeper, tire pressures, water girl, pretty anything she could do...not typical...not a whole lot of women in the pits back then. She'd help me out of the car, cold cloth, etc. Believe it or not, 20 laps is one heck of a work out...it just looks easy.
Well, it finally happened; the big crash.
Car was flawless. Go high, go low, go faster...it was on rails. Best it ever was. Practice, heat races, etc. Girlfriend (wife) said fastest time she ever recorded for me...I kinda knew it. What a great feeling. The feature was a 50 lapper, so a hooked up car is a God send.
Started in the middle of the 24 car field and promptly walked past my brother in his big block. Walking past everyone in front of me, including the pros who raced for a living. About half way thru, one of the big boys tapped me going into turn one...nothing unusual, we raced rough. However, he tapped me just right. back end came around and I'm staring at the inside fence, wide open, again. Hoped to break the rear tires free.
Nope. Split second, my lights are out. Only account for it came the next morning...no one in the pits saw anything...it was a blind spot. Red flag out, and wife is getting worried. "He never came out of turn 2". No one was really concerned, but she quick walked to turn one (we were pitted in turn 3) as the ambulance and rescue squad were getting ready to remove my roof. Back to our pits and told my dad. "I never saw a man his age move so fast". When the got there, wife was not permitted on the track, just my dad, so she watch from behind the wall I had just hit (and tore apart). Says I was just slumped over, like I was napping. Nope. EMT's, I recently discovered the 2 that extracted me from the car, retell the incident..."didn't see it but we sure as heck heard it. You were completely out for a long period and unresponsive. Pretty much figured you for a goner."
A bit over an hour later, I started to come back to the world. Strapped to a gurney, neck and head brace, and generally not feeling all that good. There's a guy standing next to me.
"Where am I?" ER. "What happened?" You wrecked bad. "Who are you?" Matt, it's me, Dad. "Huh...am I free to leave the hospital?" That's not a good idea...thay haven't even check you in yet.
Well, I am not a fan of hospitals, so asked my dad to at least unstrap me. He did and I went to sit up. That didn't turn out like I hoped. Back down for a few minutes. Finally sat up and swung my legs off the gurney, took neck and head brace off, and decided to stretch my legs. Again, didn't work as planned...crumpled to the floor.
Back on the gurney. Asked nurse walking by when they'd check on me. Well, to say she was not a fan of race car drivers is an understatement. "You ************* put yourselves in harms way! I'm in no rush to take you...I'll get to you when I feel like it!"
"That's it, dad, get me out of here." Put my arm over his shoulder and he kinda dragged me out. No, not really a smart move, but that's what we did. He placed me in the waiting room on a seat and was about to call our crew to come get us when a guy sitting next to me asked if we were heading back to the track. "Well, I'll give you guys a lift...wife just went into labor. She'll be awhile and the track is only a few minutes away." And he did! Dropped us off as the final checkered flag fell and we crossed the track. Wife saw me coming with the aid of dad and promptly took my other arm. Back to our pit stall and she calls to my grandfather "Pop! Matt's back". His response was about what I expected..."See? Told you not to worry. The stupid SOB is too stubborn to die". So much love...LOL!
Next morning I was in no shape to go to church, so stayed home drinking coffee and eating asprin when the phone rang (yeah, that felt good on my head). It was my dad's retired secretary. She sometimes came to the track, and the day before was no exception. Turns out she was in turn one stands when hell broke loose and, I'm still in a fog so all I remember of the call was a mix of sobbing and yelling about how she will NEVER come to a race again. The words "horrifying", and "terrifying" were used, "8' in the air. Helmet gone when car finally came to rest"...best I've got...still looking for answers.
Decided to go to local hospital where dad was on the BOD to get checked out. The inventory goes like this; concussion, skull fracture, broken sternum, vroken ribs, compound compressed fractures in both wrists along with many bumps and bruises. Yeah, I walked out afterwards...just wanted to know what my body could take.
That was my final race. I had a back up car, but was in no condition to drive it for a while. Showed up the next week, and you'd swear people saw a ghost. Hospital never reported my arrival Saturday night, so it was presumed I didn't survive. We continued to work crew for my brother, but I never raced again. I'd like to say I hung my helmet up that day, but my helmet was put in my car after it was located on the back straight away. Never saw car or helmet again. Was told it was cut into 4 pieces and burried...nothing salvagable. Looks like I don't do anything half way!
Chapter 3 - The fateful crossing
Summer of 1992. Typical fishing weekend planned; Fly to West palm, get the boat and provisions ready, and leave for the Bahamas the next morning before the sun comes up (when the sun comes up, so do the waves).
As usual, we stayed out a bit longer than we should have and didn't get back to the boat until about 5am. Oops. Weather wasn't sounding good. Small craft advisory. Tough, we have a BBC (Bahama Billfish Championship) tounament starting and no way we are going to miss a day. Throw down a quick breakfast and head out, with our brand new tender, a 19' Mako center console, in tow 200' behind us...It was too big for the davit (crane on the bow). Seas were 6 to 8'...a walk in the park.
Seas were getting worse...10-12', 12-16', emergency call over the radio for all craft under 100' to return to their ports. We were about half way there, and to turn around would have meant a quarter following sea...not something fun, so onward we went. Thats when a rouge wave caught the Mako and the line let loose. Middile of the ocean, 16' seas and our brand new 19' boat is adrift. That's what insurance is for, right? Wrong. I was promoted to captain of the Mako...oh joy!
We got as close as we dared and over board I went, rope in hand (end of the rope had a cooler with a 6 pack and a pack of cigarettes...the necessities...LOL!). I manage to get on board and fire her up. Onward!
After about 30 minutes of getting pounded and the seas getting rougher, it seemed we were going to be doomed...the wave were now at 33'...I'd lose sight of the big boat at every wave, and when she reappeared and went over the next wave, the big brass props were out of the water...yeah, not looking good, but really no choice. A normally 4 hour crossing turned into a 9 hour nightmare. We finally spot land, West End, the closest harbor. Seas are still 30+'...this was something we hadn't thought about...it gets really shallow as you approach the harbor.
We're talking back and forth on the radio and came up with a plan. Ride a wave to the crest and hang the boat up on top and "surf" it in. Yeah, really only choice. Ed gets the big boat up to speed and picks his wave. Nail biter, but a thing of beauty...rode it in like it was something out of a movie. Well, if he can handle that beast (55' Ocean Yacht), I should have no problem; my boat is smaller, faster and more agile.
My turn. Pick my wave, get up to speed and start climbing the wave. Start slowing down as I got to the crest...but not enough. Over the top I go, now sliding down the front of the wave. Threw the wheel hard starboard and the throttle all the way down...maybe I can out run it and get back to the other side to try again. To my right, wall of water. To my left, churning sand. They yelled over the radio to "JUMP". My retort was "Where to?" Well, I almost got back to the top when the wave broke and took me down. Death grip on the wheel, legs wrapped around the seat base (anchored to the boat) and hoped for the best. I came out the other side. Cooler gone, windshield, radio, gone. Life jacket and ring gone as well. Bow rail half hanging off...but still floating and running.
Took me about 30 minutes to get my bearing and courage up to try it again...plus, I was almost out of fuel. Second run was a success. Got the the flats and dropped the hammer to get to the harbor. As I'm flying in, a huge tug is coming out...to look for me. Not search and rescue...it was for recovery. They saw the boat get swallowed, but never saw it resurface. I had been reported lost at sea it turned out. Got to the head wall, and did a "Cap'n Jack Sparrow" long before the movie...sidled up along the wall, tossed a rope to the dock boy and got off the boat as it was still moving. Straight to the bar.
Now, Ed was a true professional; never had a drink until we got to our destination (we still had about an hour to go, but it was protected waters). This was an exception. He's at the bar. Knuckles still white, havin a cocktail with my dad. The look on their faces when I pulled up a stool was priceless! We cleared customs and continued. About 20 minutes from our port, we called to be sure our slip was ready. "Really funny mon...nobody comin' in til tomorrow. Seas too rough." We'll be there in 20 minutes. "Sure mon...you gots a twisted sense of humor". Well, 20 minutes later we pulled in and the entire marina came to a halt. "You wasn't kidding? You some crazy (explective)s." BTW, the tournament was held off til the following day...LOL! All that for nothing but a good story.
There are more events, but these were the major ones. If my circle of friends had a theme song, this would be it...
The rest of my life is a Jimmy Buffet song..."The stories we could tell"...
Hope y'all enjoy it as much as I did. Still need to find the plane crash file...yeah, for real.
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Post by roadking on Jul 10, 2021 2:51:47 GMT
Next chapter...
Late Summer, 1992.
Wife and I had maybe been together for 6 months. She was all in with the racing (didn't like it but felt being involved was best to keep an eye on me). Got the envelope with airline tickets and instructions; Philly to West Palm, puddle jumper (Aero Coach...funny add on later) to Walkers Cay. 2 weeks, 2 tournaments for the BBC. She was used to this by now... common occurance.
I called her every other night just to keep her updated. Well, it was back to college time (yeah, I was a week late), the second tournament was done (we took second place..."Beast Master" hooked a white in the final hour). Good time, spent 74 hours straight fishing aside from the tourney, lots of stories I've likely forgotten. Time to fly back.
They take me to the airport (landing strip) on Chubb Cay (wiped out a few years later...I believe it was hurricane Andrew. I was in West Pal for that one!). Plane very late...and VFR (not instrument qualified, visual flight only, had to be airborne before sunset). Plane finally arrived, we loaded and just beat the sun set.
I'll just make my connecting flight in West Pal for Philadelphia...maybe. Nope. 9 passengers. I' going to West palm, 8 were going to Miami...Miami won and we'd hit there, then my stop. Not likely to make my connection.
Losts of turbulance, bad weather, the usual. Not a big deal. I'll just get my flight reschuled. We were all drinking adult beverages, so the world was all good...LOL!
There it is...Miami International Airport (I was in the co-pilot's seat). Coming in for landing. We all raised a glass to toast our return to the States. The typical "bump" of the tires on the runway...then "THUD!"
Looking out the windows, sparks, noise, pretty much mayhem. Landing gear failed/folded on the landing. We belly flopped and slid I have no idea how far. I've got a Martini glass in my forehear, sore arm, etc. as did everyone else.
Not going to make connecting flight. 2 hours with the FAA, and free to leave. It's 10 pm. Ticket wind about to close, but got there in time...got a red-eye flight for next morning. Now to call wife (GF at the time) and let her know what's up.
She's not in her room. She's not in my room. She's not anywher to be found via telephone (no cell phones), so I call my crew chief from my race team...(her ex and lived in my dorm...yeah, can't make it up). He answers, I give hime the rundown. "Stuck in Miami. Plane crashed. Won't be home tonight, but tomorrow. Please tell Mrs. Roadking".
Turns out he was a bit spiteful towards Mrs. Roadking, and had a bit of "fun" with the message. He found her in the "common room"; she and about 10 other were watching a movie. Walked in, called her name (Amy, btw), and relayed the message..."Matt's plane crashed in Miami. He's not coming back". Turned and left. He left out the "coming back TONIGHT" part. Now, had it been anyone but but wife, I'd laugh my rear end off...typical guy joke.But, this escalated. Probably about 10:30 by now. The story goes thusly; movie ended, no one cared to change the DVD, and it was kind of a vigl for my passing.
Spent the night in Miami airport (heck hole...I hate Miami). Before getting on the red eye flight, I called her room again. Answering machine..."Yeah, I'll be on campus aroubd noon if all goes well". There, I did my best.
Land in Philly, find my truck (it stood out...customized) and headed for campus, none the wiser. Driving by the SMC (Student Memorial Center...snack shack, pool tables, arcade, etc.) I see my old roommate, Jamal (First freshman to make starting lineup on the football team) as I drove in. He heard I was dead! And ran full speed across the "tundra" as we called the big field between the dorm buildings.
Park my truck, grab my bag and head into my dorm...head bandaged, sling on lrft arm, a bit of blood on the shirt. Nothing new. Enter the dorm and look towards the common room...about 20 people...just sitting there in a daze. Well, me being me, wasn't aware of the story going around, and walked in, dropped my bag and, as close as I can remember said, "What a bunch of miserable folks...who the *bleep* died". Oh, the irony. I was bum rushed...Amy got to me first, and had Jamal not burst thru the door when he did, I would have been flat on my back.
The actual exchanges were told, folks were happy, and Mark...my former crew chief, was relieved of his duties.
The side note; I mentioned Aero Coach (our joke was Aero Roach...I've seen duct tape on the planes). About 15 years after that, we built a house for this guy. Getting to know each other over a few beers, conversation went to Florida and the Bahamas. He was, then, a pilot for Continenental, but back in the day, he was a pilot for Aero Coach...He was the pilot on that flight!
I can't make my life up...It's too weird.
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