Some stories are fun to share and others simply need to be told. This one is the latter. Am I proud of it? I’ll let you decide. Let’s unpack this one…
It was 1982 and I was a young party hound looking for fun in all the wrong places. I smoked and drank more than I should, but when you are in your twenties, you, of course, are invincible. I hung out with a bit of a rough crowd. I will drop first names only. Most of these guys wouldn’t admit to this story anyway. So, there was Dave. Dave was always there. And there were the two brothers, Jerry and Bruce. When the four of us got together, world peace was never solved.
We were four young guys just looking to have a good time. That’s how we ended up at 3 Kings to begin with. But I digress. One of these guys had just finished some jail time. It was weekends for a few months over a runaway from the cops incident with his car that ended wrong. No harm, just some time in the slammer. You pick the guy, I’m not telling. I remember he said, “Never write your name on the prison cell wall, otherwise you will be back there to read it.” That scared me a little.
Anyway, we were all out to celebrate the prison release, final weekend in the lockup, of said prisoner. So, of course we are going out for a Saturday night of great fun. Oh, I almost forgot to mention. I was still under age and could not legally drink in Indiana. Yes, you got it right, it didn’t stop me. Does it impact this story? You betcha!
So as I recall, it was dark out and cold, so let’s set the scene for January, 1982. There was a corner bar named 3 Kings, a pool joint, on Indianapolis Boulevard that was a watering hole for my crew from time to time. I could get served there and we liked the pool tables and the pinball games, though none of us were wizards. They also had foosball. On the weekends, this place would be packed, shoulder to shoulder. On some Saturday nights you could find us there. In January of 1982 we were there. So were the police.
It all started out quite innocent. “Are we going out Saturday night to celebrate the release of our fellow hooligan?”
“Of course we are. Let’s go to 3 Kings! It will be like old times” I responded.
“Let’s invite the other two. We can get a pool table and have a few brewskies.”
“Love the idea. I’ll call them. They can meet us there. You can come by my place and we can drive together.
“Great, see you at 6pm, Saturday.”
Saturday arrived and we were in the car driving to 3 Kings in winter temperatures too cold for my Mexican retirement lifestyle. Brrrrr…
When we arrived at 3 Kings, the parking lot was half full, that would change soon. We entered and the other half of our foursome were busy at two pinball machines. They had a table and a picture of beer centered with some pretzels resting nearby. An hour later, beer was flowing, music was pounding and we were shooting pool. Another hour had gone and we were back at the table. The place was full, really full, no room for another, like I said, shoulder to shoulder.
Then it happened. With no warning, the front entrance filled with police officers. It was a raid. We heard the sudden change in the energy in the bar. It went from Saturday wild fun to mob panic. No one could miss it. And we were at our table when it happened. We did not miss it. It was time to escape. I was underage and one of us was supposed to be home darning socks or something.
The four of us left the table in opposite directions. I chose my path cautiously. I had to pass by the four pool tables to get to the door. I could see six police officers in the entrance doorway and suspected more outside. Despite the heavily crowded room and the police, all of the pool players continued on with their games. I could no longer see my friends. It was a moment that I had to handle myself, underage and all.
I worked my way through the middle of pool table one and two. I had to turn to avoid a shooter and turned right into a police officer.
“Let me see some ID sonny.” He said with grand authority.
I swallowed my Adam’s apple and trembled with fear. As I reached for my wallet with the improper identification, the guy shooting at table two pulled his stick back for a strong return. The pool stick went straight into the stomach of the police officer interrogating me. This was good for me and bad for the shooter. The police had lost all interest in me and went straight for the pool player. I had my exit available, stage left.
With my head down, moving fast and trying not to draw attention from anyone, I found myself moving through the crowd and right past more police officers. To this day, I don’t know how I did it, but I was through the main entrance and outside. I was right there were three more cops out here. Why didn’t they ask me what I was doing? Wasn’t this supposed to be a raid? But, they didn’t. I excused myself, always a gentleman, and wandered purposefully into the cold parking lot. Two minutes later I sat in my car trying to light a cigarette with shaky hands. That may have been one of the best cigarettes I ever smoked.
But I can’t leave my friend behind. Where was Dave? I smoked that cigarette and then I smoked another too. Time was crawling on my watch and I was missing a man in action. I wanted to get the hell out of there before my unbelievable luck changed. But no Dave. Dave, where are you?
He probably got caught by the police and they would have really liked to see his identification.
The passenger door to my car opened, letting in January cold air. There was no one on that side of the car. I looked in terror wanting to understand. That is when I saw Dave crawl into the car from the ground. He had arrived car-side on the cold ground so as not to draw attention from our predators. I started the car and pulled out of the godforsaken parking lot.
On the way home, we decided that maybe next weekend we would host a party at home.
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How lucky everyone was to get out of there. Near miss…
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