|
PROLOGUE The French word "adieu" like the Spanish "adios" literally means "to God". However, where English and Spanish speaking peoples think of it just as another way of saying good-bye, the French look at it differently; that is, adieu is reserved for the FINAL good-bye; it means we will not see each other again until we stand before God. ADIEU TO BUD... Following the Monday Night Football debacle of the previous October, which resulted in the jailing of Smiley, it had been a conventional new year at the Manhattan Beach (California) Athletic Club. The usual gang of knuckleheads continued with their ludicrous but predictable behavior. Oh sure, on the inside weight training, handball, and racquetball carried on as usual, but certain plans were also hatched there; plans for events outside the club where things tended to get out-of-hand. To digress a bit, I'll attempt to explain the nature and nucleus of male bonding at MBAC. The group consisted of young professionals between thirty and forty (married and single) that shared interests in participating in sporting events, gambling, and screwing around at the beach--mainly surfing and volleyball. Also, about a dozen had attended University of Arizona and graduated around the same time, of which six were teammates on the Wildcat baseball team including Bobo (pitcher), Bud (second base), and Sam (left field). Anyway, the year started with the Winter Olympics, which were held in either France or Austria--I can't remember... Eight of our unmarried "cultured gentlemen" (including Bud) made the trip, acquired some official olympic team clothing, and smuggled themselves into the inner sanctum of the Olympic Village as the No. 3 USA Bobsled Team--fake IDs included. The ruse worked for the first week mainly because nobody knew (or cared about) the No. 3 team. In fact, I believe that year the US only qualified two teams. The guys had people (unofficial "sponsors") buying drinks and meals, and did quite well with the international ladies. But as usual, they over-played their hand, telling jokes and entertaining until they became one of the most popular and high-profile groups in the village. Still all was well until ABC telecaster Frank Gifford approached Frank the Tank for a live, on-camera interview. Unfortunately, Gifford selected the wrong guy. Tank, a gentle giant who was completely straight-arrow was the only one of the MBAC group who would not take the situation and run with it. Anyway, Tank broke into a nervous sweat, and stammered out the truth. The No. 3 Bobsled Team was unceremoniously tossed out of the "Olympians Only" watering hole; the guys really angry at Tank, not so much for getting thrown out--hell, they were used to that--but for blowing a timeless opportunity for a television ruse of enormous proportions. After the "olympians" returned to Manhattan Beach, we were invited with wives or dates to Bud's place on the beach for some kind of mysterious reception. I'd lost ten bucks to Bud on the handball court that morning, and intended to make it up by drinking and eating as much of his stuff as possible. The gathering turned out to be for Bud to announce his engagement to longtime girlfriend, Pam, a flight attendant for Pan Am. The following day they drove to Aspen, spent two weeks skiing, got married, and headed back to Southern California. Had it been me, I would have arranged nuptials the first day and used the rest of the time as honeymoon, but for whatever reason Pam and Bud decided to wed the final day of skiing--a morning ceremony--then drive back to Manhattan Beach for a reception at his place the following day. Sam mentioned to me that the reception could get interesting and entertaining what with Bud regularly (and dangerously) dating two women both of whom lived in his neighborhood. Neither knew about the other, according to Sam, but I didn't believe it. However, Pam was out of the country often enough and long enough to allow some kind of wink-wink charade to succeed. But there was no way Bud would get away with hosting a large, lively gathering without the "other woman" knowing about it. I mean, the beach community is extremely cliquish; one can't get away with anything. They mind each others' business to a fault and shun outsiders. A sign hangs in Ercole's bar that reads, "There is no life east of Sepulveda". Sure enough, day of the wedding reception I just came out of the steam room at the club standing next to Sam when he picked up a nearby telephone after being paged. The caller was Becky, the other woman. She began tearfully, "Bud got--" Same mentally completed her sentence while rolling his eyes at me...yeah, yeah, got married... "--got killed!" Becky finished sobbing. Turned out as Bud and Pam were entering Salina, Utah, their car slid off the road. Bud flagged down a truck to pull them free, but as he was under his car attaching a chain, another car slid off the road at the exact same spot. Bud McConnell died on his wedding day, and Pam had the unlikely distinction of becoming bride and widow on the same day. The location was odd as well, in that Bud was born in Salina, Kansas. Bud's heart-broken parents, in stiff upper lip fashion, threw an Irish wake in his honor a few days later. Talk about celebration of life! It was one of the wildest parties I've ever attended. Wish Bud would have been there--but maybe he was. Copyright 2011 by Gene Myers Author of "Songs from Lattys Grove" (2010) by PublishAmerica. Author Of "After Hours" (2009) by Strategic Publishing Group. (www.strategicpublishinggroup.com/title/AfterHours.html)
Related Articles -
Manhattan Beach, Winter Olympics, engagement, reception,
| 
