Half-gainers and Other Dives

It was a day much like all my days except my ’91 Chevy was sick. When such unexpected things happen to disturb my 76 year old life, I check with the doctor of motors who lives conveniently across the street. Now, J.B. Flowe is a preacher who subs as an auto mechanic, and as such he has healed many an ailing automobile for the likes of me. It seems to me, cars are much like humans in some respects. For instance, they’re sometimes temperamental and stubborn and moody, and at times the only thing that seems to help, at least for me, is to haul off and kick a tire or two. But alas, as a man who has become less violent with the accumulation of the years, I just call J.B. instead.

It all began one Wednesday evening after the midweek church service. I couldn’t get the ailing machine to start. The engine turned over but wouldn’t catch. Fortunately, Pastor Mike and others came to my rescue. After a short diagnostic consultation they reached under the hood, checked the pulse and removed and replaced a wire here and there. Don’t you know, miracle of miracles, the old bus coughed, kicked over and started. Off I went, smooth as can be, and headed home. My angels of mercy agreed that I should have the electronic module checked at my earliest convenience, so on arriving home, I called J.B. and set up an appointment for the following morning.

I was parked outside J.B.’s shop before he arrived. He hooked up his diagnostic computer and initially determined that indeed the electronic module was inoperable and required immediate surgery and replacement. “It’ll take about an hour and a half,” says J.B. “Take my truck and grab some breakfast.” “Thanks,” says I, “but I’ll just walk down to MacDonald’s for a biscuit. I need the exercise.” It was a cool, overcast day, and I was feeling fine. It was only about a half mile and I just shuffled on down the road facing traffic as was my custom. There were a lot of cars on the road at that time of morning and I was careful to keep well off the pavement. As I say in one of my many Harvillisms, “You got to cross streets carefully these days; they’re out to get you.”

All went well until I came close to MacDonald’s and had to wait for a heavy stream of traffic to pass. What the heck, I thought to myself. I’ll just cut behind these shrubs and ease on down the black rock slope to the parking lot and on to the back entrance. There was a long line of cars at the drive thru and whether I was checking them out or just plain clumsy, about half way down the six foot slope, I became airborne and before I new what happened I landed nose first, spread-eagled on the asphalt parking lot.

Now you need to know another of my Harvillisms. “If you find yourself falling off a ladder or some other sudden calamity, it’s best to go into a half-gainer and make a real show of it.” When I was in high school back in the early 1940s, I loved to spend time on the diving boards at local pools. Hey, I was pretty good, if I do say so. I somewhat mastered the one and a half and the jack knife and a classy back flip, but I never got the hang of the half-gainer, which is a beautiful dive when it’s done right.

Well, let me tell you, I didn’t have time to sneeze, let alone try anything as fancy as a half-gainer. As I was slowly struggling to get up and locate my glasses that had fallen off, a waitress who was on her break and witnessed my acrobatics, called to me, “Are you alright, Sir? Are you OK?” Well, from the blood that was pouring from my nose I thought for sure I had broken it. I found my glasses, and with my handkerchief quickly turning red, I mumbled, “Yes, I think so,” and I made my way toward her. She asked again if I was sure I was alright, and she got a stack of napkins for my wounded probiscus. The blood flow slowed down after awhile and I visiting the men’s room to wash the blood from my face and beard. My nose had swollen to twice the size, but I bought a sausage biscuit anyway and headed back up the road to J.B.s shop. “Hey, Brother Tom, you look like a clown or a Santa Claus. What happened?” After a detailed explanation, and paying my bill, I drove on home. I lay around the rest of the day, gently, very gently, nursing my swollen bloody nose. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be broken.

Did I learn anything from the experience? You bet. As a man who has grown less violent as the years accumulate, I still try to cross streets carefully. And for sure I’ll avoid taking shortcuts down slopes at MacDonalds. Oh yeah, and I’ll always check with Doctor J.B. when my Chevy gets sick. As for half-gainers, foget it. Nome sain?