February 1972, Turning Point

The day started normal enough - got up, got dressed and went to school. I was ten, in special education and had already been tested to see if I was ‘retarded’ as my mom liked to call me from time to time. They had decided I had AD/HD, was a behavior problem and was placed in a special class. That day at school I got in an argument or fight and was sent home for the rest of the day. When I got home mom was drunk, lying on the couch drinking a beer. She started going on about how I could just “wait till Paul gets home.” I knew what that meant and kept bugging her to go outside. Eventually she let me go out but I “had better not leave the yard - or else!” I wasn’t waiting around for Paul to get home; figured I was in trouble anyway - so why not?

Billy Riddley lived down the street and was home from school when I finally got brave enough to leave the yard. We hopped on a city bus - #15 and rode it to the end; which took us from 60th to 105th street. We had no idea where we were going - no plan or nothing. When we got off the bus we saw a private golf course that had a short wooden fence.

“Let’s hop the fence and look around”.

“Sure, come on, I’ll race ya!”

As we ran we saw a guy practicing his swing. We stopped to watch, started playing around and met the old man who was nice to us. He was showing us how to swing the club and everything. He even let us hit balls until the owner or somebody came out and told us we couldn’t be there. He was being a dick and we let him know it.

Typical kids - we were cussing at him, flipping the bird and antagonizing him till he chased us to the edge of the golf course. It had just rained and there was a steep hill that led to the railroad tracks. There was a train stopped down there so we ran down the hill and hopped on a flat car.
We were lying on the flat car when the train started to move. Our intention was to ride the train till it stopped. The train had just gotten up to about 25 mph, about 30 minutes after it started, when I saw a rolling, grassy hill topped with lush green trees to the left of the tracks. To the right was the dark grey water of the ocean. As we neared this peaceful scene I saw a walking bridge that went from the top of the hill over the tracks and to the water. In that moment I decided I wanted to get off and check it out. It was like something was calling me – making me get up, moving me towards the edge of the rail car.

“Let’s get off here.” I hollered at Billy as I reached for the ladder.

“It’s going to fast”, he answered but I was already half way down the ladder.

There’s a right and wrong way to hop trains. When hopping trains you run along side holding the ladder and ‘run’ onto the ladder – lifting your feet in rhythm with the train. When getting off you do the same - hold the ladder drop your feet and run holding the ladder till you get your footing.

Not realizing how fast the train was going I had lowered my legs to the ladder preparing for my descent. My heart began pounding as my legs pumped up and down preparing to meet the ground.

WHAM!! My hands were ripped from the ladder as the suction from the train pulled my left leg under the wheels and severed my foot. My left foot had hit a rock on the ground causing it to fly up and behind me causing me to lose my footing.

Everything went bright and then dark as I heard Billy yelling and someone else screaming “don’t look, don’t look.” Luckily an old man and his grandson hand been walking on the bridge, saw the incident and decided to help. They ran down the stairs and it was the old men I had heard telling the kid “don’t look, don’t look!” By this time Billy had hopped off the train and was there. The old man picked me up and carried me up the stairs and to that grassy hill.

There was a parking lot right at the top of the hill and the old man called out, “Does anyone have a car?”

“Yeah!” bellowed a voice inside a Camero getting ready to pull away from the curb.

“Get this kid to the hospital!” The old man answered tossing me in the back with a long haired hippie who began groping my leg like some freekin’ pervert! I tried to protest…

“It’s ok, kid. I’m just putting a belt on your leg to stop the bleeding.” I found out later that he had been a medic in the Vietnam War – it was a good thing I was thrown in his car. Even with his help I had to have a blood transfusion; without his help I may have bleed to death.