Friday, September 14, 2012
Over at Jimmy's Opinion, Jimmy (that probably went without saying) told a story about some bank robbers. You could go there and read the entire piece (I suggest it) but the synopsis is as follows: In an effort to make their getaway more successful (that is, to actually get away) the robbers began throwing money out the window of their vehicle.
In the comments section over there, I pretty much said what I'm going to say here, with one exception. I gave my age at the time of this tale as 14. Upon further reflection, I believe I was older; perhaps 17. Otherwise, if you did as I suggested and went over to Jimmy's place to read his piece, and then you decided to read the comments and you saw mine, you can cut to the chase and scroll to the bottom of this piece. Leave a nice generic comment along the lines of, "Wow! Swell tale! You sure have a way with words!", and we'll both be happy campers.
Anyway, here goes...
Circa 1974, when I was 17 or so, My Dad and I were driving on I-93.
(To be more precise, he was driving and I wasn't.)
We were headed to Rockingham Park, a place in New Hampshire where horses ate money.
(A racetrack, in other words.)
The conversation was as it usually would be between a father and his teenage son. We were discussing Lasix.
(In case you've never been that sort of father, or my sort of teenage boy, I'll tell you that Lasix is a drug given to racehorses in order to make them piss like... well, like racehorses. It also prevents nosebleeds in horses, which is a more common problem than you might have imagined. Anyway, I find it ironic that My Dad spent the last six or seven years of his life taking the stuff himself. I think it was the only thing about his heart condition he found amusing.)
While he was driving along and explaining to me how Lasix was not allowed in all states, and how it might affect a horse's performance for better or worse, we saw green stuff flying through the air.
My Dad wondered aloud, "What the hell is that?"
"Looks like money", I replied.
A twenty dollar bill landed smack on our windshield, prompting My Dad to say, "It IS money!"
He immediately veered toward the breakdown lane and slammed on the brakes.
After the car had come to a halt - barely - he hopped out and grabbed the twenty off of the windshield before it flew off of its own accord. I got out of the car, too, and looked around for more of the green stuff. To make a long story short, neither one of us ran into highway traffic after other bills, although they were there for the taking if you were idiot enough to want to risk your life for twenty bucks, but we did grab two more twenties, and a ten, that were within reasonable reach on the shoulder.
To this day, I have no idea where that money came from. We scoured the newspapers the next day for news of a bank robbery or something else that might be considered a likely source. We found nothing that could explain it.
Since we were headed for the track, it was akin to manna from Heaven. I know we didn't win big at the track that day. I would clearly remember that. We may have lost a few bucks. That part of the day is fuzzy, at best, so we probably "broke even" (as the congenial lie goes when discussing such things with your fellow degenerates.) However, the day as a whole was profitable, I know that much.
(Some of you may be wondering about a couple of things...
1 - The propriety of taking a teenage boy to the track.
2 - The implication that both of us were gambling even though one of us was underage.
1 - Mind your own business. I did not grow up to be anything other than perfect.
2 - See above, and double it.)
I've got to admit the incident has clouded my better judgment on occasion. I'll find myself driving with one eye on the road and another scanning the horizon for randomly occurring freak moneystorms. Thus far, precipitation has been lighter than I would have preferred.
Soon, with more better stuff.