JOE & JOHN TAKE A TRIP (Your Story #2). This a true story, that all took places in 24 hours. As Joe tells it, here is their story:
“I can’t tell the story without telling you a little about John Swain. John was impulsive, and a little wild. He was all ways ready to impress his friends with his antics. He was all ways ready for a fight, but John was not a mean person. He had a soft spot for the elderly, animals, and children. I never saw John insult a woman, but the rest of the world was fair game.
John and I were in a beer joint one night in 1973, playing pool and drinking beer, when I asked, “John, weren’t you supposed to catch the bus to Port Everglades this afternoon.” John replied “Yeah, but I’ll just drive down tomorrow.” This eventually led to our trip. I can’t remember how long this part of John’s active duty with the Naval Reserves lasted. I think it was 3 weeks, but it may have been longer.
The problem was that his ship did not return to Port Everglades, but docked in Jacksonville. The Navy bused the Reservists back to St. Petersburg, and John’s Dodge Dart was still in Port Everglades.
Upon John’s return, he told me his problem. We considered having me drive him to pick up his car, but then we would have two cars to drive back. The logical solution was to hitchhike down to the car and drive it back to St.Pete. We planed to leave the next Saturday.
The Friday before we were to leave there was a party at a friend’s house. John and I a few beers, but the party wasn’t that great. There weren’t any girls we liked, so we talked about going to the beach. One of the guys at the party invited himself along. The guy was a total pain, so I told him, “Change of plan, we’re going to Ft.Lauderdale tonight”. John got this grin on his face and I could see that he was in agreement. The guy did drive us to US 19. We thanked him and started hitching.
We were lucky and got a ride fairly quickly. The driver that picked us up looked like he might have been Korean, probably about fifty, very tan, but not a healthy tan, the dark color that someone gets from too much smoking, drinking and sun. He was on his way to the Sarasota Kennel Club to watch greyhound racing and was probably drunker than we were. He let us off on Highway 41 in Sarasota. We thanked him and continued to thumb a ride.
It was about half an hour before sunset, and the traffic was heavy. Soon someone pulled over in a van. I was the first one to get to the van and as I opened the passenger door I heard the screeching of brakes followed by a big bang. I was spun around in my tracts the door handle being ripped from my hand. I didn’t lose my footing, but I stood the for a moment in a daze, like someone had sucker punched me. John was screaming “Lets get the hell out of here”. I really felt bad about leaving, but in those days if you were 23 years old and you weren’t on the police force, the police had no use for you. We took off and wondered if the police would be on the lookout for us. We ran for a while to put some distance between us and the accident.
Then we ducked into a diner had a coffee. John told me why he was so worried, he had a small bag of pot on him. John stuffed the bag into a bush when we left the diner, and we got on the road again. We were trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, trying not to look like hitchhikers until we were sure the on coming cars were not patrol cars.
By this time it had gotten dark, but our luck got better and a young fellow pulled over. He was light complected, nicely dressed, and looked like a real softy. At this point the beer and the excitement had taken its toll on both of us and I was hoping maybe I could just nap for a while. The driver had other ideas. He began to tell us about the Lord, and that lasted for the entire ride of more than an hour. He finely pulled over and as we got out, he offered this piece of advice, “Whenever I’m hitch hiking I just make myself a sign that says JESUS SAVES and you would be surprised how that works.” We thanked him without laughing. “That son of a bitch has never thumbed a ride in his life,” said John after he had left.
In a short time we got another ride with a black guy about our age. He was driving a loud, worn out ’66 GTO. I could see he was proud of it. I complimented his car and he was pleased. We were comfortable with this guy and the conversation was easy. At this point we were near Ft.Myers and still on HWY 41. Toward the end of the ride we slowly drove through an area of bars and what looked like peepshows. On both sides of the road there were only black men and black party girls.
Our new friend explained the there was quite a bit of trouble in this area. He had to kill a man at one of the clubs, but it was ruled self defense. There was a big box truck in front of us, just as we were leaving the last of the bars. Our friend shifted into second and floored it to go around the truck. There was a Sheriff’s patrol car in the oncoming lane that had to drive nearly into a ditch to avoid us.
The Sheriff’s Deputy turned on his light and we pulled over. Our friend said, “I’ll take care of it, stay in the car.’’ He walked over to speak to the officer and out of the passenger side of the patrol car emerged a thin, 6’6” black man. He was dressed in a loud suit, high heel boots, a ruffled shirt, and broad brimmed hat. The fancy Dan walked over to the car and looked in. I waved, but he just turned and walked back to the patrol car. A minute latter our friend came back and said he had explained what happened to the officer and everything was all right.
We drove a little farther and he let us out. He had to go another way and we in the middle of the woods. The only structure was a billboard sign. It was late at that point, and we figured that was where we would spend the night. Our accommodations were swarming with mosquitoes, the sticks and weeds poked us, and we were miserable. In a half an hour we were ready to leave.
I don’t know how late it was, but it was very dark. We walked along the road for an hour and only one semi past us. I knew John was discouraged when he said, ”We can’t walk all the way to Ft. Lauderdale!” I told him, “John don’t worry. I know how we can get a ride.” “You do?” said John hopefully. “Yeah keep your eye out for some cardboard.” John just looked at me. I added, ”Sure, we’ll just make a sign that says JESUS SAVES and get a ride.” At that moment John physically attacked me, and I was laughing so hard all I could do was cover up and avoid his punches.
The attack was momentary, and afterwards we kept walking. Finally we saw a light way down the road. “John, look you suppose that could be a gas station or maybe an all night diner?” “You think so Joe?” “Might be,” I said trying to sound convincing. At least it gave us something to walk toward.
When we got to the light, it turned out to be a light for a small cemetery. “You have got to be shitting me,” said John, almost as a mater of fact. I said, “No, this is good. The grass is cut and we can get some sleep.” We lay down in the grass, in the dew, and slept till day break. We got up refreshed. If believe that, I’ll sell you the Sunshine Skyway Bridge.
In the morning we got a ride with a Seminole man, his wife, and small son. We rode in the back of their nice white pick up truck. Their son, about four, kept looking back at us, and I smiled and waved. We passed a warehouse where some field workers were unloading melons and never had a melon look so good. They stopped in Immokalee and let us out.
In 1973, that area was no where. People that past us on the road waved, but didn’t stop. Then finely, a ride, a big black man about forty-five or so, pulled over. He was driving an early 1960s Olds 98, faded, but the interior was good. “I wasn’t going to pull over, but boy you guys really looked like you needed a ride.”
We made some small talk, and he offered us a cigarette. John said, “I don’t smoke, well, not cigarettes.” “You want reefer?” the old guy blurted out, and we all broke into uncontrollable laughter. Then things got serious. “Reach into my glove box and pull out that bag,” he instructed me, since I was in the front seat. I pulled out his bag and he asked John if he had any rolling papers. John didn’t, but there was a brown paper bag on the floor. They tried to find some other kind of paper, but finely rolled it up in the the paper bag. It was a disaster, and we all laughed like hell.
“I grow money trees,” our new friend told us. “I grow marijuana on my farm and drive it to New York in the big trunk of this car. Nobody is suspicious of a farmer driving a car that looks like this.” What a genius, and we told him so. We paid his toll across Alligator Alley, and rode to Andy Town with him. What a great guy.
We walked right from the car into bar in Andy Town. John wanted to buy me a draft, they only had cans, and the cans were 65 cents. “Bullshit, we’re not paying 65 cents for a beer,” John said. We turned to leave and some of the old locals at the bar were laughing, about them boys not having 65 cents for a beer. John told them, “We have the money for the beer, we’re just not suckers.”
We got back out on the road, and got a ride with an old black man that had been cane pole fishing. He talked very little, but it was a nice ride and he drove us all the way to Ft. Lauderdale. I don’t remember how close Port everglades was to where we were let off, but it wasn’t far.
Finally, there was John’s Dodge Dart! Sitting there, on three full tires, and one flat tire. “Get out the spare.” “I don’t have a spare.” “Are you kidding me.” Luckily we found a Western Auto about half a mile away and bought a tire pump.
John did not want to walk back to the car, so we stuck out our thumbs and got a ride almost instantly. A nice looking girl of slight build was driving and the other person in the front was a guy that looked like he could have gotten fourth place in a Charlie Manson look alike contest. Charlie saw the tire pump and asked to see it. John handed him the pump. Charlie started to pump the pump and acted like he was spraying us all down, laughing like something was funny. He handed John back the pump and looked out the front window and screamed, “All right you’ve had it.”
The girl drove on as if nothing had happened. I said “You can let us off here.” She didn’t stop. I repeated myself, but louder and sterner. She pulled over and let us out. Charlie said, ”Good bye.” We didn’t answer.
We pumped up John’s tire and were on our way. After a few miles we spotted a canal where there was a tree with a rope swing. John pulled over, we stripped down to our underwear, and had a great swim. I don’t think the other people that were there even noticed our swimming attire and if they did, I know we didn’t give a damn.
Then we drove home.”
Editor’s note: Joe and John were the “muscle” in the Gang of Four. After graduation, John joined the Naval Reserve and Joe enlisted in the Air Force. This story is set a few years after Joe returned home safely. John became an electrician and Joe became a machinist.
The last time I saw John we played basketball in the driveway of the house in PAG Beach. On June 13th, 1984, John was electrocuted while working on a repair at the Crystal River Nuclear Power Plant. Ever year at Super Bowl, I think of watching Super Bowl Two at his parent’s Super Bowl Party.
This story mentions John’s Dodge Dart. John later upgraded to a blue Corvette that was more his style. I had a picture of him with it, but damn if I can find it.
Ronnie Sinclair, the other member of the Gang of Four went to SPJC and was a brother in Alpha Delta Epsilon. He went on to a successful career in construction. I recently saw on his Facebook page that he and Beatriz were married on December 5th of last year!
For more see GANG OF FOUR (#59) posted on February 21st.
