Back in the Day...

...most of you will find this boring but I guess I'm really writing this for me, so ')~~~~

I went to College, really, no shit, I did! It was a small private Midwestern Methodist college and the reason I chose it was quite simple, my best friend, Randy (whom I'd gone to Grade School all the way through High School with) said he was going there. His brother, who is a dick btw, went there before him. Kinda like a legacy thing, I suppose.

Anyway, thats where we went, about 3 1/2 hours from home but only 45 minutes from Columbia, Missouri and all of its nightlife (thats where the Univ. Of Missouri is located). The town where our school was located is small, 2600 people. Probably 8 churches, 1 theatre, 2 drugstores (that had lunch counters) and 1 bar. That 1 bar became more important to me than even 'SV' is today.

The bar, Mac's, was owned by 2 brothers, both of whom had been in WWII and both in 'The Battle of the Bulge' (if you don't know, look it up). Walking into this bar was like going back in time. The bar was up front and they served only beer (at that time) along with cold sandwiches, frozen pizza, and chili. In the back room was 5 snooker tables and 1 8-ball table. These were real fuckin tables, not that shit you find mostly today. 3" slate tops and weighed a million fuckin pounds. I got a job there (became very good friends with one of the owners son's) and to this day, it was the best fuckin job in the world.

Everyfuckinbody had a tab, didn't matter who you were or if you had 2 nickels to rub together, if you wanted a tab, you got one. Everything was written down on those little 'guest checks' then stuck in a folder. That was it, no phone number, no credit card, no nuthin. To them, by agreeing to a tab, you had given them your word and that was good enough. 'Course the owners knew everyone and most of the kids that had tabs were college students so they knew where the fuck to find you, if needed....but, they never worried about that.

It was so cool working there, among the framed 'Ike' photos, the old pictures of people long past, signed pictures of sports icons, along with the constant talk of sports; local high school, college, Pro baseball and Pro football. The latter 2 created some real heated shit because this town is pretty much located exactly in the middle of the state, halfway between Kansas City and St. Louis, so you had supporters for both. Anyone over 30 was pretty much a 'local' and you learned real fast what they drank and what their occupation was (majority were farmers/ranchers). They were pretty wary of me at 1st, A) I was in college & B) I had long hair....ok, there was probably a 'C' too but I don't think most of them really knew what pot smelled like ;) But, in the end, they thought I was 'OK' and I got along pretty well with all of them, including Harold.

Harold was a local legend....known for not only his willingness to fight but also his supposed undefeated record. BIG....not fat, not overly muscular, but stood about 6'5" and probably weighed in around 230-240...maybe 42-45. Hands as big as smoked hams. He also had kind of a short-fuse especially after he'd drink 12-15 beers. I was ALWAYS very polite to him and knew he had a kid playing football somewhere out of state so I made sure I'd ask him about that.

There was 'kid' on our schools football team, Quinton, maybe 22 and a big fuckin redneck, and a jackoff as well. From the KC area and he was always smackin someone around...just plain mean. One Saturday afternoon, I'm workin, and both Harold and Quinton are there sittin at opposite ends of the bar. Quinton starts that 'hippie' shit with me.."nother beer, hippie.....hippie....make me a pizza"....crap like that. I so wanted to take that baseball bat under the bar and whack the shit outta him but honestly, I was afraid he take it from me and kill me with it. Harold isn't sayin one word and I know he's thinkin 'fuck it...aint my business'......didn't blame him on that one. Finally, I pretty much take my life into my own hands when Quinton tells me to "hurry the fuck up with my pizza".....and I tell him "If you want to eat it raw, you can have it now, not a problem".....and I start moving towards the pizza oven. Fuckin Quinton comes off his barstool and I'm thinkin "smart fuckin move, Einstein...this guy's gonna knock the fuck outta you" then I realize that Harolds laughin his ass off at my 'joke'. Quinton turns towards Harold and says his own 'Einstein' comment..."Better mind your own fuckin business, farmer boy, before I knock the shit outta you". Ahhhhh.....Karma. Harold doesn't say a fuckin word, doesn't even look at him, just puts the bottle to his mouth and finishes his beer...BUT...I can see his face has that 'redder than a tomato' look. Finally, Harold gets up and turns towards Quinton. Both Quinton and I saw the look Harold had on his face at the same moment....and when I looked at Quinton I could tell, he was scared. Harold said, in a very eerie calm voice, "You have a big mouth, fat boy. You think because your bigger than most you can bully your way around. I'm gonna to put an end to that kind of thinkin". Harold really didn't walk over to Quinton, it was more like 'strolled', no hurry, no rush. Quinton could see what was gonna happen and thought he was ready, well he thought so before Harold hit him square in face before he could even raise his fists. Gotta give Quinton props, he didn't go down, which surprised the shit outta me, because he was hit hard! As Quinton was drawing his fist back to counter, Harold hit him 2 more times...THEN Quinton went down, and Harold threw in a few more for good measure while Quinton was trying to struggle to his knees. That was it, Quinton was down for good now and the only sounds were him tellin Harold he'd 'had enuff'. Harold wasn't quite done. Oh, he didn't smack him anymore but he made sure he humiliated him proper. Harold told Quinton NEVER to come back in the bar again and made him answer 'YES SIR', Harold made him apologize to him, which he did, AND THEN Harold told him to apologize to me for being such a prick (Oh fuck....he'll find me on campus and really kill me now) but then Harold added, "If I find out you're fuckin with Efen again, I'll find you and the next time I won't go easy on you". Harold turned, threw a few bucks on the bar and walked out. Didn't say a fuckin word. Now, I'm left with pyscho-fuck on the floor, nose and mouth streaming blood. WTF was I to do? I grabbed a bar towel, wet it, and threw it to Quinton who was now sittin up. "Thanks" he mumbled..WTF..he's thanking me? Guess he was truly scared of the 'next time' Harold had promised him. From there on out, whenever I'd have a chance encounter with Quinton, he'd always speak or nod. Actually had a couple of classes with him the next semester and he turned out not to be too bad a guy. I'm sure he was still really a prick and all but wtf did I care.....I was Harolds 'buddy' ;)

I write this because today I learned Harold had passed away a short-while back. He was 75 years old.