Fortunately, I braked and swerved, narrowly avoiding disaster. The time at the Rafters was pleasant enough but last call came before some of the hard core were ready to call it quits. The diminishing group met at an old drinking spot nearby, it was under a bridge next to a river. Finally having enough, all went their separate ways. As I was heading home through a small town I encountered an intersection with a stop sign.
Thinking that no one was around at that very early hour, I ran it. I was quickly rewarded with the sight of flashing lights in my rear view mirror. After pulling over, I met the local cop who recognized me as a soldier in my incomplete and disheveled blues. I gave him the true story and he told me to drive straight home, which I did with no further incident. He graciously did not write me up and to this day I have never run another stop sign!
I made it through my after graduation leave with no further shenanigans and reported in early to Fort Knox for the Armor Officer Basic Course. I wanted to attend Ranger School enroute to my posting in Germany. I had given up some leave time to get into an earlier class. This was said to increase the opportunities for Ranger School selection. After arriving at Fort Knox, I went to the housing office and found that I could obtain quarters off post.
The office provided a list of possibilities. I wanted to live in the country, envisioning a place where I could practice with my pistol in the back yard. This was not to be. I did find an available efficiency apartment that wasn’t too bad. The bed pulled down into the living area and there was a small kitchen with a partially working stove. In the hall to the bathroom there was a sleeping nook where a classmate, Jim, later crashed for a bit while seeking his own domicile. The price was right and was not too distant from the Knob Creek Shooting Range. Strangely enough, this was in the city of West Point, Kentucky. I signed the lease in spite of, not because of the name.
My apartment was in the middle of a row of six. I settled in and got to know my neighbors. On one end was a mentally challenged individual who claimed ties with the KKK. He called himself Catfish and he perpetually stank of fish bait and rancid chewing tobacco. He was harmless enough but I steered clear of his friends. Next door was a local woman a few years older than me who had two kids. I think her name was Shelia. I did not know her well, but got to know her boyfriend, Ed. Ed had gotten out of the Army as a Specialist 4, and stayed in the area. He lived across the street.
One evening there was a tornado and storm warning. I had never experienced a tornado and did not think too much about it. That soon changed when my door burst open and a terrified Ed charged in. He was screaming “The tornado is coming we have to get to the shelter!” I looked out and saw heavy rain blowing sideways and limbs falling from the large hardwoods along the street. One came close but missed my car. At that moment, I thought that if someone local was acting like this maybe I should pay attention. Also, Ed had not come to my place out of concern for me, in his panic he mistook my apartment for Shelia’s.
We went next door and gathered up Shelia and her kids. We loaded up into Ed’s car and drove to the storm shelter around the corner. It was the city elementary school. We got out in the driving rain and went to the side door; it was locked and no one was around. Ed picked up a rock and busted out some glass, opened the door and we hurried inside. At our unauthorized entrance, an alarm began to sound and lights along the walls began flashing. It reminded me of red alert on Star Trek’s USS Enterprise. After being there a bit, everyone calmed down and we noticed that no others were availing themselves of the shelter. Ed began to get nervous about the forced entry thing. We decided it would be best to leave before any cops arrived, but where to? Shelia suggested her parents place on the other side of the small city. We left and headed there. The storm was still in full force and there were many downed trees in the road along our way. Ed was fearful but determined. He drove through and over the obstacles as fast as he could.
I could feel a tree limb pushing up against my feet through the floorboard. Fortunately it did not stop our progress. We made it to the house and dashed inside. It was dark due to the power being out but we heard voices from the basement where the people were sheltering. We joined them and I noticed that floor was covered in water with more flowing in. One spot had a rivulet right next to the fuse box. I reasoned that the power could come back on unexpectedly and if it did we did not want to be there. At this, everyone trooped upstairs to wait out the rest of the storm on the porch. Shelia’s mom was not there, having been caught out in the storm. She eventually made it home after making a long detour through passable roads. By that time, the danger seemed mostly over. With that, Ed realized he had a serious craving for a cigarette but none were to be had.
This dilemma initiated a conversation if some could be bought. The people discussed the merits of approaching a local storekeeper to try and make a purchase. The crowd seemed somewhat afraid of this individual, as if she was some sort of Dragon Lady. Also they were not sure what effect the tornado would be having on business hours. After a while, it was decided it was worth a try. We got back into the car to try and score some smokes on the way home. As it turned out, our destination was right across the street from my apartment building. It was named Frieda’s Market and Pawn. I had never gone in there as my shopping needs were mostly beer and groceries. I did not realize I could buy essentials so close to home. Ed went in and to his relief and delight Frieda provided his tobacco fix. We went home glad to have made it through the night’s calamities. I decided to check out the market at a later date as my interest was up.
Pete Cafaro is a 1980 Graduate of The United States Military Academy at West Point. He served 28 years on active duty in the U. S. Army Combat Arms. He is currently a Paramedic with a rural EMS Squad.
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