A memory

Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us.
~ Oscar Wilde

I forgot all about something until my brother reminded me the other day.

Disclaimer: The following is a true story. Everyone knows that drunk driving is bad. I’m taking that for granted and I am not trying to justify or provide absolution for anyone’s actions whatsoever.

My best friend’s brother, Bill, died suddenly at the end of September, massive coronary in his sleep at age 51. My little hometown, population 1,051, is still in shock; he was a very involved member of the community and a well-known businessman throughout the state. Over the years, Bill has organized a very popular annual music festival that has grown exponentially since he first started it 19 years ago, he was a volunteer fire fighter/first responder and there isn’t a kids sports team that he ever said no to sponsoring. Although he was human and therefore not a perfect person, he was pretty special.

My own brother, Charlie, used to drink heavily when he was young. He was 19 (yes, underage) when he borrowed my mom’s car and totaled it on his way home from a bar in a nearby small town. Apparently he started to pass out while he was driving and drifted off the asphalt onto the gravel on the right side of the road, which woke him up. He over-corrected the steering and went off the other side of the road into the ditch, hit an approach and the car flipped at least three times before coming to rest on its side. Charlie wasn’t wearing a seat belt.

Let that sink in for a minute. Drunk, rolled the car multiple times, no seat belt.

I don’t know who called in the accident, but the Minnesota state patrol got there first, followed by the ambulance and the local fire department (which is a standard measure with an accident like this). My mom was listening to the police scanner at the time and thankfully they didn’t mention any names or license plates or she would have immediately known Charlie was in her car in the ditch, but the state patrolman who called for the ambulance said there was no need to hurry, it didn’t look like there could be a survivor in the vehicle – and my mom remembers hearing him say it, and remembers thinking wow, I’d hate to be that person’s mother. There was too much blood to see through the windows, but the patrolman could tell there was no one in the front seat and it didn’t appear as if a body had been thrown from the car, so it was surmised that the driver was in the rear of what was left of the vehicle.

They couldn’t get the car doors open because of the damage, so a couple volunteer fire fighters, my friend’s brother Bill and another local guy whose name I don’t remember offhand, used a device referred to as “the jaws of life” to pry one of the doors open in order to properly assess the situation. Bill was the first one inside the car, and as soon as he popped his head in, my lucky little dumbass of a brother, who should not have survived the accident, pipes up, “well, hi there, Bill, how the hell are ya? Fancy seeing your mug here.”

The blood on the windows came from Charlie’s broken nose or possibly the laceration right on his hairline – both injuries can produce copious amounts of blood even when they aren’t serious wounds. In addition, he sprained an ankle and a little finger, but those are the only injuries sustained. He was beyond lucky. There’s a saying that God protects children and drunks, and apparently Charlie fit both categories that day.

Eventually charged with driving under the influence, Charlie did community service to pay off his fine and sat in jail for three days. Bill came to the jail to visit him and “have a little talk.” He offered Charlie a job managing his 30-horse riding stable under the condition that he go to AA meetings and totally quit drinking.

Let that sink in, too.

Bill barely knew my brother, but offered him a job after peeling his drunk ass out of a car wreck. He did it because he knew my brother needed direction and something to work toward; he wanted to offer the kid a chance. My brother worked his ass off for Bill for about eight years, and hasn’t touched a drop since his accident. If he’d kept going down the path he had been following, I doubt that Charlie would still be alive right now.

That, my friends, is how giving and thoughtful Bill really was. He could see what was happening and wanted to do his part to change it. It’s just part of the reason why over 2,000 people showed up at his funeral, and it’s why his family, my family and my entire hometown will miss him for years and years to come.

The irony that it could have been me who lost a brother 20 years ago isn’t lost on me either.

R.I.P., Billy. The world hardly knew you.