Willie Sutton
Member
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2013
- Messages
- 2,025
So's... Old Willie is packing today to begin his twice annual 2000 mile drive from his place on the lake to the searing sands of the Mojave, to enjoy about 7 weeks of flying pointy-nosed jets so's to earn his grubstake for the next few months. While tossing all of my crap into my seabag and helmet bag to leave, I was reminded of times past and other road trips of note, as well as re-contemplating last weeks run-in with "the guy on the bike", and remembered my very first encounter with folks that might need-a-shootin'... so very long ago....
Here's the sea story:
Back in '78, Willie was a college student studying in Florida, having come from NJ to the Florida Institute of Technology, school of Marine Sciences, in Jensen Beach. Willie was a starving college kid, literally poaching 'gators to fry in an electric skillet in the dorm and one who was not above raiding the odd orange grove for some vitimin C now and again. To say I was poor would have been an understatement. My possessions were few, but among them was my prize: A Ruger Police Service 6 fixed sight .357 Magnum, "Made in the 200th Year of American Liberty". I had paid $99 for it used, and it was the finest thing I owned. More on this anon.
In order to avoid absolute starvation, I worked for a firm in West Palm that specialized in delivering cars between the airport at West Palm and the airport in Newark NJ. Old folks would fly up and a day later their car would show up at their house in NJ, delivered by a bearded yet smiling Willie, who would gratefully accept their $100 bill plus fuel costs and a ride back to Newark Airport, where another car would be waiting. That one would go back down to West Palm, and if a young engineering student was resourceful and had his class schedule set up for a noon-start on Monday and a noon-end on Friday, he could do a round trip and make $200 for a weekend on the road. I did this for two years to put myself thru tjose years of school. As you can imagine, this entailed many late nights of time spent on the deserted highway, 2:00 AM driving, exhausted, seeing spots before my eyes with fatigue, and all in all it was a pretty tough thing to do. 19 hours each way was the norm, 1000 miles almost exactly from place to place.
Now at that time there was a rash of folks being robbed on Route 95 around the Jacksonville area. MO was to drive them off the road, rob them, and leave. This came to national attention when if Willie's memory serves correctly two Japanese tourists were killed in such an encounter. So this sets the scene:
Willie is driving back to Florida, and has been on the road for about two days. He's just south of Jacksonville at 1:30 AM, is exhausted, had drunk way too much coffee, and is not feeling all that great. Car is a Plymouth Volare', upholstered with "Rich Corinthian Leather" (for those who are old enough to remember Ricardo shilling for Plymouth and selling the worst car they ever built). Sunrise is a ways off and the music on the radio is boring. Doing about 65, just want to get this drive done. Headlights come up from behind, and as it comes alongside, they slow down and pace poor Willie. It's a pickup truck, open bed, Ford, of indeterminate vintage. Three guys are in it, and they start peering at poor Willie thru the window. I slow down and they slow down. I pick it up a bit and so do they. Willie gets a bit nervous. This goes on for a bit and they finally drop back about 100 feet and get behind me. Willie is now looking into the mirror at lights and isn't in too good a mood. Driving now about 50, hoping they will get bored and pass. After a bit they come over into the fast lane and start a very slow pass, save for that when they come alongside... well.... they pull to the right and drive poor college-Willie right off the road. Onto the steeply sloped down to the drainage ditch grass on the side Willie goes, and comes to rest nose down at the edge of the ditch. They pull off quickly on the shoulder about 10 feet ahead, toss the Ford into reverse, and pull back to where I'm sitting 50 feet off the road and down the hill.... this ain't good. The doors open and the guy in the passenger seat gets out and looks at me....
Now last time I told a tale of social encounter here, folks took me to task for preparing to defend myself. Willie's not too keen on Monday Morning Quarterbackin' and all, so's not all that interested in telling you what came next. So rather than tell you what I did, bearing in mind that my Ruger, with six honest-to-God right from Lee Jurras Super Vel 125 grain hollow points, was in my little dittie bag by my knee: tell me what you would have done as a scared 19 year old kid on the side of the road with three unknown guys and one revolver....
Your turn. Willie's done with his coffee break and it's time to pack for this next drive west.
Willie
.
Here's the sea story:
Back in '78, Willie was a college student studying in Florida, having come from NJ to the Florida Institute of Technology, school of Marine Sciences, in Jensen Beach. Willie was a starving college kid, literally poaching 'gators to fry in an electric skillet in the dorm and one who was not above raiding the odd orange grove for some vitimin C now and again. To say I was poor would have been an understatement. My possessions were few, but among them was my prize: A Ruger Police Service 6 fixed sight .357 Magnum, "Made in the 200th Year of American Liberty". I had paid $99 for it used, and it was the finest thing I owned. More on this anon.
In order to avoid absolute starvation, I worked for a firm in West Palm that specialized in delivering cars between the airport at West Palm and the airport in Newark NJ. Old folks would fly up and a day later their car would show up at their house in NJ, delivered by a bearded yet smiling Willie, who would gratefully accept their $100 bill plus fuel costs and a ride back to Newark Airport, where another car would be waiting. That one would go back down to West Palm, and if a young engineering student was resourceful and had his class schedule set up for a noon-start on Monday and a noon-end on Friday, he could do a round trip and make $200 for a weekend on the road. I did this for two years to put myself thru tjose years of school. As you can imagine, this entailed many late nights of time spent on the deserted highway, 2:00 AM driving, exhausted, seeing spots before my eyes with fatigue, and all in all it was a pretty tough thing to do. 19 hours each way was the norm, 1000 miles almost exactly from place to place.
Now at that time there was a rash of folks being robbed on Route 95 around the Jacksonville area. MO was to drive them off the road, rob them, and leave. This came to national attention when if Willie's memory serves correctly two Japanese tourists were killed in such an encounter. So this sets the scene:
Willie is driving back to Florida, and has been on the road for about two days. He's just south of Jacksonville at 1:30 AM, is exhausted, had drunk way too much coffee, and is not feeling all that great. Car is a Plymouth Volare', upholstered with "Rich Corinthian Leather" (for those who are old enough to remember Ricardo shilling for Plymouth and selling the worst car they ever built). Sunrise is a ways off and the music on the radio is boring. Doing about 65, just want to get this drive done. Headlights come up from behind, and as it comes alongside, they slow down and pace poor Willie. It's a pickup truck, open bed, Ford, of indeterminate vintage. Three guys are in it, and they start peering at poor Willie thru the window. I slow down and they slow down. I pick it up a bit and so do they. Willie gets a bit nervous. This goes on for a bit and they finally drop back about 100 feet and get behind me. Willie is now looking into the mirror at lights and isn't in too good a mood. Driving now about 50, hoping they will get bored and pass. After a bit they come over into the fast lane and start a very slow pass, save for that when they come alongside... well.... they pull to the right and drive poor college-Willie right off the road. Onto the steeply sloped down to the drainage ditch grass on the side Willie goes, and comes to rest nose down at the edge of the ditch. They pull off quickly on the shoulder about 10 feet ahead, toss the Ford into reverse, and pull back to where I'm sitting 50 feet off the road and down the hill.... this ain't good. The doors open and the guy in the passenger seat gets out and looks at me....
Now last time I told a tale of social encounter here, folks took me to task for preparing to defend myself. Willie's not too keen on Monday Morning Quarterbackin' and all, so's not all that interested in telling you what came next. So rather than tell you what I did, bearing in mind that my Ruger, with six honest-to-God right from Lee Jurras Super Vel 125 grain hollow points, was in my little dittie bag by my knee: tell me what you would have done as a scared 19 year old kid on the side of the road with three unknown guys and one revolver....
Your turn. Willie's done with his coffee break and it's time to pack for this next drive west.
Willie
.
