After a few months had passed, I was eligible for promotion to E3, Hospitalman. I took the test, passed and was promoted. At the same time, newer Hospitalmen arrived to work at the hospital and I began to enjoy a little seniority. That gave me better shifts to work or my choice of shifts.
After about 9 months had passed, I took another exam and was promoted to E4, a non-commissioned officer (HM3). That not only gave me more money, the promotion allowed me to move out of the barracks where 12 men slept in each dorm, to a private room…well, sort of private. I had to share the room with another E4. I was moving on up! But I was getting bored with my job. It was always the same, only the names of the patients changed. Four times a year, the Marines conducted a training assault on the beach at Wrightsville and we would see a slight increase in hospital admissions. Then there were assaults on the island of Vieques, (Puerto Rico) and that always produced some injuries. But nothing really exciting seemed to happen.
Then a friend of mine suggested that there might be an opening for an HM3 in the Neuropsychiatry wards. There were two NP wards, one a minimum security and the other a maximum security ward, locks everywhere! The only hitch in the plan would be the fact that I wasn’t an NP Technician. You had to attend a 12 week school in Washington, DC to obtain the technician status.
This same friend told me that NP Tech’s were in limited supply and I might be able to take the position and receive on-the-job training in lieu of a formal school. Well, it was the chance to do something different and I decided to apply.
After an exhaustive interview with the units two doctors, Lieutenants Kilduff and Boyajian, I was accepted and began a new career on the maximum security ward, where I thought that there would be a chance for some excitement…
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Sew There
Life (and work) at Camp Lejeune settled into a predictable routine. There were three shifts and we rotated through them on a monthly basis. “Graveyard” became my favorite shift; 11 PM to 7 AM, and I would often volunteer for it.
The volume of work remained almost constant and we could expect to see about 25 patients on the ward at any given time. The only exception to that was when the “war games” were being played. That was a time when we could expect the more serious injuries and a lot of them. Of course, most injuries were orthopedic in nature, with lots of broken bones. And some of the more horrific of injuries were the ones that came from automobile crashes. I remember one; a Marine, Donald Cadieux, who had been drinking, had crashed, and in the process, been ejected from the vehicle. The vehicle landed upside down on top of him but didn’t kill him. But the hot oil from the engine poured out onto his legs and one arm. He had fractures galore, a concussion and burns…and he ended up being on our ward for almost 6 months. He finally walked out, with crutches…and returned to limited duty. I still remember that one as a great success and I was happy to be part of it.
So you might say that I was glad to be in this line of work…and you would only be partially correct. Most of the time it was incredibly boring and I longed for something new and exciting. Dr. Noer had given me a taste of that excitement as he would come onto the ward when he had free time and would ask if I wanted to learn something new? Of course! I remember one time when he asked me to lance a boil on the back of a young Marine; a Private. Since the Private couldn’t complain; I outranked him…he gritted his teeth and lay down on the exam table. Dr. Noer explained the procedure to me. Using sterile procedure put a blade in the knife handle (scalpel). Now swab the area with Betadine. One hand on the patients back to hold the skin taut. Insert the knife blade into the area next to the boil and then bring the blade up, through the boil from the bottom. I must say it was a unique experience to cut through human flesh…scary! Did I say that we infused the area with Lydocain first? We did, and the Private didn’t even flinch. After cleaning out the wound, I got out the needle and thread and did a three stitch sewing job.
The volume of work remained almost constant and we could expect to see about 25 patients on the ward at any given time. The only exception to that was when the “war games” were being played. That was a time when we could expect the more serious injuries and a lot of them. Of course, most injuries were orthopedic in nature, with lots of broken bones. And some of the more horrific of injuries were the ones that came from automobile crashes. I remember one; a Marine, Donald Cadieux, who had been drinking, had crashed, and in the process, been ejected from the vehicle. The vehicle landed upside down on top of him but didn’t kill him. But the hot oil from the engine poured out onto his legs and one arm. He had fractures galore, a concussion and burns…and he ended up being on our ward for almost 6 months. He finally walked out, with crutches…and returned to limited duty. I still remember that one as a great success and I was happy to be part of it.
So you might say that I was glad to be in this line of work…and you would only be partially correct. Most of the time it was incredibly boring and I longed for something new and exciting. Dr. Noer had given me a taste of that excitement as he would come onto the ward when he had free time and would ask if I wanted to learn something new? Of course! I remember one time when he asked me to lance a boil on the back of a young Marine; a Private. Since the Private couldn’t complain; I outranked him…he gritted his teeth and lay down on the exam table. Dr. Noer explained the procedure to me. Using sterile procedure put a blade in the knife handle (scalpel). Now swab the area with Betadine. One hand on the patients back to hold the skin taut. Insert the knife blade into the area next to the boil and then bring the blade up, through the boil from the bottom. I must say it was a unique experience to cut through human flesh…scary! Did I say that we infused the area with Lydocain first? We did, and the Private didn’t even flinch. After cleaning out the wound, I got out the needle and thread and did a three stitch sewing job.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Ward 51
After a month or so had passed, I was finally relieved of my duty on the contagious disease ward. The reason for the change was simple; the arrival of some new Corpsman. Seniority rules! And so one of the new guys had to take my place at the bottom of the ladder.
My new job placed me on one of two orthopedic wards, Ward 51. I worked the day shift at first, working from 7 to 3. The ward contained more than 50 beds and had 3 private rooms for more intensive care. The ward normally held about 20 patients and the private rooms were rarely used.
The Doctor in charge was Lt. Commander Rolf Noer… (I just Googled his name and found his obituary) Dr. Noer was also the hospitals chief resource for neurology and in most instances that meant that we handled all of the “head cases”, brain injuries. This meant stabilizing the patient until they could be airlifted to Saint Elizabeth’s (Washington DC) for further treatment. These patients required constant attention with vital signs taken every 5 minutes. Believe it or not, we didn’t have those fancy patient monitors that “beeped”… they hadn’t been invented yet!
Dr. Noer also specialized in knee injuries and so you can imagine that we saw plenty of those, located as we were, in the middle of a Marine Corps base.
With a patient load of 20, there were 3 Corpsman and one registered nurse/officer. Things could get pretty hectic since the majority of our patients were immobilized by their injuries. That was the downside of the orthopedic service. The upside for me was the fact that we were doing more than sterilizing the same old things every day just to keep from falling asleep.
My new job placed me on one of two orthopedic wards, Ward 51. I worked the day shift at first, working from 7 to 3. The ward contained more than 50 beds and had 3 private rooms for more intensive care. The ward normally held about 20 patients and the private rooms were rarely used.
The Doctor in charge was Lt. Commander Rolf Noer… (I just Googled his name and found his obituary) Dr. Noer was also the hospitals chief resource for neurology and in most instances that meant that we handled all of the “head cases”, brain injuries. This meant stabilizing the patient until they could be airlifted to Saint Elizabeth’s (Washington DC) for further treatment. These patients required constant attention with vital signs taken every 5 minutes. Believe it or not, we didn’t have those fancy patient monitors that “beeped”… they hadn’t been invented yet!
Dr. Noer also specialized in knee injuries and so you can imagine that we saw plenty of those, located as we were, in the middle of a Marine Corps base.
With a patient load of 20, there were 3 Corpsman and one registered nurse/officer. Things could get pretty hectic since the majority of our patients were immobilized by their injuries. That was the downside of the orthopedic service. The upside for me was the fact that we were doing more than sterilizing the same old things every day just to keep from falling asleep.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Reporting for Duty
When we reported for duty the next day, I was fairly certain that we would be given jobs that were pretty close to the bottom in desirability. After all, we were Hospitalman Apprentices; the keyword here was “apprentice” and all apprentices start at the bottom.
Sure enough, I was given the job of working on the contagious ward. In fact, I was the only one on the ward. There was only one patient and he had the measles. My job was to sit…and observe and then write in the nursing notes for the day. “The patient had a good day…etc, etc.” There was no one to relieve from duty when I arrived and no one took my place when I went off duty. A roving nurse would check in once in awhile during the evening and throughout the night to make certain that the patient was still alive.
What a boring job! And then to make it worse, the measles patient became well enough to go back to duty and now I had nothing to do. I had cleaned everything twice and then once again, just to make sure. And since this was back in the days when hypodermic syringes were made from glass and steel, I had a portable autoclave unit to sterilize them…so I would sterilize everything each day, just for something to do.
After about a month of this, I began to wonder…was this going to be the sum total of my Navy career?
Sure enough, I was given the job of working on the contagious ward. In fact, I was the only one on the ward. There was only one patient and he had the measles. My job was to sit…and observe and then write in the nursing notes for the day. “The patient had a good day…etc, etc.” There was no one to relieve from duty when I arrived and no one took my place when I went off duty. A roving nurse would check in once in awhile during the evening and throughout the night to make certain that the patient was still alive.
What a boring job! And then to make it worse, the measles patient became well enough to go back to duty and now I had nothing to do. I had cleaned everything twice and then once again, just to make sure. And since this was back in the days when hypodermic syringes were made from glass and steel, I had a portable autoclave unit to sterilize them…so I would sterilize everything each day, just for something to do.
After about a month of this, I began to wonder…was this going to be the sum total of my Navy career?
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
J-Ville
Since I had never been further east than Nevada in all of my 19 years, the thought of going to North Carolina was intriguing. Yes, my plans for working close to home had evaporated in a flash, but with the optimism that is part of that young age, I figured that all would work out well. After all, the Navy had been everything I expected it to be…so far. And it was only one glitch in what might be a long career. I had already thought about the possibility of re-upping for another 6 years and then? Why not 20 years? I hadn’t even been in the Navy a year and I was already thinking of a career!
Joining up with the other two corpsmen at the airport, I boarded a flight (prop) that would take me to Chicago where I would transfer to a flight to Raleigh. In Raleigh, we were supposed to transfer to a much smaller plane that would take us to New Bern, North Carolina. All went well, though flying to Chicago took about 6 hours and the same to Raleigh. The flight to New Bern was exciting as there was no normal runway and the plane was going to land on what appeared to be a pasture. As we circled the airport, we could see time running out for us to make the bus connection from New Bern to Camp Lejeune. Sure enough, when we finally landed, the ticket agent told us that the bus had already departed.
There we were, strangers…in a very strange land! We decided to hitchhike as that would save us money. The Navy had paid for a non-existent bus ride and so the money would have to come out of our own pockets. We managed to get 2 or 3 rides and each took us a little bit closer to Camp Lejeune. Then, about midnight, in a very small town, we were standing with our thumbs out when the only signal and streetlight in the town went dark as the clock struck 12. We had been amusing ourselves by watching the signal go from red to green and back…the only activity we had seen in the town. About 1, a car slowed and then stopped to pick us up. It was an itinerant preacher who did his best to convert us while offering us sips from his jar of “Light’nin”. We did our best to be polite and about 3 in the morning we rolled into downtown Jacksonville, where the preacher told us we could pick up a bus ride that would take us to the base.
Unlike the last town we were in, Jacksonville was quite lively at 3 in the morning. There were Marines everywhere; Marines staggering, weaving, cursing, fighting, vomiting, and some quietly passing out on the street. In the middle of all this mayhem were the MP’s. They were everywhere; picking up the drunks and the fighters and dragging them to the vans that were parked on just about every corner. Being quite sober (we had refused the pastors offer of a drink) we felt somewhat out of place as we bought a ticket and boarded the bus that would take us to Hospital Point, the site of the Naval Hospital on Camp Lejeune.
It was about 5 in the morning when we finally walked up the steps to the imposing structure that housed the hospital. We checked in with the OOD and were assigned some vacant bunks in an otherwise empty building behind the hospital. We were to check back in with the OOD at 0800 hours. Let’s see…about 2 hours sleep! And so began my new job in North Carolina.
Joining up with the other two corpsmen at the airport, I boarded a flight (prop) that would take me to Chicago where I would transfer to a flight to Raleigh. In Raleigh, we were supposed to transfer to a much smaller plane that would take us to New Bern, North Carolina. All went well, though flying to Chicago took about 6 hours and the same to Raleigh. The flight to New Bern was exciting as there was no normal runway and the plane was going to land on what appeared to be a pasture. As we circled the airport, we could see time running out for us to make the bus connection from New Bern to Camp Lejeune. Sure enough, when we finally landed, the ticket agent told us that the bus had already departed.
There we were, strangers…in a very strange land! We decided to hitchhike as that would save us money. The Navy had paid for a non-existent bus ride and so the money would have to come out of our own pockets. We managed to get 2 or 3 rides and each took us a little bit closer to Camp Lejeune. Then, about midnight, in a very small town, we were standing with our thumbs out when the only signal and streetlight in the town went dark as the clock struck 12. We had been amusing ourselves by watching the signal go from red to green and back…the only activity we had seen in the town. About 1, a car slowed and then stopped to pick us up. It was an itinerant preacher who did his best to convert us while offering us sips from his jar of “Light’nin”. We did our best to be polite and about 3 in the morning we rolled into downtown Jacksonville, where the preacher told us we could pick up a bus ride that would take us to the base.
Unlike the last town we were in, Jacksonville was quite lively at 3 in the morning. There were Marines everywhere; Marines staggering, weaving, cursing, fighting, vomiting, and some quietly passing out on the street. In the middle of all this mayhem were the MP’s. They were everywhere; picking up the drunks and the fighters and dragging them to the vans that were parked on just about every corner. Being quite sober (we had refused the pastors offer of a drink) we felt somewhat out of place as we bought a ticket and boarded the bus that would take us to Hospital Point, the site of the Naval Hospital on Camp Lejeune.
It was about 5 in the morning when we finally walked up the steps to the imposing structure that housed the hospital. We checked in with the OOD and were assigned some vacant bunks in an otherwise empty building behind the hospital. We were to check back in with the OOD at 0800 hours. Let’s see…about 2 hours sleep! And so began my new job in North Carolina.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
The Test
With about two weeks to go in school, I was confident that I was going to be posted to work at the Long Beach Naval Hospital. My grades were good and I had a 96 grade point average, one point more than I needed to secure the duty station of my choice. The final exam was the only thing that might derail those plans; or so I thought.
I took the final exam and thought I had done well. I really wasn’t worried. The next day I joined the crowd at the bulletin board where the scores were posted; along with those scores were the names of our new duty stations. I think I received a 98 on the exam. And then I looked at the words to the right of my score. U.S. Naval Hospital, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. What?
The short story was the fact that the other Hospital Corps School, the one in Great Lakes, Michigan, had suffered a measles outbreak and all of their graduates were quarantined. San Diego had to supply all of the necessary Corpsmen for the entire Navy that month. There was nothing to be done about it.
I took a week of leave and went home to prepare for a new job in a part of the country that was completely foreign to me. But hadn’t I joined the Navy to see the world? At the end of the week, I set out…with two others, to see just what this new job was going to be like.
I took the final exam and thought I had done well. I really wasn’t worried. The next day I joined the crowd at the bulletin board where the scores were posted; along with those scores were the names of our new duty stations. I think I received a 98 on the exam. And then I looked at the words to the right of my score. U.S. Naval Hospital, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. What?
The short story was the fact that the other Hospital Corps School, the one in Great Lakes, Michigan, had suffered a measles outbreak and all of their graduates were quarantined. San Diego had to supply all of the necessary Corpsmen for the entire Navy that month. There was nothing to be done about it.
I took a week of leave and went home to prepare for a new job in a part of the country that was completely foreign to me. But hadn’t I joined the Navy to see the world? At the end of the week, I set out…with two others, to see just what this new job was going to be like.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
San Diego
12 weeks in San Diego’s Balboa Park. That was where I lived during the time I spent as a student in Hospital Corps School. It was a beautiful setting; steep canyons with lush vegetation everywhere. A brand new hospital to work in and no marching! The classes were interesting and I found myself making good grades because of that. Plus the fact that I had been told that anyone graduating in the top 5% of the class, or with at least a 95 grade point average, would have their choice of duty stations. And mine was going to be the Naval Hospital in Long Beach, California, about 45 minutes from home. All I had to do was study subjects I enjoyed and do well on the tests.
About halfway through the course, we were put into real-life situations by being assigned to ward duty at the new hospital (Bldg 26). Real patients. Really sick and injured. And I found that I was good at it.
The ward duty only took up a few hours each day and the rest was spent in class. After class, we were free to go into town (San Diego) and even allowed to wear civilian clothes while we were away from the base. The weather? Well, it was San Diego! You couldn’t ask for nicer duty than this…
About halfway through the course, we were put into real-life situations by being assigned to ward duty at the new hospital (Bldg 26). Real patients. Really sick and injured. And I found that I was good at it.
The ward duty only took up a few hours each day and the rest was spent in class. After class, we were free to go into town (San Diego) and even allowed to wear civilian clothes while we were away from the base. The weather? Well, it was San Diego! You couldn’t ask for nicer duty than this…
Thursday, January 12, 2006
The Fall of 1959
My new career began in earnest with a one-way trip to San Diego aboard a new turbo prop powered airliner, courtesy of the US Navy. At the time I thought it was quite impressive for them to buy us tickets on an airline, when we could have driven the 100 miles or so.
Boot camp, all 12 weeks of it, is a story all of its own and I won’t go into it here. Suffice it to say that I learned a whole lot about the basics of my new career and my employer.
Since I had joined the Naval Reserves, my education choices were limited. But that wasn’t a problem as I wanted to pursue one of those anyway. The Hospital Corps was my choice and after graduating from boot camp as a Seaman Apprentice, I was sent to the Hospital Corps School, located in faraway…San Diego! It was about a 15 minute drive from boot camp to my new location at the Naval Hospital in Balboa Park.
And once again I had a 12 week course of training, this time to become a Hospitalman Apprentice.
(It wasn’t till much later that I learned that the Hospital Corps was a perfect fit for my Myers-Briggs personality type of INFP)
Boot camp, all 12 weeks of it, is a story all of its own and I won’t go into it here. Suffice it to say that I learned a whole lot about the basics of my new career and my employer.
Since I had joined the Naval Reserves, my education choices were limited. But that wasn’t a problem as I wanted to pursue one of those anyway. The Hospital Corps was my choice and after graduating from boot camp as a Seaman Apprentice, I was sent to the Hospital Corps School, located in faraway…San Diego! It was about a 15 minute drive from boot camp to my new location at the Naval Hospital in Balboa Park.
And once again I had a 12 week course of training, this time to become a Hospitalman Apprentice.
(It wasn’t till much later that I learned that the Hospital Corps was a perfect fit for my Myers-Briggs personality type of INFP)
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Summer Time
It was in the summer of 1959 that I made a big career change. There were three of us hanging around together that summer and I remember that we were sitting on Dan’s front porch one day and the conversation turned to “life”. What were we going to do to make life a little more exciting? It must have been a boring summer for us. We were just one year out of high school and we had jobs that seemed so ordinary. Someone suggested that we join the Air Force and then someone else mentioned the Marines. After a far too brief discussion of all the pros and cons of each service, we headed to Hawthorne to see the Navy recruiter. We explained that we wanted to see the world…and get a little education as well. And in a very short time, we were signed up. Boot camp would begin in October.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Two Jobs
I think it was sometime in 1958, probably summer, when I made a slight shift in my career. I kept the job at Bill’s Liquor Store, but I took on an additional job, working days at the local Texaco station, coincidentally named, “Bill’s Texaco” – no relation. The station also happened to be located right across the street from the liquor store. A "good friend" of mine was the day manager there and he had led me to the job. I certainly enjoyed working there, as this station was somewhat of a local hangout for those who drove “hot” cars. I got a chance to see and sometimes drive some pretty fast machinery.
This was back in the day when a service station attendant (me) would come out to your car and ask you what you needed. I would pump the gas, clean the windshield, and check the oil, water and battery fluid levels. And, without asking, I would also check your tire pressure. Of course there was a motive for all of this great service. It gave me a chance to check for any possible ways to sell you additional service. Dirty oil? Perhaps you would like your oil changed? When I checked the radiator water level, I was also checking the condition of your fan belt. Tire pressure checks gave me a chance to se how much tread was left on the tires. I was paid the standard $1 an hour, but I made additional money from any service I could sell you.
With all of the money I was making by working two jobs, I soon had enough money to buy myself a newer car. A 1954 Austin Healey roadster, for which I paid $1,800. I got rid of my old 1948 Ford coupe and reveled in the “almost new” feel of the Healey.
This was back in the day when a service station attendant (me) would come out to your car and ask you what you needed. I would pump the gas, clean the windshield, and check the oil, water and battery fluid levels. And, without asking, I would also check your tire pressure. Of course there was a motive for all of this great service. It gave me a chance to check for any possible ways to sell you additional service. Dirty oil? Perhaps you would like your oil changed? When I checked the radiator water level, I was also checking the condition of your fan belt. Tire pressure checks gave me a chance to se how much tread was left on the tires. I was paid the standard $1 an hour, but I made additional money from any service I could sell you.
With all of the money I was making by working two jobs, I soon had enough money to buy myself a newer car. A 1954 Austin Healey roadster, for which I paid $1,800. I got rid of my old 1948 Ford coupe and reveled in the “almost new” feel of the Healey.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
1958
In the beginning of 1958, I was still working at Bill’s Liquor and working even more hours than before. I was still making $1 an hour plus tips and doing quite well. My immediate boss, “Goody”, a former professional wrestler, wanted me to learn to wait on customers at the counter and so on slow delivery nights; you would find me working the cash registers. These were not the electronic machines you see today, but large metal monsters with multiple drawers and many, many keys. And you had to do the math in your head when returning change to the customer. All quite intimidating. But I became quite good at it.
I remember Thursday nights as being hectic and fast paced. That is when the aircraft plants in Westchester paid their hourly workers and the swing shift would stop at Bill’s to cash their checks. From midnight until we closed at 2 AM, the crowds were constant. I would rush from the registers to the walk-in box to restock and then back out to the counter to cash more checks.
Thursday afternoons were spent preparing for this weekly riot. I would stock the box as full as possible, extra cases of beer stacked everywhere I could. Then I would be sent to the bank around 3 PM to get lots of money for the anticipated payroll checks we would be cashing. We couldn’t afford to run out of cash. And sending me to the bank was a carefully staged event. Sam, one of the owners, would give me a jacket to wear and the jacket had many pockets. My job was to take a large check to the bank and then take the money I received and secret it in all of the various pockets; just in case someone wanted to rob me. The plan was for me to give up just one pocketful. I remember that the bank manager would help me to get all of the money concealed. Nothing obvious in that!
I remember Thursday nights as being hectic and fast paced. That is when the aircraft plants in Westchester paid their hourly workers and the swing shift would stop at Bill’s to cash their checks. From midnight until we closed at 2 AM, the crowds were constant. I would rush from the registers to the walk-in box to restock and then back out to the counter to cash more checks.
Thursday afternoons were spent preparing for this weekly riot. I would stock the box as full as possible, extra cases of beer stacked everywhere I could. Then I would be sent to the bank around 3 PM to get lots of money for the anticipated payroll checks we would be cashing. We couldn’t afford to run out of cash. And sending me to the bank was a carefully staged event. Sam, one of the owners, would give me a jacket to wear and the jacket had many pockets. My job was to take a large check to the bank and then take the money I received and secret it in all of the various pockets; just in case someone wanted to rob me. The plan was for me to give up just one pocketful. I remember that the bank manager would help me to get all of the money concealed. Nothing obvious in that!
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Popular
One of the more popular items that Bill’s sold was keg beer. We had more variety and sizes of kegs than any other store around and so we delivered quite a few during the warm months.
We sold the keg and would include a container and ice for a small additional fee; telling the customer that we could provide everything they needed for the perfect party. And it was my job to “tap” the kegs for most customers, something that I became quite good at performing. I think “performing” is the appropriate word to use, as a crowd would always gather to watch me practice my craft of tapping the keg and producing the perfect first glass of beer with just the right amount of foam.
I will always remember one particular keg that I didn’t tap…I received an order to take a half keg (15 gallons) to an address in Westchester. We rarely delivered to that city, but for a half keg order, we would do it. At this time, the VW van had been retired and we drove a new 1958 Chevy delivery sedan. This car had a 6 cylinder engine and a 3 speed column shift manual transmission. I placed the keg on a hand dolly and put the dolly and the keg on its side in the back of the sedan. About half way to Westchester, I had to slam my brakes on to avoid a car in front of me and when I did, I heard a rumbling from the back. The keg and the dolly were rolling at great speed toward the front of the car. I put my hand out to stop it and then thought better of it at the last moment. The keg embedded itself into the dashboard.
I pulled over and inspected the damage. There was nothing to be done except pull the keg back out and continue on. As I drove, I kept thinking that there might be enough time for the contents of that now highly pressurized keg to calm down, but I knew I was just fooling myself.
I pulled up in front of the house and unloaded the keg carefully. I went around to the back of the house where everything was setup for the party…and where about 30 people stood waiting for the beer to arrive.
Imagine how I felt. But then, the homeowner saved me; saying, “It’s OK, I know how to tap a keg. Here…thanks.” And he handed me a $5 dollar tip! I was down the driveway and into the sedan in a flash. I didn’t want to be anywhere near that keg when he drove the pouring spout into it.
We sold the keg and would include a container and ice for a small additional fee; telling the customer that we could provide everything they needed for the perfect party. And it was my job to “tap” the kegs for most customers, something that I became quite good at performing. I think “performing” is the appropriate word to use, as a crowd would always gather to watch me practice my craft of tapping the keg and producing the perfect first glass of beer with just the right amount of foam.
I will always remember one particular keg that I didn’t tap…I received an order to take a half keg (15 gallons) to an address in Westchester. We rarely delivered to that city, but for a half keg order, we would do it. At this time, the VW van had been retired and we drove a new 1958 Chevy delivery sedan. This car had a 6 cylinder engine and a 3 speed column shift manual transmission. I placed the keg on a hand dolly and put the dolly and the keg on its side in the back of the sedan. About half way to Westchester, I had to slam my brakes on to avoid a car in front of me and when I did, I heard a rumbling from the back. The keg and the dolly were rolling at great speed toward the front of the car. I put my hand out to stop it and then thought better of it at the last moment. The keg embedded itself into the dashboard.
I pulled over and inspected the damage. There was nothing to be done except pull the keg back out and continue on. As I drove, I kept thinking that there might be enough time for the contents of that now highly pressurized keg to calm down, but I knew I was just fooling myself.
I pulled up in front of the house and unloaded the keg carefully. I went around to the back of the house where everything was setup for the party…and where about 30 people stood waiting for the beer to arrive.
Imagine how I felt. But then, the homeowner saved me; saying, “It’s OK, I know how to tap a keg. Here…thanks.” And he handed me a $5 dollar tip! I was down the driveway and into the sedan in a flash. I didn’t want to be anywhere near that keg when he drove the pouring spout into it.
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