tarzan1888
Regular Member
imported post
The sad thing here is that Martel is traumatized and is now afraid to protect himself.
I was once by a group of bad boys, only I wasonly with out a gun. It had a different outcome.
A few years back my kids talked me into writing down some of my life stories. What follows is my account of that incident.
"Following my Junior year in High School on graduation night 19__, I left the festivities at the High School and with my clothes and my .22 rifle loaded in my mother’s old 1953 Plymouth, I started off for Buena Vista, Colorado. The plan was that I was going to get a job working in the mine at Climax Colorado and make a lot more money than I would have made if I had stayed home and hauled hay. As things went, I got the job at the mine, but only if I joined the Union. It didn’t take me long to learn that by the time I got through paying union dues and the like I would work the whole summer and not end up with much money to show for it. I did not take the job.
I got a job pumping gas and that was OK for a while but I finally decided that I would be much better off hauling hay. I lined up a job with a local farmer and found a crew and this job went well. I was living in a trailer court and I made friends with some of the other boys who were my age. They became my crew and we had fun working, swimming, hiking and doing other activities.
After I had been there for about a month I decided it was time to change the oil in my mother’s car. It was so black that I couldn’t even read the dip stick through the oil. One of my friends knew a guy who worked at a gas station that had bays where they worked on cars and we went to the gas station and asked this worker if I could use one of the bays to change my oil. He said that I could if I did it at night when the mechanic was not there and they were not busy.
The next night I went over to the station, with my friend, and started preparations to change the oil. We had not been there long when a gang of young men came in. The leader of this group was a guy about 20 and as we all stood around in the waiting area talking, he took out a package of cigarettes and offered them to everyone. The others each took a cigarette, but I declined, telling them that I didn't smoke. For some reason, this young man took offense to my refusal and he offered me a cigarette for a second time. Again I refused.
At this time I was 17 years old, 6 foot 3 inches tall and about 135 pounds, soaking wet. One of the young men, who had come in with this gang was a guy about my age that had worked with me at the gas station where I had my first job. He was about my height and outweighed me by a good 100 pounds. The leader of the gang handed him a couple of cigarettes and told him to make me smoke them. It was about this time that I turned my back to the group and walked back into the bay, in an attempt to continue with the changing of the oil in my mother’s car. For the next 15 or 20 minuets this big kid would kick me as I was under the car or push me as I was walking, call me names and just generally try every way he could to get me to fight him. I refused to give in to anger and did my best to ignore him. Finally I had just gotten out from under the car when he came at me with a big gob of grease on his fingers, saying he was going to rub it all over my nose. I ducked and he got my ear.
I then realized that it was time to stand my ground and suffer the consequences, what ever they were. I said, “Ok. That’s it, I will fight you!” I put up my dukes and readied myself. I knew how to fight, my father had taught me, but he had also taught me to not relish fighting, but only do so when I had no other choice. I did not want to fight this guy. Him being so big and all, did not increase my desire to fight him, but I was not afraid to fight.
He took a swing at me, I ducked, he missed and I countered with an overhand right. He swung again, with the same result. After 3 or 4 more attempts to hit me failed and each time only resulted in him receiving a blow from me, I guess he realized that he needed to change his tactics. He then lunged and grabbed me in a bear hug, lifting me off the ground. I felt like I was in a vice, but I just leaned back and continued to rain blows on his face. Soon his arms lost their strength and he put me down. Then he went to his knees and then to the floor on his back, with me astride him, still raining blows. When I finished he lay on the floor, his face a bloody pulp.
I didn’t want to fight him, but when I had no choice, I did. To say the least, the gang of young men, in the gas station, were stunned by the outcome of the fight. They quietly left me to change my oil, taking their battered friend with them. News traveled fast, and soon the word around Buena Vista was not to mess with me. From that day, till the day I left, in late July, no one did."
It is my experience that bullies are generally cowards, and if you stand your ground they show their colors. If the other boys had jumped in with their champion, my story would have had a very different ending.
If you can get away it is good to run, but you have to be ready to stand and fight.
Tarzan
The sad thing here is that Martel is traumatized and is now afraid to protect himself.
I was once by a group of bad boys, only I wasonly with out a gun. It had a different outcome.
A few years back my kids talked me into writing down some of my life stories. What follows is my account of that incident.
"Following my Junior year in High School on graduation night 19__, I left the festivities at the High School and with my clothes and my .22 rifle loaded in my mother’s old 1953 Plymouth, I started off for Buena Vista, Colorado. The plan was that I was going to get a job working in the mine at Climax Colorado and make a lot more money than I would have made if I had stayed home and hauled hay. As things went, I got the job at the mine, but only if I joined the Union. It didn’t take me long to learn that by the time I got through paying union dues and the like I would work the whole summer and not end up with much money to show for it. I did not take the job.
I got a job pumping gas and that was OK for a while but I finally decided that I would be much better off hauling hay. I lined up a job with a local farmer and found a crew and this job went well. I was living in a trailer court and I made friends with some of the other boys who were my age. They became my crew and we had fun working, swimming, hiking and doing other activities.
After I had been there for about a month I decided it was time to change the oil in my mother’s car. It was so black that I couldn’t even read the dip stick through the oil. One of my friends knew a guy who worked at a gas station that had bays where they worked on cars and we went to the gas station and asked this worker if I could use one of the bays to change my oil. He said that I could if I did it at night when the mechanic was not there and they were not busy.
The next night I went over to the station, with my friend, and started preparations to change the oil. We had not been there long when a gang of young men came in. The leader of this group was a guy about 20 and as we all stood around in the waiting area talking, he took out a package of cigarettes and offered them to everyone. The others each took a cigarette, but I declined, telling them that I didn't smoke. For some reason, this young man took offense to my refusal and he offered me a cigarette for a second time. Again I refused.
At this time I was 17 years old, 6 foot 3 inches tall and about 135 pounds, soaking wet. One of the young men, who had come in with this gang was a guy about my age that had worked with me at the gas station where I had my first job. He was about my height and outweighed me by a good 100 pounds. The leader of the gang handed him a couple of cigarettes and told him to make me smoke them. It was about this time that I turned my back to the group and walked back into the bay, in an attempt to continue with the changing of the oil in my mother’s car. For the next 15 or 20 minuets this big kid would kick me as I was under the car or push me as I was walking, call me names and just generally try every way he could to get me to fight him. I refused to give in to anger and did my best to ignore him. Finally I had just gotten out from under the car when he came at me with a big gob of grease on his fingers, saying he was going to rub it all over my nose. I ducked and he got my ear.
I then realized that it was time to stand my ground and suffer the consequences, what ever they were. I said, “Ok. That’s it, I will fight you!” I put up my dukes and readied myself. I knew how to fight, my father had taught me, but he had also taught me to not relish fighting, but only do so when I had no other choice. I did not want to fight this guy. Him being so big and all, did not increase my desire to fight him, but I was not afraid to fight.
He took a swing at me, I ducked, he missed and I countered with an overhand right. He swung again, with the same result. After 3 or 4 more attempts to hit me failed and each time only resulted in him receiving a blow from me, I guess he realized that he needed to change his tactics. He then lunged and grabbed me in a bear hug, lifting me off the ground. I felt like I was in a vice, but I just leaned back and continued to rain blows on his face. Soon his arms lost their strength and he put me down. Then he went to his knees and then to the floor on his back, with me astride him, still raining blows. When I finished he lay on the floor, his face a bloody pulp.
I didn’t want to fight him, but when I had no choice, I did. To say the least, the gang of young men, in the gas station, were stunned by the outcome of the fight. They quietly left me to change my oil, taking their battered friend with them. News traveled fast, and soon the word around Buena Vista was not to mess with me. From that day, till the day I left, in late July, no one did."
It is my experience that bullies are generally cowards, and if you stand your ground they show their colors. If the other boys had jumped in with their champion, my story would have had a very different ending.
If you can get away it is good to run, but you have to be ready to stand and fight.
Tarzan
