- George Carlin
"No, you go."
They looked at each other trying to figure out which one of them was serious.
Mark and Dill stood on the fifth floor looking down to the ground. They had invaded a new building under construction on the NIH grounds in Bethesda, Maryland. They had watched it evolve from a park-like grove of oak trees into a vacant lot from which tons of dirt were removed to form a basement. From there they noticed a steady progression of concrete floors being poured at ground level and then one at a time, lifted up I-beam columns to eventually become the eight story monolith they stood in that day.
The building had no windows or outside walls yet; just ten stories of floors open to the wind and rain. On one side there was a single hand hoist hanging off the eight story roof. After some discussion, the two boys agreed the temporary crane was for hoisting up material or tools, maybe both.
These troublemakers had no interest in what specific medical research this building would be dedicated to. Their only interest was squeezing all the fun possible out of it before it became a concrete and glass tower sitting where, a few months ago, a grove of old oaks had spread their branches.
"And you wonder why we call you Dill. You really are a dildo. ......... Not funny dude, not funny."
Mark grabbed the loop of the hoist rope. He looked down and shook it. It rippled up and down its length. He looked up to the big pulley it dangled from. He yanked hard and was pleased that it felt so solid.
Dill could tell Mark was conjuring up some fun, most likely dangerous fun. He knew that look. He watched Mark studying the rope and then studying the big pile of stand below them and then back to studying the rope.
Mark turned to Dill:
"Dare you to swing on this rope over to that sand pile and jump. I bet it'd be like the swing down at Glen Echo; Just like landing in the Potomac."
Dill snatched the rope from Mark and began examining the rope and surroundings just as Mark had:
" Just like jumping in the Potomac huh? .......... I don't know. Somehow sand don't seem the same as water."
Dill shook the rope and yanked on it some more:
"I'd do it, but not this high......... How 'bout the third floor? We can decide after if we want to go higher." A plan was set. The two of them went down to the third floor.
Conversation delayed any real action on the boys' parts. This wasn't just a home street puddle jump dare on their bikes. They both knew this challenge was next level Dare shit. The gauntlet had been thrown down. Time to put up or shut up. Dares were serious business to 13 year old boys. They knew this and finally Mark grabbed hold of the rope and started backing up deeper into the building.
Dill stepped in front of him.
"You sure about this? Third floor seems higher than I thought."
"Get out of my way."
Dill looked at Mark. He could see the resolve in Mark's eyes. He shrugged and stepped to the side.
Mark double checked his grip on the rope, took a deep breath and started running for the edge. Just as he lifted off the floor, he screamed. The scream started out as a brave scream that abruptly became more of a screech. Mark's eyes began to bulge. It wasn't the triumphant scream of a tough guy. It was the scream of a child deciding in mid flight he had possibly made a mistake.
Dill had followed Mark to the edge and watched him launch. His butt puckered hard as he saw Mark swing out past the sand pile, reach the peak of its arc and begin to swing back. As Mark passed over the sand pile on his return trip, he realized not letting go might be worse than the alternative. He released the rope and plummeted down onto the sand pile near its bottom and collapsed.
Dill didn't move. Mark didn't move. Dill was sure there was an ambulance in their future. Mark was in a crumpled seated position. His head, bent over almost touching the sand pile.
Dill stood on the edge of the third floor. He wanted to panic. He wanted to run away. In the meantime, he just stood and looked at his friend, who was not moving. ..... Mark lifted his head and looked up at Dill. He threw his arms up in victory, began hooting and hollering as he extricated himself from the sand. Dill exhaled. It was only then he realized he had been holding his breath.
The relative safety of this stunt had been established. Dill and Mark must have swung out on that rope a dozen times each, always trying to time their fall to hit the peak of the sand pile. Their shoes filled with sand. The cuffs of their jeans filled with sand. They had sand in their mouths, their ears and up their noses. None of that mattered............ Using that hoist rope for a swing was indeed just like jumping into the Potomac River and the most fun they could remember having for awhile.
Full of sand and tired from the activity, they decided to have one last swing. Only this time, they would do it together, the two of them at the same time. By now their confidence levels were through the roof. They were sure they had this covered.
Without hesitation they took one last swing from the third floor.
Later they decided that they had done the construction crew a favor, maybe even saved a life. That's what they told themselves after they both fell onto the sand pile instead of jumping onto it. Almost immediately after launch, before they could let go, the rope suddenly went slack and they fell onto the low side of the sand pile. A second or two later as they sat in a daze, the whole hoist framework came down, landing about 6 feet away from them.
Dill wanted to run away immediately. Mark wanted to know why the frame had come down. He checked the frame and it looked like the big bolts that had been used to attach the frame to the concrete had failed and pulled out. All the way home, Mark thought about the near miss. Finally he decided the hoist was not meant to be a swing and the swinging weight of he and Dill had worked the bolts hard, side to side, until that final swing with twice the body weight caused the whole frame, pulley and rope come crashing down.
Mark was unscathed. Dill twisted his ankle. And, for the next week or so, both of them were finding sand in body crevices they didn't even know they had
At Mark's house the two of them said their goodbyes and promised each other no one would be told. That promise lasted almost a week.
1075 words
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I have wanted to write about this moment in my past for a long time. Every time I approached doing it, I shelved it. And I don't know why. Anyway, here it is, finally written down. Not sure how I feel about the effort yet.
The events are true. I changed the names and created the dialog.
Later Gators ...................................
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Oops. I punched up one the 3 hour Jazz playlists instead of listening to find a song that might dovetail well with the story. .............. I first heard this song on the first Kingston Trio Album I bought in the early 1960s. The other Trio albums I had were hand me downs from one of my brothers. They both helped create my first serious music collection. "Time to Think" was released by The Kingston Trio in 1963. I loved that album. I am pretty sure I still have it.
Here is The Kingston Trio's version of "Seasons in the Sun", a French song translated by the late great Rod McKuen.
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