here's something i wrote about 4 years ago

[cleofus1]

The bosses have been needling me to come up with some amusing anecdotes from my past for posting to this website. To be totally honest with you, most of those stories fall under the auspices of “unsolved crimes from Interpol”. Since a majority of these tales have now passed the statute of limitations I can share at least a few of them with you. Many of these mini-sagas may not actually be that interesting. In fact I would think that some of you might find them boring or even offensive. So at this point I would offer a warning, “proceed with caution and a generous nature…the following is only a slice of life and not necessarily intended for entertainment or edification, merely a means to shed some light on the continuing saga of Michael Ortega.”

THE PIG STORY Trying to remember so far back in time is an iffy proposition. To the best of my recollection it was 1977: that was the year I was attacked and almost eaten by a giant pig.

I was eighteen years old at the time and just out of Navy boot camp. I was attending Defense Information School, Ft. Benjamin Harrison, Indianapolis, Indiana. That was the fancy title…in the vernacular we will refer to it as navy journalism school. It is a joint services school and all the boys and girls were there: navy, marines, army, air force and yes even the lowly coast guard. Some were there to attend the editor’s course. Those people were for the most part older and more responsible. On the other hand the rest of us were just out of high school and away from home for the first time in our lives. As you can imagine much drinking and hooliganism were involved.

On this particular day I was invited to go for a country drive with some fellow service people. Marine Private “Thunder” Mcgoffigan, Seaman Mark “Jack” Hoff, Specialist 3rd Class Russell “Red Man” Skov, and myself Navy Journalist Michael Ortega squeezed into a primer gray Datsun and took off at a high rate of speed headed for the back roads and the farms that lay around the outskirts of the Fort. We had the stereo blasting and the distorted sounds of Kansas’ new album “carry on my wayward son”, drowned out the sounds of any conversations we were pretending to have.

I know it’s not politically correct but I’ll be honest with you. We were all drinking. We had picked up a case of tall boys and were proceeding to take the edge off the day. The car skipped like a stone over the dirt road, making it difficult for us to drink our beers without some spillage. Leaving a cloud of loose dirt and gravel in our wake we were on the hunt for adventure in the heartland. We were all city kids. None of us had ever really seen a farm. So with a fascination born of ignorance we gazed out the windows craning our necks catching glimpses of cows, barns and barbed wire fences as they whizzed by in a blur of reds, greens and golden hues.

Suddenly the brakes locked and the car slid sideways. Beer flew everywhere and I thought we were done for, but the trusty Datsun came to a stop in an upright position right in front of a large field. Our driver, the disreputable Mark “Jack” Hoff, was already out of the car and leaping over the wooden fence that ran the outer limits of the field. He was yelling something…it sounded like “hey guys look at the pig!”

We piled out of the car and with slurred words expressing confusion and exasperation we leaned on the fence and watched Mark as he turned and looked at us. He had a huge goofy smile on his face and he pointed out towards the middle of the field and in a voice that sounded childlike in it’s wonder he said, “look guys it’s a pig…lets take it back to the base and have a Bar B Q!” I can honestly say I was amazed that the normally lackluster Mark had come up with such a seemingly brilliant idea. The thought of roast pork made my mouth water. We looked at each other and trading evil and conspiratorial glances we hopped the fence and began to stalk the pig.

As we approached I began to realize that this was no small pig. This was a giant pig. If this pig had been a building it would have been designed by buckminster fuller…it was huge and domelike! And as we came closer the pig turned and for the first time looked at us. Although the pig began to growl, lower it’s head and paw the ground, and its immense proportions became clearer the closer we came, we continued forward…ever forward like moths to a flame.

Finally, we reached the center of the field. At this point I knew in my heart of hearts that we would never Bar B Q this swine. It was just way too huge…not something that you could kill with your bare hands…and we had no weapons. There we were in front of a giant pig with nothing to defend ourselves except for a couple of half-filled beer cans.

I gazed into the pig’s beady little eyes and I saw hunger, I looked into its mouth and realized for the first time in my life that pigs had teeth and I knew then and there why Dorothy had screamed when she fell into the pigsty at the beginning of the Wizard of Oz. We stood like zombies, albeit drunk zombies, waiting for the pig to make its move. At this point the pig held all the cards. I knew one of us would crack and sure enough Mark was the first. He whirled, screamed like a little girl and bolted across the field. To this day I remember the look on his face…his mouth formed into an ovoid, his brows arched like kukla…and his eyes pie shaped and panic-stricken. The rest of us scattered…running in different directions our hands up in the air all of us shouting expletives native to the various localities we were born to. I ran as fast as I could, like the company commander used to say, “all I want to see are assholes and elbows!” The pig was the size of a Volkswagen and ran like a horse. Fortunately we were just out of boot camp and in good physical condition so we were able to run the length of the field and leap the fence before the pig could catch and maul us.

The oft quoted line from Nietzsche “that which does not kill you only makes you stronger”, comes to mind. Certainly we were lucky that day. A lesser group of men would have ended that day fermenting in the belly of the leviathan. At least that’s what we told each other. And that in essence reflected the true value of this experience, for we told this tale again and again. And with each telling, the tale as well as the size of the pig grew…until it reached the legendary proportions that it enjoys today. And for the rest of our stay at Ft. Ben this story more often than not was worth a free beer and a good laugh.

The end

[cleofus1]

1. kinda wordy...

but i had to write it overnight...so it didn't get much rewrites..

[ellenfl]

3. great story!

i thought it was well-written, not wordy.

ellen fl

[whistle]

2. Are you sure that it wasn't a rhinoceros....

...I've seen some very large pigs in my day, but never one the size of a Volkswagen. That's a funny story.

[cleofus1]

4. thanks for the feedback

although it is a true story...i may have made liberty's on the exact size of the pig...just a little...

[oneighty]

5. Seems I commented on this story before.

Pigs will eat you if given a chance. I once had a large pig that was burned in a barn fire chase me. I escaped to the top of a car.

I was a volunteer fireman at the time. Scary

180. Ex Navy

[cleofus1]

6. yes you have

i posted it in the lounge under a pigs type post...
but since it is the only thing i have readily available...i thought i'd post it in this forum as well...

it does include the introduction and oneor two extra paragraphs!

so it is the directors cut!

[oneighty]

7. OK

I have several pig stories "My Brother-In-Law, Lord of the Pigs" being one. I lived around pig farms and such now and then. Big pigs are mean! I did a google just now-(domestic hogs attack humans).Interesting.

180

[cleofus1]

8. i would love to read the

lord of the pigs story

just the title cracks me up

[oneighty]

9. I borrowed the title from Lord of the Flies/Rings

I will dig it out and post the VERY true story which takes place on an island in South Carolina.

Later.

180

[Nikia]

10. Very descriptive

That really makes the characters experience with the pig come to life.

[cleofus1]

11. here's another slice of life from the past

I used to be a Band Geek. I'm not ashamed to admit it...In fact I'm proud. It was a hard row to hoe, that I will admit.

I remember in our freshmen year we sucked big time! The band went to a parade and scored like in the 60's...the judges told us to please not come back until we learned to play our instruments! Talk about humiliation!

Later that year during concert season we were practicing and we just couldn't get this one passage right...though we tried and tried. Finally Ms. Briant, our fearless band director, broke down and started crying. She didn't leave the conductors stand, she just sat there tears rolling down her pale cheeks, finally she said softly, "I have given up everything to be here...". She paused and began to regain her composure...she looked up her eyes red, mascara beginning to run...she spoke louder this time, "every day I give you guys everything I have...everything!....and all I ask is that you try your best too...I don't have any life but this band...I don't even have a family anymore...just you...just you!" She then left the podium and walked to her office.

Her outburst was so unexpected and so powerful. Personally I was moved beyond words. I glanced around the room and looked into the eyes of my fellow band mates and realized that the majority of us would probably have marched over the edge off a cliff for her. Maybe a core group of us understood that she wasn't there just to pick up a paycheck....she cared, and not just a little, she cared with all her heart.

That was 1972, by 1976 (our senior year) we were competing and winning..scoring consistently in the 90's and being praised by judges for our musicianship...And every step of the way, every evolution of our craft, every epiphany of musical life was guided by this wonderful lady. Every now and then I still break out the old b flat clarinet and toot out a few tunes. When I play I imagine myself once again, wearing white shoes and a big furry hat. I daydream about whistles piping out in the cold misty morning signaling me. I begin marching...and as the drums beat in syncopated rhythm I bring my clarinet to my mouth in a stylized ceremony and I begin to play.