Not that James Hunt
Hunt was Bradley-educated and a native of Galesburg, Illinois.
Little Rock Jim and I sometimes treated ourselves to fresh strawberries and cream
at the Grady Manning Hotel. The cream was served in a silver urn sitting on a
bed of ice, and was so thick you had to spoon it onto the berries. The coffee
was especially good, too.
That (Grady Manning) was the same hotel another legendary coworker and friend chose as the site of one of his legendary episodes. Bob From The Bronx, New York, if I remember correctly. Summertime and the dressing is light. Bright white for Bob: pants, shirt, and white buck shoes. Boisterous Bob had a few beers in a nearby club. Walking the streets in search of a new perch, he felt the pressure of processed beer. He headed for the Grady Manning where he knew there were first-class facilities off the lobby.
Just outside the plate-glass doors Bob was distracted by some passing hiccup in the flow of events. He turned his head away from his path. That twist and his mild inebriety resulted in a stumble that took him through the hotel doors, without opening them. Crash. One door shattered. He sustained a small cut on one arm. Alcohol and heat-thinned blood flowed copiously into garish display on Bob's white raiment. His naturally pale skin grew ashen in contrast to the blood and his black hair and eyes.
Never one to lag in assessing a situation, Bob evaluated his wound and played it strong. "My God, I'm wounded! What kind of place is this? Such a dangerous place should be shut down! A public nuisance and a hazard!" He ranted and staggered and sprayed blood around, apparently to good effect: the hotel doctor emerged and escorted him out of public view, while the manager tried to seem unaffected.
Bob came out with a couple stitches and a generous cash contribution to his clothing allowance. For him it was easy. The rest of us agreed if we had run into someone's door we'd have ended up paying for it.
I been wanting
to tell this story. You know what they mean when they say you are "In the
Zone"? You are super-coordinated, worldly events slow down, you are completely
in charge of your actions, and your wish becomes crystal poignant reality? Sure,
you been there.
inspiration struck. I hit a slam so hard and straight no human reflex could defend
against it. It struck him within an inch of where I aimed it, just below the collarbone,
above the heart. In no time a red spot describing the compliance among adipose
and skin and celluloid appeared on Bob's chest.
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