My Encounter with Bigfoot...

No, I'm not off my rocker - at least not completely.

Please bear with me as I relate the facts of my case:

It was the winter of 1983 and I was stationed with the U.S. Coast Guard in Owensboro, Kentucky. Yes, there are "Coasties" in Kentucky - the Coast Guard is responsible for the Ohio River that runs along the northern border of the state.

Anyway, like I was saying. It was winter and we had been having some very heavy snowfalls that year. I was manning the radio room at the Coast Guard station and since it was night time, I was there all by myself. The rest of the station was manned during normal working hours only but the radio room had to be operated 24 hours a day.

Lucky me.

It was around 2 a.m., I was real tired and so had gotten up to walk around the room and to do some stretches. Falling asleep on watch was not an option for me, that is - unless I wanted to get carted off to a military prison!

Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement outside one of the windows and so I quickly turned my head to see what it was - but nothing was there. Whatever it was though, it stuck in my brain as being very, very large.

A few seconds later I heard the sound of someone or some thing beating on the door at the back of the building. I looked outside into the parking lot and could not see any other vehicles there but mine. The station was at the very end of a road, sat near the banks of the river, and the only other thing close by was a fuel depot across the street, but a quick glance in that direction told me that nothing was going on over there.

I left the radio room and headed for the back of the building. Just as I entered the break room (where the back door was located), I caught a glimpse of a very, very large figure moving away from the door. There was a window in the door and so it allowed me to see what was on the other side. Besides being quite large, I noticed quite nervously that it was covered with hair!

I remember just standing there in shock. Thoughts of Bigfoot immediately entered my mind - although up until that time, I had always thought Bigfoot was just a figment of crazy people's imaginations.

I turned and slowly headed back toward the radio room at the front of the building. As I made my way back, I'd stop and carefully peak out some of the windows but I could not detect any movement.

Then the thought crossed my mind as to whether or not I had remembered to lock the front door when I came in for duty. I figured right then that I'd better check that door. The front door also had a big glass window in it, so I cautiously peered through it to see if anyone or anything was around it before I got any closer to it. I saw no people and no monsters. I quickly moved for the door and out of instinct, instead of just making sure the deadbolt was engaged, I grabbed the doorknob, twisted it and gave a slight push to the front door.

What happened next was terrifying. In what seemed like instant, the big hairy creature came running for the door, grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door wide open. I backed up so fast that I almost fell over a desk that was just inside the front room. No scream left my mouth though - I was proud of myself for that.

Suddenly the hairy beast was apologizing to me profusely.

My mind was reeling, but slowly it dawned on me what was going on. The "beast" was in fact a very large man wearing a hooded parka - you know, the kind the Eskimos wear up in Alaska. He then explained to me that he was a fuel truck driver who's rig had gotten stuck in a snow bank a few blocks away. He had walked down to the fuel depot but nobody was there, and after seeing the lights on at the Coast Station, had decided to seek assistance there.

The man could tell that he had scared the crap out of me. He kept apologizing. I thanked him though. And for what you might ask? I thanked him for getting my adrenaline pumping to the point that I would not have to worry about trying to stay awake anymore that night.

He understood completely.

Before the Internet there was Citizen's Band Radio!

Currently, the Internet is THE thing man.

I mean you can't read a newspaper, or watch television, or listen to the radio without the Internet being mentioned. Well, back in the mid-1970's, that is how it was with CB Radio.

For $50 bucks, one could put a CB radio in their home or car and instantly be communicating with others in their community. And, just like the Internet, there was some degree of anonymity involved. People didn't use their real names over the radio, they used "handles". A handle was some catchy self-descriptive name that people gave themselves. Mine, well - it was "Beach Baron" - "Beach Bum" had long been taken (by several other guys) so I had to find something else. Having an interest in small airplanes such as the "Beech Baron" and a love for the beach, "Beach Baron" just seemed to fit just right.

I started out with a CB radio in my car but eventually talked my father into purchasing one for our house. Naturally after that, my father put a CB in his truck. We were a full blown CB family after that! I met a lot of very nice people over the CB. After talking to folks for a few months, we'd end up meeting face-to-face. I actually dated a couple of girls that I met on the CB and established a few really good friendships with other guys my age.

I joined the local CB club and met even more nice people. We'd have cook-outs, transmitter hunts, help look for lost children, etc.

There was one aspect of a CB radio that most folks never gave much thought to and that was the built in public address system contained in almost every radio on the market. All one had to do was mount a P.A. speaker under the hood of their car and then run a wire from it to the back of their CB radio (it simply plugged in). After that, it was simply a matter of flipping a switch on the front of the CB and you could blast out announcements and such from your car.

Do you remember Steve, the fella' I wrote about in the past? Well, Steve and I had hours and hours of enjoyment with our portable P.A. systems. The first practical joke that we played with our units was that whenever we'd come to a stop light - especially in the summer when most folks had their car windows down, one of us (according to who was riding in the car and not driving at the time) would grab the CB microphone and announce something along the lines of:

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. You are experiencing the world's first talking traffic light. This is a U.S. Government experiment and we would appreciate your cooperation. When the light turns green, you may proceed with caution through the intersection."

People would be freaking out. They'd be straining their necks trying to figure out where the talking voice was coming from. Some folks got out of their cars and looked around. Of course, if I was driving my car, Steve was laying on the back seat with the microphone in his hand an no one could see him. I'd be busy pretending to look around the area myself so that no none would get suspicious.

Steve and I must have played that joke on thousands of people all over Ft. Walton Beach, Destin, and Niceville, Florida.

Another joke that we liked to play on our fellow teenagers was that we would drive to a city park late at night, a park that had a small beach just below a sea wall. That location was a VERY popular location for teens to go and make-out. Steve and I would slowly drive one of our cars into the parking lot (the headlights would be off of course) and then one of us would yell over the P.A. speaker something like "I'm looking for my daughter and if I find the guy that is with her I'm gonna' kill him!"

You should have heard the screams and then seen the teenagers practically climbing over each other to get to their cars and out of that park!

I know, we were mean. It was harmless fun though. Steve and I didn't do drugs, smoke cigarettes, drink alcohol, or commit any crimes. We were only guilty of being practical jokers!

The flying car....

Back in the mid-70's when I was in high school, I had a best friend named Steve.

Steve was pretty wild and was always looking for some adrenaline pumping action. I on the other hand was very cautious and reserved. Somehow we successfully complimented each other.

I'd sometimes be able to convince him that something he was about to do was just too darn dangerous and at the last minute he'd not do that thing, and then he'd thank me later after realizing just how stupid that "thing" was he was going to do.


I benefited because Steve always encouraged me to step out of my safety zone and to try new things. He taught me how to fish for sharks, to water-ski, to ski down really tall sand dunes, and to drive cars and boats real fast.


I never had a difficult time getting dates while Steve and I were best friends. Steve was very tall and very handsome, the girls just feel at his feet. In fact, there were so many falling at his feet daily that I got to pick from the excess. A pretty girl would go out with an average looking guy like me just so she could be around Steve. I didn't care, I wasn't looking for "Mrs. Right" at the time anyway and the confidence building that it did for me was a real plus. It was also real cool when all the other average guys like me looked on in awe whenever they saw me with an extremely pretty girl on my arm.


One afternoon Steve called me and told me that he had arranged for the two of us to have dates that night. That we were taking three lovely girls bowling at the local Air Force Base, it was a nice alley and Steve and I were both military dependents at the time, so we had base I.D. cards.


A few hours later, I drove over to Steve's house, dropped off my car and off we went in his souped up 1973 Mustang Mach I. Steve's car was one of the coolest I'd ever been in or driven, I liked it just a little more than I did my 1969 Camaro. Anyway, Steve, with me in tow - drove around and picked up the three girls for our bowling date. Our few hours at the bowling alley were okay, but nothing special. I could detect that Steve was pretty bored and was anxious to do something crazy.


As he drove all of us across the base and headed toward town he suddenly took a quick turn and told me that he was going to take a shortcut. Immediately, I knew something fishy was up.


"Steve, doesn't this road lead to the flight line?"


"Yeah."


"So, why are we heading somewhere that's off limits?"


"So we can fly."


"Fly?" I asked nervously.


The girls in the back seat were very quiet.


"Don't you remember I told you about how the flight line is much higher in elevation than this road - and it's like going up a ramp as you reach the runway?"


"Well, sorta'."


"Well, I think if we go fast enough, I can launch Mustang in the air."


"Hmm, I don't know..."


"What about you girls, do you want to fly?"


I was taken by surprise, the girls all responded positively. I had expected (or hoped) that they would have talked Steve out of his crazy idea!


Steve suddenly pressed the accelerator to the floor. The Mustang's engine kicked in full and we were all thrown back in our seats. I could see the road raise slowly toward the runway. In a matter of seconds we were truly airborne. What seemed like minutes was probably a whole 2 or 3 seconds but no matter, we were gracefully in the air.


There was nothing about our landing that was graceful though.


Steve hadn't give much consideration to the extra weight of the three girls in the back seat. He had also forgotten about the 4 bowling balls in the trunk!


When we hit the ground, the air shocks in the back of Steve's car immediately blew out. When we came to a stop, the back of the Mustang was laying right on top of the back tires. Whenever Steve tried to drive the car forward it made a horrible noise and we could only imagine all of the rubber being scrapped off of the tires.


So there we were, five teenagers sitting in a busted car, on a military runway which was totally off limits. I was starting to get just a little worried. Steve just looked over and smiled at me like the "Chesser Cat".


"What?" I asked.


"I know what to do."


"Yeah, walk somewhere, borrow a telephone, and call base security."


"No way. I'm not having them call my dad - again!"


And you know. We did make it off the base that night without getting into any trouble. It was a miracle - but we did it.


Can you imagine the looks on the faces of the drivers of the few cars we encountered as we left the base that night and headed for Steve's house and my car. What they saw was Steve and I sitting on the front part of the hood of the Mustang and holding on for dear life. The three girls were sitting in the two front bucket seats with the blowling balls piled on the front passenger floor. By shifting all that weight toward the front of the car, we were able to lift the back of the car up just enough so as to not drag on the tires.


Fortunately for us, cellular telephones didn't exist back then and so nobody was able to call the police on us. Since Steve only lived a few miles from the base, we were able to get to his house quickly before being detected by law enforcement.


I have no idea what Steve told his dad about the car and the damage inflicted on it. I left him to deal with that issue so that I could take the girls home. Everyone seemed to have had a good time that night - except me. I had been afraid that we'd never see those girls again.

My fears were without merit.

Fast Company...

Fast Company magazine is all about business and technology. It covers breaking news, new trends, and also has articles about people using technology to overcome obstacles.

Every year, the magazine takes submissions from folks who feel that technology has greatly improved their lives. At the end of the submission process, 50 people are chosen as the "Fast 50" for that year.

In 2004, after being prodded to do so by some of my well meaning friends, I finally relinquished and made a half-hearted submission online. Of course, I never expected anything to ever come of it, I mean - there must of been thousands upon thousands of folks from all over the country making submissions at the same time right?

Needless to say, I didn't make it into the top 50 that year.

But I did make it as a runner up. That put me into the top 100 of all the other submissions that year. I was terrifically and pleasantly surprised. You can click here to visit the Fast 50 Web page that contains my submission.

Life Circling...

Have you visited Classmates.com recently?

They have added much more than just the ability to locate past classmates from high school. Now one can locate former college buddies, military members, and former co-workers. A while back, while typing in the information on my former U.S. Coast Guard duty stations, I was presented with a listing of names of individuals who were stationed at the Alameda (California) Recruit Training Center – otherwise known as “boot camp”- during the late 1970's.

One of the names that appeared on that list seemed to just jump right off of the page. The name was Terry Dowdy, he had been my Company Commander during the nine weeks I spent at Alameda. Being a Company Commander meant that Terry was in charge of all of the drill instructors in my company. He was the big cheese, when he walked into any area that we troops just happened to be located in – we all had to drop down and do 50 push-ups. I reckon’ we must have done about 500 of them suckers every day.

Terry was unlike most of the “D.I.s” under him though – he was quiet and calm, the instructors, well – let’s just say, they were like walking activated fire alarms - noisy, abrasive, and unrelenting. When I arrived at boot camp, I was involuntarily separated from my original company of recruits and placed into “Oscar” company. “Oscar” company was the official drill team, members marched in formation, and performed intricate routines with massively heavy rifles (M-1s from World War II) – and, they had big sharp bayonets on the end of them.

I had absolutely no desire whatsoever to be on the drill team, I wasn’t happy. My goal for boot camp, was to keep a low profile, not volunteer for anything, and to just survive. Because I was so unhappy about my assignment, I got up the nerve to approach Chief Dowdy – I couldn't believe it, he was actually approachable. He listened to my opinions, and without yelling and screaming at me, or demeaning me – he made me an offer. “You participate in the first gig, and if you don’t like it – you can go back to your original company, and you won’t be harassed about it”.

I thought that was a very fair offer.

Needless to say, the first performance was inside San Francisco City Hall, the taps on our shoes sounded awesome on those marble floors, and we impressed the heck out of the visiting Prime Minister of India, all the while having our performance broadcast on live television. Needless to say, I remained with “Oscar” company. We performed 21 times in my nine weeks of boot camp, winning first place in 19 of those competitions.

We traveled all up and down the west coast, performed in the Kingdome before a Seattle Mariners baseball came, performed in front of 50,000 people at Sea Fair in downtown Seattle, and got to perform on the streets of Vancouver British Columbia.

Most folks, when they think back to boot camp, have relatively bad memories of it. Me – it was one of the most exciting times in my entire life, and I have Terry Dowdy to thank for that. Occasionally, we have folks that come into our lives for just very brief periods of time, and then they are gone. Most of us, never consider the possibility of ever being able to articulate to them, our sincere appreciation.

Well, I succeeded in doing just that awhile back. I located Terry using Google, called him up, and expressed my thoughts to him. He’s now living in Fairbanks, Alaska – which is quite a coincidence, considering that is where my family and I lived when I was a child.

Sometimes life actually does come full-circle, we just have to notice it when it happens.