There's Nobody Like the Skipper

The Skipper and Spammy Davis Jr.




"Ooh, ... I wonder if we Google it, we'd be able to find out how many people have been run over by one."

It's my pal. the Skipper, on the blower from Boston. He's amazing with stuff like this. I've just told him about a story in the paper with a dateline somewhere in Idaho where a couple of clowns managed to horse a Zamboni through a Burger King drive-through.

Yes, a Zamboni! You know...those steamroller looking contraptions that are used to smooth out the ice at hockey rinks. Only the Skipper would ponder the history of their involvement in pedestrian flattenings. He's sort of a savant in all things normal folks regard as "out there".

Dave Erickson, the good Skipper, and I have been pals since entering the eighth grade in Spencer, Iowa. I was the new kid from Michigan who, like Dave, chose to sit in the VERY back of every classroom. I knew we were destined for life-long paldom when, on the first day of school, he quietly cracked open a hollowed out Biology book which revealed a treasure trove of Cracker Jack. GENIUS!

The next day it was sardines with saltines. The kid was an inspiration.
Later I learned that his nickname was "Fizzy". This appellation having been earned by an attempt to surreptitiously consume soda through a tube connected to his study hall locker during the previous year. It seems that the pop exploded when Dave was sent flying courtesy of a back-handed whack from study hall monitor Coach Arvin Bomgarrs. This was the stuff of legends.

Over the ensuing years the Skipper and I have continued to stay connected even as we were miles apart. While I knocked around the country living the life of an itinerant radio disk jockey, Dave went to the Massachusetts Maritime Academy, (more commonly know as: Buzzards Bay Bait & Tackle Tech), and became one of the youngest captains in the U.S. Merchant Marine; thus, the Skipper moniker.

The Skipper spent the better part of four decades keeping oil tankers and gigantic coal boats from going aground and their owners off the shoals of bankruptcy by keeping a steady hand on the tiller of the USS Chill Bar (my favorite of the lot) and others. A couple of years back, after tiring of constant sea duty, he became a "barge pimp" by becoming the owner of New England Harbor Services. I'm not completely certain what this company does but his wife, Betty, says that he seems to be spending more time around the house lately.

In the last forty-five years the Skipper and I have shared tall tales, cigars, too much whiskey, (in my case way too much) and most importantly...lots of laughs. Everybody deserves to have somebody in their life who "GETS" them. I'm glad I have the Skipper.

Now...let's see what Google has to say about how many chumps have been mushed by a Zamboni...