The Tales of Abrasive Vietnamese Dude and Louisiana Tom...or...
"Shit Happens Don't Ya Know!"
by joshua kaplan, 2015
Prologue:
Clark Park was a sanctuary to me. A relatively safe, sane place to be alive and not alone. This was of great importance to everyone of us forced to endure the dangers ever present in areas of dense population and little space to support it. West Philly has pockets that are...unsafe; as indicated by simple food markets whose every portal must necessarily be secured with iron and steel of dutiful thickness. Clark Park was located only blocks away from one of these seething areas, so it was inevitable that violence would find us there.
My first personal experience with this, violence in Clark Park, has really little to do with this story but will help illustrate what I'm saying...
I was 7 years old. My family lived in a small apartment only a mile or so away from the park, and my Dad used to take me there in winter to sled down the hills, enormous to a small boy, of the natural bowl. Additionally, my school chum Smokey lived only a block away himself, so on one particular occasion, my Dad, who was great friends with Smokey's parents, hung out at their house while Smokey and me played in the park.
We were having a snowball fight, just the two of us; laughing, running, romping, and gamboling excitedly as we too soon forget how to do when we grow up, when another small boy of similar age approached us.
I immediately stopped. He was only a boy, after all, but his face was masked with anger. Looking back, i suppose he had probably taken the brunt of another kid's aggression, but all i could feel then was a creeping fear. somehow i knew that this river of rage was flowing in my direction, and i wasn't wrong.
He walked toward me with a snowball in his hand, and without pause rammed it, using his palm, straight into my face, flattening my nose and drenching my cold-numbed facade with ice particles and slush.
I staggered back a step and stared in horror.
He then said, "oh...you have snow on your face...let me clean it off..." and smacked me as hard as he could across my left cheek.
I ran like Forrest Gump only wished he could, wailing the whole way.
***
The Short Tale of Abrasive Vietnamese Dude
Volleyball in the park was always a party, as I've indicated before, and who doesn't love a party? There was never a shortage of regulars or new faces when the nets went up, and often, it wasn't the social aspects that attracted newbies; it was the volleyball. Players of all ages and competitive levels; high school, college, and international, would swagger in to showcase their skills. Abrasive Vietnamese Dude was surely one of these.
He sauntered up across the net from me one day, grinning and responding to greeting in thickly accented single words. He was smaller than me by at least a couple of inches (I'm only 5'8) so i made a mental note to not embarrass him too much.
Ball went in play and it's carom brought it right between us just to his side of the net. I went up with utter confidence. I came down wondering how that little mother-fucker got up high enough, fast enough to literally explode the ball right between my hands.
Then he started chuckling.
I appended the earlier mental note by removing the seal protecting him from my full-on volleyball awesomeness.
Next time would be different.
It wasn't. lol. little fucker did it to me again; same deal...he powered the ball right through me.
...and chuckled, in my face. The interesting thing about mocking laughter is it's the same in every language, every accent, and there's no mistaking it.
aaarrrrggggghhhhh!!!
two more plays occurred between us.
The first, i had a chance to even our personal score with a spike of my own...he stuffed it sweet as candy...and chuckled at me, again, for the third and last time.
I am not a violent man. matter of fact, i cannot even bring myself to watch videos of people being hurt, even supposedly funny ones, let alone be the cause of damage to someone. That being said, this guys repeated dominance of me and overt subsequent mocking brought out some ugly in me. I was now seeing red, and there was nothing in the world at that point that mattered to me other than shutting his chuckling pie hole.
The last play he was ever involved in at Clark Park volleyball was an exercise in the surreal.
The previous game, whereas he so thoroughly schooled me, had ended, so the teams switched sides. He was now in the middle of the front row, and i was at the right point at net. To his left, across from me, was I-Hate-Turks-Tony, who was 6'3" of bad attitude, and to his right was China Grove and his 300 plus pounds. I mention this because the size of his surrounding mates must surely have affected what happened next.
The ball lofted toward the center of the court, right at the net, and all i could think of was to literally try to crush the ball in AVD's face.
We all went up together, Tony, Grover, AVD, myself and one other to my left (whom i am not getting a clear image of in my mind. frustrating) all converged mid leap...
mid leap.
while we were all in the air.
everyone heard it.
SNAP!
Four of us landed on our feet, one landed on his back. guess who?
He was staring at the sky, both hands to his head, with a look that had to be shock.
I'd be shocked too if my tibia broke while i was 2 feet in the air.
To this day i cannot see how, even with the size of the men around him, a grown man, even a small one, breaks his leg mid jump.
the craziest part, though, is a tiny little voice that says i did it.
***
Louisiana Tom
If you ever walk with me and we just happen to run into Louisiana Tom, he will say this to you maybe before he knows your name...
"This man saved my life!"
Then he'll wrap his arms around me and lift me in the air with a giant bear hug. still makes me teary to think about it...not so much the saving part, but the fact that it meant so much to him. All i did was drive.
It was a day like any other that summer, hot and humid, and no one cared. We had lots of beer, bob marley, munchies and a volleyball. Court ropes were measured and secured with tent spikes and everyone was there; players and hangers. Everyone was partying, sweating, showing off, laughing and flirting; having a great time in general, or so it seemed. Then i noticed an argument going on that was attracting a lot of attention. There were at least 100 people there that day, big crowd, so it wasn't always apparent when something was happening that required attention.
I walked over to investigate and saw two of our regulars, Jan the beard and Brian drums, being subjected to some level of aggressive verbal abuse by two young men, one tall and thin, the other smaller with a scarred face, and they had a certain demeanor that is unmistakable if you grow up in the city...they meant ill to the world. or at the very least, to our peaceful, bohemian gathering.
Apparently, they had tried bullying someone into giving them beer, and when they politely refused, the pair helped themselves.
As i approached the growing row, a couple other folks joined me as we made a semi-circle around the pair of vitriol spewing miscreants, and taking the hint and the highroad, they proceeded to make their way out of the park.
As they were leaving, Louisiana Tom somehow diverted his attention from his beer and girlfriend, and noticed what was happening.
Tom was older than the rest of us that partied together and was one of those old-heads that you meet that has a reputation for being a badass. Story was that he was a black belt of some martial discipline, and had served in Vietnam as well, which enhanced his already rough and tumble demeanor; leather jacket, tattoos, biker, crazy ass, drinking yahoo. He also looked just like the Green Arrow (comic book, not tv, and it surprises me that i don't have a drawing of him somewhere, as his face is clear in my mind).
Tom had been drinking for a while that day and was feeling really good, right up til he got wind that our two hostile visitors had stolen a couple beers from someone. He immediately became the sword of justice and vengeance of Clark Park and started toward the two, yelling threats as they left.
They yelled back.
Tom immediately launched himself in their direction, at which point i hastened between.
"They're leaving Tom. Let it go." I said, holding him back.
He just wouldn't. Couldn't. For the next several moments i held him at bay, which was a physically demanding chore. It also irritated me that he wanted to go after them and propagate more bullshit. Finally, i got tired of fighting with him to keep him from fighting, so i said, "fuck it." and let him go.
I thought that he would just get close enough to keep yelling, but he had other plans. He ran at them full speed, these two clearly criminal douches, and i let him.
it was my fault.
i could have sucked it up and played his nursemaid for the minute or two it would take the assholes to leave, but i didn't.
I watched helplessly from 50 yards away as he drunkenly launched himself into a flying drop kick, missing his target and hurtling straight into a large oak tree.
I watched helplessly as the smaller of the two made contact with him while he was trying to get up, and then walked hurriedly away.
i watched helplessly as Tom got up, walked back to where i was standing, and dropped to his knees at my feet.
"They got me." he said, right before he crumbled.
Tom had been stabbed 3 times in his upper body.
and it was my fault. i could have stopped it.
In the resulting hysteria, somehow i knew what to do. I ran again through Clark Park like Forrest Gump, just like i did when i was 7, but this time i wasn't crying. I ran to my Dad's honda civic which i had borrowed, and drove back through the park at breakneck speed to the scene. We lifted Tom into the front passenger seat, bleeding and clearly in great pain, just as a young police officer showed up.
Here's where it gets just a little more weird.
The officer, instead of insisting that we wait for an emergency vehicle, looked at me through the window and said, "What do you want to do?"
I stared blankly at him, confused, but only for a second.
"He's already in...Lets go." He knew just what i meant. "VA hospital."
"Follow me," he said. "I'll get you through the lights."
What happened next was like a 70s cop show. He drove his cruiser tearing ass through the park, over bushes and sidewalk and around benches and i was right on his bumper.
Every bump and turn, and there were a lot of bumps and turns, Tom groaned in agony.
"Watch the bumps...please..." He howled in pain.
"Shut up, Tom." I said impatiently. "...and don't die in my Dad's car."
I was incensed that he hadn't listened to me; i was pissed that he was bleeding all over my Dad's car and i could only imagine what i was gonna hear over that; but mostly i was raging at my own selfishness and failure because it was my fault.
We ran 20 red lights (just like The Stones song), drove up on the sidewalk like maniacs, and pretty much all that dukes of hazzard shit except flying over a creek, and when we finally arrived at the emergency room, i leaped out of my car and yelled at the emergency staff, "We need a gurney, NOW! Stabbing victim!"
After we got him on the gurney and in and the doctors performed the initial exam, it was declared that Tom had a twice punctured and collapsed lung, and for the next hour his girlfriend and i listened to his moans of utter dismay while they quickly operated on him in the emergency room to drain and expand that lung.
"Is he going to die?" She cried to me.
"No." I said, with absolute assurance. Somehow i knew. Even though i told him not to die in my dad's car, i never once even considered the possibility.
and he didn't. :)
(as for my part, I picture James Cromwell looking at me and saying, "that'll do pig, that'll do.").
-end
Epilogue:
After this crisis, whenever i saw him away from volleyball, Tom would wrap his arm around my dome in a headlock of love and launch into the story of how i saved his life to anyone who would listen.
The thing i remember about Tom with the most fondness is how he would sum up untoward things like this event...
He'd look at me straight in the eye, with a grin that betrayed a nice buzz and stretched from one side of his Green Arrow face to the other, and chirp musically with his Creole tang, "well josh, shit happens don't ya know!"
Miss you Tom, you crazy fuck.
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