DEL TINGLEY
Marine Corps Air Station
Beaufort, South Carolina
It was a beautiful fall morning in Beaufort, South Carolina. My roommate, Sqig, and I decided we’d spend this particular Saturday doing house and yard work around our “palatial” double-wide rented trailer. I knew this would be my last chance to help for a while because I’d be leaving the next morning for 30 days at Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada. Nellis is on the outskirts of Las Vegas, and it just wouldn’t feel right to leave all the chores to Sqig while I was sipping on a rum and Coke at a blackjack table.
We started our inside cleaning about 9 a.m., opening a case of beer and cracking our first cold ones about five minutes later. Being young, single Marine sergeants, this was our established house chore SOP. By 11 a.m., we’d finished cleaning the bathrooms, dusting, picking up and vacuuming. We’d also finished off at least a 12 pack. It was time to move outside.
Sqig started mowing the lawn and I began edging and trimming. I finished first, took a beer break and then started raking. Sqig finished mowing and started bagging after his beer break. After much effort and taking enough beer breaks to polish off the case, we finished the yard work. By then, it was about 4 p.m. and a few friends showed up. They were so impressed with our yard skills that they offered to share their bottle of bourbon with us. We accepted and the five of us sat on the porch passing the bottle and talking.
By 6 p.m., we’d emptied the bottle and one of our friends suggested we go to a local club. Sqig and I were up for it. After all, seven hours of work while drinking a case of beer, followed by two hours of drinking bourbon — all on empty stomachs — shouldn’t stop us. I took a shower and was getting ready to go when I remembered I was supposed to leave in the morning. I told the guys to go ahead and I’d catch up with them after I got packed.
I went back in and started pressing my “cammies.” I recall eating a sandwich in the kitchen, but the next thing I remembered was my alarm going off. A little confused, I turned off the alarm and looked around the room. I saw my neatly pressed cammies hanging on the doorknob and my seabag packed next to the dresser. I shrugged it off and got ready to go.
As I shouldered my bag, I knocked on Sqig’s door and told him I was ready for my ride to the air station. I walked out to his truck, threw my bag in the back and then turned to walk back to the trailer. That’s when I saw it — the driver’s side of my car was scratched from bumper to bumper and covered with yellow paint.
I freaked out! I ran back in screaming, “Sqig, what happened to my car?” He said he had no idea what I was talking about. When I described the condition of the driver’s side, he said, “That must be what you were talking about last night.”
Apparently, I did make it to the club. Sqig informed me when I showed up I was slurring something about not being able to open my door. He had another friend drive me home in my car. I had to catch a C-141 to Nevada, so I didn’t have time to solve the mystery. Sqig said he’d find out what happened.
The next afternoon, I called Sqig and he told me he’d figured it all out. He’d retraced the route we normally took to the club, which was mostly on two-lane back roads. It seems on a particularly sharp right-hand curve I’d crossed the oncoming lane and gone off the road. It was there I’d sideswiped a yellow-painted metal barrier pole in front of a fire hydrant.
As he told me what happened, I realized if I’d been a few more inches to the left, my life would’ve been a lot different. I’d have been charged with DUI and missing movement. Also, I could’ve been injured or killed because I don’t remember wearing my seat belt. Worse still, I could’ve hit another car and killed or injured someone else. I was lucky to have only done about $1,000 worth of damage to my car. That was a small price to pay to learn a lesson from an event I don’t even remember.
That was more than 20 years ago and I still live in Beaufort. The corner, post and fire hydrant are all still there too. I’ve pointed out the post, which is still canted at an odd angle and missing yellow paint on one side, to several friends and my children. I hope they learn from my mistake. I did.