It was the summer of 1972 and I was hanging out in east Stockton.  It was a Saturday night and word got around about a house party in Linden, a little farming town east of Stockton.  Gene said he was headed out there and since he knew where it was I grabbed a ride with him.  The party was actually at an old farm house outside of town surrounded by orchards.

When I got there I found that my sister had come out with a bunch of her girlfriends in my dad’s car.  My dad’s car was a 1967 Dodge Coronet and it was his pride and joy.   The Coronet was a hybrid where Dodge took a Charger chassis and stuck a Dart body on it.  It had a 318 hemi which delivered plenty of high end power while the lighter body made it agile and quick.  I would never say that our dad loved that car more than his own children, but I think it can be confidently said that at that point in time he liked it better than us.

I can’t say I remember much about the party itself.  They all kind of ran together back then.  There was a keg and all the girls there either had boyfriends or were friends of my sister.  We stumbled around getting buzzed in the dark in the mid-summer heat until late night turned to early morning and it was time to leave.  That is when things unfortunately got interesting.  This was the point of time at these parties where the alcohol took hold and the fights started.  I was standing in the yard when I saw my sister and her friends getting into the car to leave.  Just then I noticed Gene standing next to the car talking to some of the locals and it clearly wasn’t going well.  First clue of some real trouble was when one of then smacked Gene upside his head and knocked his glasses to the ground.  Gene’s reaction was to climb into the back seat and cower between two of the girls.

When the locals moved to go into the car after him I knew I had to act, so I stepped into the doorway to block their path.  I was immediately confronted by the leader of the mob, a tall lanky redneck with long blond hair and a serious heat on.  His response was to land a right hook to my jaw.  I stood my ground and he swung again.  As the second punch landed I saw the mob closing in, cutting off any chance of retreat.  So I charged him and took him to the ground.  I threw a front headlock on him and wrapped my legs around his torso in a scissors lock.  This drew the mob away from the car as they jumped on top of us, punching and kicking me as I squeezed harder, tightening around him like a python.  Pretty soon he’s calling to the mob to back off and let us up.  A truce was called long enough for me to get in the car and I climbed into the back seat as my sister started to back out of the driveway.

Suddenly the driver’s side window exploded and my sister lost it, screaming hysterically while covered with shards of glass.  Somehow in the confusion we managed to pull her out of the driver’s seat and Gene took the wheel.  He then proceeded to back out of the driveway at a high rate of speed and across the road into the orchard on the other side.  Turning the wrong way, he sped through the rows of trees without his glasses fumbling for the headlights.  He turned them on just in time to see the embankment of an irrigation ditch dead ahead.  Gene hit the brakes and we skidded on the loose soil until we softly nosed into the berm.  I got behind the wheel and got us back on the road and headed toward Stockton at 100 mph, the hot wind from the shattered window rushing loudly through the car.

As we approached Stockton we realized that one of the girls had been left behind, along with Gene’s car.  So when we got back to the house I grabbed an old derringer my brother had stashed in the linen closet and Gene and I headed back out in my car.  The gun was purely for show.  First, it wasn’t loaded and even if it has been two shots against a crowd of a dozen or more was clearly insufficient firepower.  Second it was such a piece of crap that if I had tried to fire it it likely would have blown up in my hand.  In hindsight a stupid play but I was young and high and jacked up on adrenaline.

When we got back out there the party had broken up and the place was dark and quiet.  We had no idea where the girl had gone but we located Gene’s car.  As he opened the door and the dome light came on we discovered the girl we were looking for in the back seat making out with the lanky redneck who I had fought a couple hours ago.  As he emerged from the car my hand instinctively tightened around the gun in my pocket, but much to my surprise he extended his hand and told me how much he respected me for not taking any cheap shots while we were on the ground.  So we shook hands and I headed back to town, the adrenaline wearing off and being replaced by pain.

I woke the next morning bloody and bruised, my whole body wracked with pain, but considering the odds it could have ended a whole lot worse.  Looking back I don’t know that I would handle it the same way, but I never again doubted that when called upon I would do what I had to do.