Rumble in the Rental Yard

 

"The happy man inevitably confines himself within ancient limits." - Nathaniel Hawthorne

 

     This is a sad and shameful tale that was only told to Greg and not even discussed within the family. It involved an actual fist-fight between my Dad and an ignorant red-neck who worked at a rental yard in Paramount. This was during Christine's  equestrian days and she was serious enough to compete in horse shows with her arabian horse Narawna. My Mom was sent to this rental yard to get a horse trailer to be used in transporting the horse to a show. However, the dumb-ass who rented the trailer did not connect it properly and the jerry-rigged, half-assed job he fucked up created a dangerous possibility of the trailer getting loose from the hitch and causing a disastrous accident. The death or injury to the beloved horse would have been devastating. However, the principal danger would be to the towing vehicle which was my Mom's car where she and Chris were riding. The mere possibility of putting these two precious ones in harm's way caused BC to boil over in rage. He headed for the rental yard and the demanded to talk to the yahoo who was so careless he might have killed my Mom and sister. BC showed up highly steamed and when the greaseball fool refused to accept responsibility or to apologize the goal of my Father changed from heated words to the physical response of attempting to assault the unapologetic jerk. He tried to get him to step off the property (and liability) but that failed and then he attempted a misfired kick to the balls. He was hindered by the recently purchased, ungainly cowboy boots he was wearing for a horse show. The younger and more fit rental yard punk caught his leg and flipped the aggressor to the ground where he straddled my Dad and began punching down at the enraged ,reddening face. The knuckle-dragger had the upper-hand as BC sputtered and growled but could not get back on his feet or free his arms. Blood was flowing from a cut on the bridge of his nose and he gasped in frustration as his adversary occasionally punched him while demanding he surrender. I was a sophomore in High School and weighed maybe 115 lbs but I  was wearing some sturdy, hard wing-tips and thought for a minute about kicking the blue-collar bully in the head but I chickened out just before the cops arrived. The Old Man was in his mid-50's and the unapologetic dickhead was probably 30 so it was a match doomed from the start just on stamina alone. BC's best shot was the get the guy incapacitated by the pointed toe of his cowboy boot into the nards but he overestimated the height of his kick with the hindrance of his boot cut white levis so down he went.  The cops arrived promptly and BC had his story and the rental dope had his but in the end they just let them both go. The cop asked me if my Dad used any bad language and I answered in a positive way that I realized was the wrong play immediately. The ride home was agonizing as he bore his humiliation in silence and it was hard to ignore the gash in the old man's nose. He was 50 years old and hampered by a bronchial condition now called COPD that he carried most of his life after suffering severe pneumonia twice as a child in Missouri. The man had very little lung capacity and had no business fighting anyone, especially a man twenty years his junior in a street brawl. Knowing who BC's friends were around LA I would not doubt the trailer hitch guy got his comeuppance someway or another later on.