John
Doe
Hale
English
1301
Remembered
Event
September
23, 1991
Skinhead
As I write to you about violence in my life, I cringe and feel empty
inside. I think back to one year
ago. A couple of school friends and
I went to celebrate our senior year in high school.
My friend Clint suggested that we go to a place called the Gold Mine in
the French Quarter. Four other guys; Kevin, Jay, Patrick, and Chris all agreed
that it was an excellent idea.
In the car everyone was talking about how they were going to get all of
the babes in the Gold Mine. I knew
that once we started talking about girls my friend Patrick would be made fun of.
Bill had lost his girlfriend to another kid in our neighborhood that we
all were not on good terms with. I
can still remember Chris saying, "Hey Pat, I think you have no problem
picking up someone its just keeping them that screws you up".
Chris had been considered a hero by our group because he managed to pull
in some interesting girls. One
night he was even talking to the Hawaiian Tropic lady who had been on vacation
in New Orleans. Chris would always
be willing to approach any girl. We
all thought it must have been his looks because it was definitely not his brain.
In Six Flags he was lost so he went to the lost and found thinking we
would go looking for him there.
Clint had left a girlfriend behind and decided that he would remain
faithful to her. Clint was truly
one of the only people I knew would like someone enough not to cheat on her.
Hector was a nice guy who we all adopted into our little family.
He didn't talk very much but when he did we all listened to him. Jay was so shy that we all had to practically drag him in to
the bar. Jay would never even think
of approaching a girl and talking to her.
Considering
all of these things we still boasted of how we would bring in the ladies.
After we parked the orange bomb that Hector called a car, we proceeded to
the Gold Mine. We entered the Mine
with no problems and I looked up the guy playing the music.
I asked him to play some songs that I thought would get things fired up.
Then I bought a couple of shots.
As
I felt the Jagermeister numbing my throat, I took a look around.
A couple of pool tables next to a wooden floor had people slamming into
one another. A bar that had no
seats available had stretched the whole place.
The Mine had a wooden wheel with a plastic arrow on it.
When the bartender would spin the wheel, it would say things like quarter
draft, dollar shot, free mixed drink, or three dollar pitcher.
As Jay, Chris and I sat down drinking our dollar shots, we noticed about
10 people known as skinheads. All
of these Skinheads were no good. They
were mean, had shaved heads and wore army boots all the time.
All of these skinheads loved to start trouble, preach the word of Hitler,
and show how they felt about blacks through violence.
Instantly, they started picking on a couple of black guys who were doing
nothing but drinking their dollar shots.
I
saw the two black men leave the bar to avoid trouble from the skinheads.
The skinheads waited for a while inside the bar but then left.
I knew in my heart that I should have said something to the cop outside
but I didn't. I just knew that
there was going to be big trouble. I
kept drinking and even participated in a little slam-dancing with my friends.
When it was about time to leave I had forgotten all about the skinheads.
I left the Gold Mine and right down the street was the most terrifying
thing imaginable. Surrounding
Hector's orange car was five cops. There
was one arrested skinhead in the back of a police car not cooperating with his
right to remain silent. On the hood
of the car was two smashed black guys who both appeared to be dead.
They were completely covered in drying blood.
I was crushed to see the two men with bashed in faces and ripped clothes.
I would imagine that every bone in their bodies was broken.
I went pale as the paramedics told the cops that they wouldn't make it.
As they were taken off in the ambulance, I felt as if it were my fault.
As if I completely pulverized those two men who were drinking dollar
shots a short while before their death.
It
was the most violent night in my life.
Not
because of what I did but of what I could have done.
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