Intrepid Swashbunglers

Here's another edit and reprint of a blog post from my old blog, Ted's Café.  Thanks for reading!

It’s winter here at the Café. The fire’s crackling in the big, stone fireplace. The smell of French toast, coffee and sausages waft out of the kitchen and wrap you in a soothing fragrance that triggers old memories; memories of Grandma’s house and Christmas, childhood and lazy Saturdays. Cozy up with a nice mug of hot chocolate and take in this tale of youthful idiocy as we go back to Columbus, Ohio. Back to my early teens…

***

Back in the day; that is, back in the 1980s, if you were really cool you played Dungeons and Dragons. All the hot chicks dug the guys with glasses and braces that carried Monster Manuals around with them at school; chattering excitedly with their friends about Wizards, Hobgoblins, modules and hit points. All the ladies would shove the buff jocks out of their way in a frantic effort to be the first girl to meet the Dungeon Master as he emerged from science class; carrying his books and calculator for him as he strutted down the hall, a nubile young coed under each arm.

Maybe my memory is cloudy; it may not have been like that.

Okay, I admit, I was a total nerd; long before it was cool. No girl would have even considered coming near me unless it was to use me as a human shield during a robbery. And even then she might have thought twice. Better to die alone than to be found lying anywhere near a pudgy, glasses wearing dork with a retainer.

I really liked the game though; Dungeons and Dragons. I could be anyone I wanted to be: masculine, tough, roguish; a hero who gets the treasure and busts some heads in the process. In the world of fantasy I could be everything I wasn’t in reality. Plus it was fun; we liked to be silly and have a good time laughing more than anything else, so a good portion of our playing time was simply spent making wise cracks. I played with a few different guys, but my friend Joel and I played together the most. Joel and I also liked spending time outdoors in the woods of Ohio, reading the Lord of the Rings and talking about hot topics of the 1980s like: being prepared in the event of nuclear attack. The Cold War and Duck and Cover had had an impact on us and we actually thought it was possible to wipe fallout off of our canned food and survive to rebuild civilization. I think I planned on playing D&D in my fallout shelter for 57 years until it was safe to go out. The chicks would want me then. When they saw that I had been smart enough to store food in a shelter they would all flock to me; overlooking the missing teeth and patchy hair due to radiation poisoning. Hey, if they can overlook those things for some old geezer’s money, why not for a place in my fallout shelter?

One winter, Joel and I got up our nerve and decided to explore a storm sewer near the bowling alley that would eventually become our main hangout; the Columbus Square Bowling Palace. I see the irony looking back- we were planning on venturing into the catacombs under the Palace. So like boys with big imaginations, we approached the situation as if it were a dungeon adventure, taking his bow and arrows, torches, backpacks and a large club; just in case. You never knew when you just might stumble upon an Orc. Or worse: the drunken bums and kidnappers our mothers had warned us about.

We donned our coats and packs, grabbed our weapons and headed out, ready for adventure. We trekked through the fresh snow toward the cement tunnel, excitement building as we contemplated what manifold treasures we might discover within. Gold? Silver? Empty, hobo-forsaken cans of potted meat product? Anything was possible. We stopped outside the tunnel to light our torches.

The large, cement storm tunnel always had water running out of it as it also connected to the main sewer system. In winter, the water was frozen; creating an inches thick glaze of ice on the bottom of the tunnel. Walking was hazardous, but we carefully managed. The tunnel went back some 100 yards into the darkness before turning. We could hear water rushing faintly, deep in the tunnel. With a breath we stepped in, our flickering torches casting an eerie light on the walls.

Before we continue, let me set one thing straight. We weren’t like some of the crazy people you may have heard about back in the 80s who actually believed that the world of Dungeons and Dragons was real and could be found if you stumbled down the right hole. We were just out for a good time and to explore a tunnel. Sure, we played it up big with weapons and packs and torches, but we knew fantasy from reality. I think. One thing all the buildup achieved was that we were more on edge than someone would normally be in this situation. Not that anyone normal would put themselves in this situation, but if there is a normal mentality associated with walking through a sewer with torches and clubs we were far removed from it. We were wired and tense, and as we crept along the ice and deeper into the darkness it only got worse. The sound of the rushing water got louder as the tunnel got darker. The entrance became a small round spot of light behind us. We were coming to the point of no return where the tunnel made the bend into the pitch darkness and no light from the entrance would reach us.

About this time our torches sputter and go out. We stood there in the darkness listening to the loud roar of water around the bend in the tunnel, trying to decide what to do, relight the torches or leave; when we heard it. Someone was throwing something at us.

It was one of those aforementioned bums; a societal cast-off who now lived in the tunnels under the city and preyed on innocent fans of Dungeons and Dragons foolish enough to enter his lair. It sounded like he was throwing chunks of ice at us. We could hear a crack as he broke off a chunk and the series of rapid clicks and cracks as the piece he threw at us ricocheted and skipped off the ice toward us. We called out to the offender letting him knew we weren’t scared.

“We’ve got weapons!” we challenged from around the bend, our blood running cold. In the silence that followed we knew he was playing with us; teasing our psyches in preparation for the final attack, when he would rip into us with a roar from out of the gloom. He threw another piece at us.

“Let’s get out of here,” was the sanest thing we had considered so far that day. And fortunately, we both agreed. We turned to head back to the light of the outside and the world fell out from under us as we plunged through the ice and up to our necks in freezing water!

Discussing it later, we realized that the ice chucking bum was actually the sound of the ice cracking under our own feet. Logic might have told us that there was no way some bum could survive in a dark tunnel filled with ice water, but logic had taken the day off back when we started this escapade. What happened was, we had gone deep enough into the tunnel to where the temperature was warmer than the frigid outside air and we stopped and had been standing on weak, cracking ice that gave out at just the moment we turned around. We fumbled in the water, trying to get a purchase on the ice and climb out. I had borrowed a pair of mittens from Joel that his dad had gotten for Christmas. They were really nice; leather, thick and insulated, and when they got drenched in the water it was like having stumps instead of hands. My stumps couldn’t grab onto anything so I whipped them off and lost them to the depths of the tunnel; sorry, Joel’s dad.

We managed to crawl onto the ice only to have it break off and send us back into the water. We then had to crawl over the broken section to try and reach solid ice ahead. Pulling ourselves out and onto solid ice, this also broke off and sank beneath our weight dunking us again into the bitterly cold water. My pudgy, Dungeon Master physique was quickly tiring. Up ahead; at the tunnel entrance, Joel’s dog, Duncan appeared, barking like crazy. Like any kid from my television generation, I knew rescue when I saw it.

“Duncan, go get help!” I yelled frantically; the result of too many episodes of Lassie. If Duncan could talk, I’m sure he would’ve yelled back, “Kid, I’m a dog. If you get out of here alive; you need to go get help!” Even in the frozen water with the threat of death, I’m pretty sure Joel laughed at me.

Joel finally managed to find purchase on stable ice and haul himself out. Mercifully, he helped me out too and we staggered down the tunnel and out into the icy cold, Ohio winter. Our pants froze stiff as we peg-legged it to his house, looking like a pair of denim and parka clad robots.

Later, we realized all we had to do was stand up and we could’ve gotten out a lot easier. Turns out, the water was only about a foot deep, but in our panic it seemed like we had fallen off a fishing trawler into the Bering Sea, fighting for our lives in the frozen depths.

It sure felt good to pry our frozen clothing off, get warm, eat some hot food and play a little D&D.