1,000 to 1 are pretty good odds

     I had a motto growing up on the north side of Chicago:  A coward dies a thousand deaths, a brave man dies but one; I think the odds 1000 to 1 are pretty damn good.

In the face of adversity, I flee.  Fast

    John, Billy G., and I were walking back from playing tennis at Waveland Park on the lakefront...or at least in that area.  I had an old tennis racket.  Wooden.  Looked like a snow shoe without laces.
I must have been 1964, Mustangs had just come out, and it was summer....near the Fourth of July.
     I swear this is what happened....although John said the details were not exactly the way he remembered.  But it is my story.
     We were walking along Ashland Avenue about one-half block from my street and pretty close to John's house and Billy's house.
     A guy on the opposite side of Ashland yelled to us.  I do believe he was selling firecrackers and asked if we wanted to buy some.
     As we yelled, and gestured, a brand new Mustang drove past.  The driver slowed and pulled to the curb.  He may have backed up to be even with us.  That I am not sure about.
     The conversation went something like this:
      Guy in car (GIC):  You yelled at us.  What do you want.
      Me:  We didn't yell at you.  Why would we yell at you?
      GIC:  I dunno.  Maybe you are some kind of smart ass.
      Me:  (Twirling my snow shoe tennis racket in my hand, like a real pro).  (snickering)  We aren't  the smart asses.
      GIC:  You better shut up or I'm going to bust that f.....in tennis racket over your head.
      Me:  (Now strumming my tennis racket like a guitar, while singing and dancing a jig.)  Oh big man's gonna get out of his car and bust this f....in tennis racket over my head.  Oh, Oh, we are scared. Big man. Big man.
     The Mustang's passenger side door opened and the small guy sitting in the front seat had morphed into a version of the Hulk, only he wasn't green.  He must have been 7 feet tall and 900 pounds.  Standing in the street, he towered over us.  I swear his arms were like logs and he had fangs!
     Then the other guy got out.  He was bigger.  Neither one had taken a liking to my snow shoe tennis racket guitar singing and impromptu jig.
     Meanwhile, the firecracker guy came over to out side of the street and said something.
      The two Goliaths turned toward him.....and we took off.
     When we hit the corner at Belle Plaine John went to Billy's house, I headed toward John's, and Billy raced toward mine.  We looked like  a firework exploding, each dieing ember falling in a different direction.
     My final glance backward revealed the two huge behemoths (redundant, I know, but I want to emphasize the point they were big) had the fireworks guy sandwiched between them.
      We did manage to meet up later....keeping a wary eye out for the Mustang.
      I don't know what happened to the guy selling firecrackers.....my guess is he wasn't real happy with us either.
    I still have that tennis racket.  It makes a great guitar.