A Rude Awakening

It was a warm, humid night in 1982. Jennifer and I lived in an apartment in a little triplex community just a few yards off of US 1 in Hobe Sound, Florida.
I was jarred from the deep sleep of a working man by someone pounding on the door. I grabbed my pants and hurried to the front, my heart racing from the sudden commotion. I opened the door to find an angry, drunken neighbor huffing a breath that smelled of pizza and beer into my face. He began a curse filled tirade about where my car was parked.

I suppose that I should pause and give you a little background. The parking spaces for our unit were down at the left end of our building. His unit was on the other end of the opposite side. In other words, our parking had absolutely no effect on him whatsoever. We were to use our designated places but on the day in question, Jennifer had bought groceries and had left her car parked on the drive directly in front of the door. This still left more than enough room for two cars to pass each other on the drive.

In an effort to diffuse the situation, I told him to go home and I would move the car. He began to walk away when he suddenly spun and began pounding the hood of the car and screaming.
I stepped outside and yelled, “You keep your hands off of my car!” I guess that I thought he would move on. I was mistaken. He immediately began to come toward me and in the split second that separated us I realized with some concern that I had never dealt with a drunk person before. I feared that if he got his hands on me, he would have no sane reason guiding his behavior.

We met in the parking lot and since my left foot was leading, I hit him in the side of the head with my left fist in what was probably a pretty wild round house swing. Nevertheless, it was enough to send him sprawling on the hard asphalt and as he rolled to all fours, I hit him on the other side of his head with my right fist. I was standing over him, gasping from the rush of adrenalin coursing through me. We are talking about a matter of a few seconds but in that brief time I realized that I had nothing to fear and no reason to keep beating him. I stepped back and let him get to his feet.

He swayed slightly and started forward again. I took a step back. He came on. I yelled, “Hicks! If you take one more step towards me, I am going to knock your head off!”
About this time, Jennifer called from the doorway, “Hal! Don’t hit him again! You’re going to kill him!” I whirled to face her and in my state of extreme agitation, I yelled that if she would just park where she’s supposed to, I wouldn’t be out here in the middle of the night fighting a drunk man!

I turned back to Hicks who said, “Okay. You got me. I’m too drunk to fight but I’ll be back when I’m sober!” He started for his place.
“Well, you just come on over any time! There’s plenty more where that came from and you can have all you want!”

Jennifer moved the car and we went inside but before we could settle down, we heard Hicks yelling out front again. I peeped through the Kitchen blinds but I was not about to go back out there! He was doing his best “Ali shuffle” and challenging me to finish the fight. About that time, a Martin County Sheriff’s car pulled into the drive and an immense giant of a deputy stepped out.
“Hicks! You better get your butt inside right now! If I hear one more peep out of you, you’re going to jail! Do you understand me?”
The huge figure, his authority and the fact that the two knew each other managed to pierce the fog of alcohol induced stupor of Hicks brain and he immediately became meek.
“Yes, Sir.” He turned and went home.

If I got any sleep the rest of the night, it wasn’t much! The next day, I felt more and more remorse for the whole mess and after work I went down to his apartment and knocked on the door. His wife looked embarrassed and surprised to see me.
“Is Hicks here?”
“Yes.”
“Could I please have a word with him?”
“Sure. Come in.”
I followed her inside and a haggard, bewildered Hicks looked up from his prone position on the couch and sat up.
“Hicks”, I began, “I just want to tell you that for whatever role I had in what happened last night, I am truly sorry. We live very close in this place and if there is any way possible, I would much rather have a friend close by than an enemy. I hope you will forgive me.”
“Aw, man! That was completely my fault! I was drunk!”

We shook hands and I went home feeling like a load had been lifted from my shoulders. Other than one more incident when he was drunk and came over to yell at me, we enjoyed a cordial relationship for the remainder of my time in Florida.
In closing, let me just say that if a drunk person knocks on your door…..don’t open it!
PS. Park in your own parking space!

Hal F. Leary
4-16-15