“Be Your Own Man, Dan”

I have to tell this story.

In December of 1992, the owner of the company I worked for called me to his office to ask me why I had scheduled vacation days for 12/24, 12/26 & 12/27,

“For Christmas,” I said.

“Christmas is canceled,” he responded. “You’re going to Sioux City, Iowa on the 18th. We’ll try to get you back for New Year’s Eve.”

I kept saying that I wasn’t going, but there I was on the 18th, on a plane, settled between Pete & Mike - two seasoned iron workers who drank beer as if it were iced tea.

On the 20th we worked all day, right up to an hour before the Bills-Saints game was set to start.

The plan was to grab a couple cases of beer and 3 large pizzas. We also picked up a truck driver, Dan, who had made the cross country trip in a tractor-trailer. Dan had parked the truck and gone straight to a strip-joint where he proceeded to drink a dozen beers while we finished up our work.

We grabbed Dan (who was plastered) at the strip joint and had a few beers and then went to the beer store/pizza joint. Mike was at the hotel, waiting for us to return for the game.

We had some trouble.

As Pete and I were set to go inside to grab the beer/pizzas, Dan sat up straight.

“You think I can piss here?” Dan asked. We were in a brightly-lit strip mall.

“Be your own man, Dan,” Pete said, and we headed in. I was at the register when I saw the blue and red lights.

“Oh God! The police are handcuffing Dan,” I said. I was bolting for the door, but Pete stopped me.

“They’re going to ask some questions about who was driving,” Pete said (he was - after 3 beers in about an hour).

“What do we do?” I asked. 

(As a 27-year-old, I was terribly nervous)

“We walk right by him.”

And that’s what we did. 

Dan was in the middle of the snowy, 3-degree parking lot, with the wind blowing, and his pants half down, being cuffed.

He was yelling:

“Pete! Cliff! Help me!”

We completely ignored him. 

Dan was placed in the back of the car and taken away to the clink. Pete and I, carrying two cases of beer and three hot pizzas headed back to the rental car.

Bad news!

The cops had locked the keys in the car.

So, Pete and I walked roughly four miles in that brutal weather, carrying hot pizza and cold beer. We had one pair of gloves and we kept switching them when our one hand got too cold.

By the time we made it to the hotel, Mike was asleep, and Pete and I watched the Bills beat the Saints 20-16.

The next morning, I woke up and faced, Mike, the boss (who was in his early 60’s).

“Where the f**k is the car?” Mike asked.

“Pizza place,” I replied.

“How are we getting to work?”

I shrugged.

“Where are morons number 2 & 3?” Mike asked, and I burst out laughing.

To end the story, we got a spare set of keys from the airport. Dan spent the night in jail, and three men walked to work, a full two miles, on an icy cold morning

“We never tell this story, to anyone, because they will fire all of us.”

And we never did.

No one ever found out.

Until now.

Nearly 30 years.

Time to spill the beans.

Dan and Mike have passed away.

Pete is probably drinking a beer right now, and I have never been back to Sioux City.