Virgil should not drink.

 

Virgil is a kind and gentle soul. He was the President of Valley Bank for over a quarter of a century, an usher at the Episcopal Church nearly every Sunday, and headed the United Way drive three years in a row. He is an active member of the golf and country club, an involved father, and one of the better steelhead fishermen in the area. He and his wife, Amy, frequently entertained many friends at their home. As it turned out, Amy did some extra entertaining, and that is where Virgil's troubles began.

 Amy took the unsuspecting guy aside one late June evening and revealed that she had fallen in love with another. Of course, such news is always hard on all involved. But this confession had a twist. She was leaving him for another woman who happened to be the smoking hot, new high school English teacher. Amy and the teacher were gone days later. They moved to Portland, Oregon was the rumor. We, Virgil's miserable collection of liars, heavy drinkers, golf cheats and supposed friends, were less than supportive. We found the situation a fertile field for harvesting smart-ass comments and jokes at Virgil's expense. We did so because:

 A. Men are assholes.

B. That scenario that happened to Virgil is on the list of any man's greatest fears.

C. We, the Idaho-Eastern Washington-type men, are even more emotionally stunted than most.

D. We think we're funny.

E. We all really loved Virgil and didn't know what to do to help.

 As anyone who is even a casual observer of human behavior would have predicted, Virgil set out to prove his manhood while fighting the battle with loneliness. He started drinking nearly every night at the country club and dating in an almost frantic way. Neither were effective coping tools.

 The first tragic story happened one Thursday night. He got hammered and received a DUI which is an awful experience. But he wasn't driving his car. He drove his golf cart downtown and was pulled over going the wrong way on a one-way street. He still had on his golf shoes. Three intoxicated women shared the cart with him. It was 2 am. 

 Two months later, during the fishing derby, he lost control of his jet boat and took out most of the main dock at Red Wolf Marina. He got another DUI this time for driving his boat . That one made the papers, unfortunately, and even though Valley Bank was owned primarily by the elders of the Episcopal Church, he still lost his job. That made us start to worry for our old pal. He had been conservative with his money so he wasn't desperate. I could tell you about his experience with an International dating service or a dozen other entertaining stories. However, let me skip and get to the gem.

 It is time to chronicle his most famous escapade. The one that will never be forgotten in this area. He blamed it on me. It included my old fourth grade teacher—Mildred Renning.

 One of Virgil's best pals gave him a job. He became the hearse driver for Malcom's Funeral Home. It started out as a temporary gig but Virgil enjoyed it and asked to stay on permanently. It was his normal day off but Bill, the funeral home director, called the country club looking for Virgil who was playing gin rummy for a dollar a point. It was Labor Day weekend and the biggest golf tournament of the year was being held at the country club. The place was packed. Virgil was enjoying himself with his new girl friend after finishing his early round of golf. I had loaded up a plate at the free barbeque and took a seat at Virgil's table. He leaned over and whispered, “ I took your advice.”

“What advice, Virgil?” I asked not having a clue.

 He leaned back over and whispered again without looking at me, “I started smoking pot. It really cut down my drinking. Just like you said. Wanna go have a toke?” He was feeling no pain already and ordered another drink from the busy waitress.

 “Nope, I'm a pretty straight arrow these days, Virgil, believe it or not,” I answered while taking a bite of the corn on the cob.

 “Virgil, that's your fifth drink,” Marilyn, his new gal friend said.

 “Not if you're counting by fives, honey. In that case, it's only my first one,” he said with a straight face which got a laugh from his gin partners. A cell phone went off.

 “Virgil, it's your phone.”

 He answered, “Virgil's bar and grill.”

 He listened and  hung up. “Last game, mates. I got to drive Old Mildred Renning's body up the grade to the Colton boneyard here in a bit.”

 “Miss Renning? She was my fourth grade teacher,” I said.

 “Great, Blackie, I'll give her your greetings but you can forget the Get Well Soon card. She went to the church, nice old bat, really,” he said.

 “Virgil! You aren't funny,” laughed Marilyn.

 

He was gone minutes later. Why he decided to take the old highway with its eighty-seven turns rather than the main highway will remain a mystery. This road is an engineering marvel. It climbs two- thousand feet in seven miles through the hills and is nicknamed the Spiral Highway. It is  the road that was the inspiration for Commander Cody's song: Hot Rod Lincoln. (no bs). For some reason, Virgil wanted to see how the hearse would handle the wide, swooping turns. He later blamed me for what happened.

 “I took a few tokes and forgot I was kinda tipsy, you asshole. You give shitty advice. I can't believe you're a counselor," he later said.

 He raced up the grade way too fast and squealed the tires around turn after turn. “Hang on Mildred,” he laughed as he zoomed up the nearly deserted highway. The last turn is a dozy. Virgil got into the turn and gunned it. The backdoor flew open which launched Mildred and her casket out of the hearse and off she skidded down the roadway. Virgil heard the commotion and saw Mildred's escape through the rear-view mirror. He spun around and raced after it.

 Johnny Rathbone, a truck farmer, had the misfortune to be chugging up the grade with a truck filled to the brim with cantaloupes. When he saw the soaring casket, he instinctively swerved, the load shifted and the truck tipped over releasing several hundred cantaloupes which bounced down the road behind the flying casket.

 

Remarkably, it made the first three turns down this nine percent grade, but was going too fast to make the fourth one. Virgil could only watch as Mildred vaulted over the cliff, landed two hundred feet below, hit the hillside and started flipping over and over for another few hundred feet. Incredibly, the casket held together for the most part. Malcom's Funeral Home had to hire a helicopter to get it out of the gully and had to pay market value for the cantaloupe load. Johnny wasn't injured. Thus ended Virgil's employment, but he paid for everything and kept Bill Malcom as a friend.

 

Virgil should not drink.

 Take a ride down this road.  It is fun. I know some of you have seen this before but what the heck.  I am going to ride up that hill on my mountain bike  on my 60th birthday coming up June 6th.  

_{P.S--I do not condone or support alcohol abuse and the misery it causes.  Virgil was a pretty straight guy before losing his wife which made his exploits even more amusing.}