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I was traveling with my brother Randy and our mutual friend Vernon. Ahead of us was a diner called Alf's Giant Burgers, which I used to go to when I was a student. I punted when I asked, “Hey guys, do you want to stop and eat something before we turn back?”
“Of course,” they answered.
We wanted to drive Randy to a rehabilitation center called Springbrook and drop him off there for treatment. Along the way, I missed the turnoff to the facility and found myself in McMinnville, Oregon, about 32 miles from my destination. Luckily, McMinnville was familiar terrain to me as I lived there while attending college.
Alf's was a classic drive-in, but we were lucky enough to meet Alf himself and he had some unique twists. Alf I think he was 60 or he was 65. According to his menu, he's been making the same great burgers since 1965. Alf was wearing a butcher's white suit. On his head he wore a small white paper hat with baby blue racing stripes running all the way around his unusually large, round, hairless head – this was his most distinguishing feature. Ta. Aside from the blue ribbon, the only non-white items he wore were black, plastic-rimmed glasses that could have been mistaken for safety goggles due to their size. As he stood taking orders, small beads of sweat gathered in dark pink bags under his eyes.
The decor around the drive-in was neat and well appointed. An indoor/outdoor green carpet covered much of the outdoor dining area. On one side was a row of manicured green hedges that looked like a small parade of animals. There were several monkeys at the front, holding each other's tails and dancing. Next, two elephants stood facing each other with their curled green trunks raised to the sky. Back up, several hippos were resting casually on a well-kept patch of rose-colored quartz pebbles. A pair of pink plastic flamingos stood guard outside each restroom.
The floor inside was of white and black checkered tiles. There was a lot of junk from the 1950s and his 1960s hanging from the walls and sitting on the counter. Around the corner in one corner of the dining room, I discovered a small area that I couldn't see from my previous vantage point.
After staring into space for a few seconds, I turned to my brother and said: “Randy, it looks like you're here.”
“Huh? What do you mean we're here? Where are we?”
“Springbrook,” I said back to him. “You know, this is where we're taking you. Here it is. Come and check it out, they've got some roommates for you.”
Randy and Vernon walked over and looked where I was pointing. On the other side of the room was a plexiglass wall, and behind this wall was a cage approximately 10 feet by 10 feet. In the middle of this enclosure was a dead, strong-looking tree with severed limbs. From the ceiling of the cage hung several jungle gym chains with monkey rings attached. Two small, jet-black gorillas swayed wildly between a leafless tree and a ring of metal rings. One was wearing a green diaper and the other was wearing a red diaper. As we all stood there staring at these poor creatures, they started to get agitated and start bouncing off the poor cage bars.
As Randy stared at the scene in front of him, I said, out of humor. “Yes, Rand, you will act like that as soon as you start experiencing withdrawal symptoms.”
Randy didn't say anything back. He quietly watched the little gorilla for a few more minutes, then shook his head at me and walked away.
My brother had many sides, some noble, worthy of a rebel and a sailor, others vulgar and salty. Unfortunately, my brother was a meth addict for 20 years during this time.
In 1992 I conducted an intervention on his behalf. And looking back now, I think this was probably one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. But my actions saved his life. So I was able to enjoy 17 years of sobriety with him, while traveling in his classic old Ford truck, on our way to a vacation to Idaho, until he passed away.
To this day, if I had been in your brother's shoes back then, I honestly don't know if I would have moved on and made the commitment.
But like humor, courage comes in many forms. So when faced with adversity, we often surprise even ourselves at what we are capable of in our darkest moments.
Reminds me of the lyrics to the Hollies song. Among the stories told long ago, there is one line in particular that left an impression on me.
“The road is long, with many twists and turns, and we end up in places no one knows. But I am strong. Strong enough to carry him. He is not heavy, he is my brother. So ,let's go.”
So, let's go.
Pete Galley lives in Homer, Alaska with his wife and three children. His hobbies are fishing, gardening, writing, and oil painting.
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