NYT HEADLINE: “KAVANAUGH QUESTIONED BY POLICE AFTER 1985 BAR FIGHT”


 


R. A. Schultz


 


 


I have a rhetorical question:  How many of us OVER 50 HAVEN’T been “questioned by police” over SOMETHING?  Having been a police officer for 28 years, I can guess that the number would be rather small.  Also, having been a Coast Guardsman, and having been closer than I cared to be to three barfights in a single week, I’m guessing that anyone questioned by police after a barfight was either too stupid or too slow to bail out the back door!


 


 


It was early October of 1985 when my Coast Guard boat unit was one of several such units participating in a mobilization exercise (MOBEX)  in Groton / New London, Connecticut, organized around the breakout (launch) of a nuclear submarine.  The exercise was being run by the Navy, with a SEAL unit and a contingent of Marines.  As a newly-minted chief petty officer, I was the senior boat coxswain, operating with my usual crew of boat engineer and boat crewman, plus a boarding officer on loan from the local unit.


 


 


Groton and New London have been blessed with a large population of bars of various levels of repute.  We were at one at the upper end of the spectrum, accompanied by Maggie and her friend Joan.  Maggie was a Scottish gal, all of about 4’5” and weighing in at not more than 85 pounds, soaking wet, and looked to be about all of 14, though in reality she was 23, and had two kids and a divorce.  Joan was about a foot taller than Maggie, the same age, with no kids and a divorce.  Joan was rather cool and humorless.


 


 


The crowd that night consisted of lots of servicemen and women, interspersed with a bunch of college people.  The noise level in the establishment was noticeably increasing as the evening wore on.  My crew and I, less the boarding officer, were seated at a table with Joan and Maggie when the ladies decided to get another couple of pitchers and more chips.


 


 


Apparently, from what we were able to piece together later, one of the college lads made a lewd remark to Joan, at which she took umbrage.  We heard the unmistakable Scottish accent of little Maggie above the crowd and the three of us promptly went to her aid.  I reached the scene of the action when someone near the front entrance shouted, “Shore Patrol!”  The exodus commenced.  Maggie was in high gear, loudly threatening, “I’ll break ‘is fokkin’ ‘ead!”  At this juncture, I was able to grab her around the waist, announcing “Time to go, Maggie,” and carry her under my right arm, still kicking and screaming, out the back door to the car.  Joan and my crew promptly joined us, and the engineer drove us out of the parking lot rapidly into the night with lights out.


 

Rocky
Sometimes I feel like running for office so I can read about all the things I have forgotten.
  • October 2, 2018
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