BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 221 We were at a dance at the Frandor Shopping Center one muggy Saturday night when I was seventeen, about a year after the accident. A guy I knew slightly, I think his name was Mike Mead, from Everett, got mouthy with me. Then he looked at my cane and laughed. “Okay, Cady, I‟ll let you go „cause you‟re a fuckin‟ cripple.” He added some more laughter. Since I was unable to grasp the humorous aspect as well as he did, I reacted differently. I swung a vicious right hook into his jaw that sent him sprawling on the concrete. “Don‟t worry about me, prick. I‟ll be just fine. C‟mon, asshole, let‟s see what you‟ve got.” The fight was surprisingly short. Mike was pretty burly, and it might‟ve ended differently if we‟d gone into a wrestling tussle, especially since he was a wrestler and I was a boxer. A crippled boxer whose leg still caused him a lot of pain. When he charged, head down and intending to really mess me up, I swung my cane at him. It made a loud crack on the side of his head. After that, I used it to beat the living shit out of him before turning away from him to face all his buddies. “Any of you lousy motherfuckers want a piece of my crippled ass?” No one did, so they collected Mike and hauled him to the hospital. I heard later he was a patient for a week. Another guy, a farm boy, got mad at me a couple weeks later, again at a dance in the Frandor Shopping Center parking lot. He was big and burly, five-ten, a good two- thirty or more. Blond hair, kind of long, and a teeny goatee on his chin. I was hitting on this girl, a pretty blonde I‟d never met, and even considering the bold idea of trying to dance with her and use my cane at the same time. This guy cut to Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 222 the chase with no bullshit, no playing around. He walked up to me and gave me a shot, right in the mouth, with his fist. Must‟ve been his girl, was all I could assume. I kept it that way. Strictly business. No conversation. No covert moves. None of that crap. I just got down to it without any undue ceremony. I swung my cane at him and it smacked the side of his head. Since I was following through on it to increase the impact, my cane and my hand trailed his unconscious body to the ground. Once at my feet and unmoving, he was a perfect target. I began beating him with my cane until Bob Chouinard pulled me off, telling me, “Cady, you don‟t need to kill the motherfucker. Let „im go, huh?” Our crowd was big on sports. Some guys even played „em. Most of our guys were either on the football team, or wrestlers. A few, not many, played basketball. Not too many were into playing baseball, but we still found things to do. Sexton had a home wrestling meet with Everett one night. Bob Chouinard was wrestling at 154 pounds, Alvin Mask at 165, and Ed Toomey at 180. I think Buddy Frahm was at 112, but who gives a shit about watching a friend lighter than your girlfriend get into it with another fucking pipsqueak? Plus, I think I stretched it a lot when I just used the word “friend” in the same sentence with the name Buddy Frahm. As I recall, Bob lost. Not by much, but a loss is a loss. Bob‟s what you might call a temperamental guy. If he was littler and younger, you‟d have to use the words “spoiled brat”. That means, when he doesn‟t get his way, it relaxes him a little bit to cave in someone‟s head. Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
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BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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