Head Trauma in the Philippines
I had been at sea for what seemed like an eternity, and was feeling rather world-weary. For six days I was in the fetch of a southern typhoon with undulating, backing and veering winds; then I faced eight days of flat blue seas, long rolling swells, and of 8-9 knot winds. My boredom was intensifying, and I was becoming more irate with the light wind. I had tired of singing, and talking to myself days ago.
I thought that making faces in the mirror might be fun, all the while interrogating, and cross-examining myself for signs of impending insanity. What are those, you may ask. All I can say is... if you cannot make a face at all, you may need to get the sailor's best friend out of the First Aid kit. Right behind the sea-sickness pills you will find the bottle labeled, "anti-psychotic medication". I was ready for landfall.
I spotted the beautiful, mist covered peaks of Luzon, Philippines long before the Coast Guard cutter approached me. There had apparently been militant activity in the area, they wanted to see my papers. Their other concerns were if I had a yellow quarantine flag to fly until cleared, and if I needed anti-psychotic medication. I assured them that I had both. They told me I could continue.
I made landfall, sailing past Grande Island and entering Subic Yacht Club. In many ways it was like being home again. My last visit, several years prior, was on a vessel slightly larger than my 60 foot ketch, called the carrier, U.S.S. Enterprise. Ah... Subic!
The smells were the same. The aroma of wood smoke, open grills of sizzling chicken and pork, and incense filled the air. The busy sounds of the nearby town of Olongapo City made the heart race faster as excitement was in the atmosphere.
The only thing missing, as I should have predicted, due to the prevailing winds, was the smell of the nearby, feces thickened sludge that some call the river. As young sailors we used to throw coins in the slush from the bridge, and watch the little divers plunge in after them. The kids were very appreciative, and displayed perfect white teeth when they smiled, that is, once they spit out the bits of the corn and paper. You might say... "Oh, how insensitive to the children, making them swim in brown waters to collect money!"
Actually, these are your forthcoming doctors, lawyers, and politicians. The future criminals are similar 8 and 9 year olds who dress nicely, but approach in groups of six, and start poking you with their fingers. "Take my picture, we love Americanos!" "Hey GI Joe!" they say... , prior to disappearing around the corner. You soon realize that your pockets are inside out; you have no money, watch, artificial prosthesis, feminine hygiene product, or any other worldly goods.
As I said, it was good to be back, and the poor children are not representative of the many kindly adults. I felt like smiling, singing, and skipping all the way to town. Just what every pick-pocket, thief, and con artist within a hundred miles wants to see, or hear about; Therefore, I put on my salty sea captain face, squared my shoulders, and walked observing everything occurring around me.
I had just stepped upon the feces river bridge when I noticed all of the youngsters on the southern bank. Yes, the smell was there just as the adolescents that I remembered. I reached in my pocket, pulled out a quarter, and flipped it to mid-stream until I could hear the... thump. The sound reminded me of a plunger hitting a dirty toilet bowl.
Seven youngsters were in full flight over the water until thump, thump, thump... , all had plunged deeply to retrieve the prize. The winner surfaced with his bounty. The world was delightful to all on this day. Smiles were on every face. The next coin toss was eagerly anticipated, as eyes were cleared, and water was squeegeed off the belly and arms.
Up high into the air the coin went... and then the, thump! All soared in at once, and the winner emerged to the cheers of the now abundant onlookers. Wait... there were seven, and now only six! I looked to the other side of the bridge seeing the one that I had nicknamed Peewee, floating unconsciously downstream.
I called for the attention of the other youths in my best Tagalog and Espanol. Ayunda!, Ayunda!, all the while pointing at Peewee. No response... I quickly grabbed three quarters out of my pocket, displayed them in the air, and tossed them way... beyond Peewee. Soon the ducks were in the water and an unconscious Peewee was on shore.
Peewee had an obvious gash on his right forehead. I suspected he hit it on the bridge abutment. He was unresponsive to my yelling, and did move when I knuckled his chest i.e. a sternal rub. His pupils were equal and reactive; breathing was regular, as was his heart rate. I detected no other trauma. Within 1 minute he woke up and joined the other kids, draining more tourists of their change.
