Wednesday, January 2, 2019

Jerry's Arrow: Stupidest Thing I've Ever Done--though I and It Did Nothing.


This remains a difficult story to write:

I feel certain that many would say I am in denial as to what is truly the stupidest thing I have ever done. They may be right, but I am not in denial about a few minutes that took me from Van Buren Avenue near the front of my house on the south side of our block to the front of a house along Minnehaha Avenue that runs along the north side of the block. I think of how those minutes, really an instant, could have radically changed my life.

It was a summer day (probably during a rubber-band-boat summer). Jerry Weiman came by my house with something I had not seen in his hands before: a bow-and-arrow. Not a toy, the bow was small enough for a big kid to use—the kind that was probably used for recreational target shooting. I had never seen anybody shoot arrows at targets, but this bow fit images I had seen in ads and in the sports department of department stores.

Jerry had only one arrow with him. The arrowhead was a simple, metal cylinder wrapping the end of the arrow and finishing in a point. It could easily penetrate a straw bale behind a target. Without knowing, I feared it could also penetrate a person or pet.

I now know that at Agincourt France in 1415, the longbows wielded by English archers commanded by Henry V shot arrows (with arrowheads of lethal intent) that descended with devastating effect upon a numerically superior French army. The longbow and this stunning English victory radically changing the tactics and technology of warfare.

What does one do with a bow-and-arrow on a city block of small yards and no obvious targets? There was the obvious scientific and engineering question: How high and far could the arrow fly? I'd like to write that I voiced my concern for the dangers in conducting any such experiment, but I know I did not. Rather, I fully joined in Jerry's enthusiasm and scientific curiosity, though I was too skittish to vie for the opportunity to be bowman. I would observe.

Jerry tried a preliminary experiment right where we stood. Pulling the bowstring back only a small amount he shot the arrow straight up. Well, not so straight as to force us to scurry for our lives, but straight enough that we watched it ascend, stall, reverse, descend and embed itself in some lawn not distant. Wow! We wondered aloud if it could fly all the way up over the houses on this Van Buren side of the block, over the garages along the alley, over the houses on the far side and land somewhere along Minnehaha.

I know that speculation brought me this thought: I should run over to Minnehaha, make sure nobody is in harm's way, tell Jerry, then try to watch the the arrow come down. Yet, I knew distance and obstacles would make it impossible for me to communicate a shout of “all clear!” or “wait!”. We would need at least third friend to do it right. Jerry probably did the same silent calculation in his head. In any case, with little hesitation, I stood back. Jerry pulled the bowstring back as far as he could, aimed the arrow skyward and nothward, and--in a fate-testing-instant--let go the string.

Scared, excited, scientifically curious? Whichever, we raced through my backyard, across the alley, and through a side yard between houses along Minnehaha. I'd swear (despite knowing myself to be very wrong) that we went so fast and the arrow went so high that we were almost in danger of arriving at the same place and time. I do know that, as I cleared the houses so I could see left-right-and-ahead, my first feeling was profound relief: there was not a person in sight--alive nor dead. After a deep breath we could then look for the arrow.  I think, without saying so, we both had accepted that (absent killing somebody) the arrow's most likely fate was to be forever lost on the roof of a house or in the high branches of an elm tree along Minnehaha.

No. There it was, not 20 steps to our left. The arrow stood straight, embedded a few inches into the sod of the small front yard between house and sidewalk. Able now to toss off unspoken fear, we jumped and revelled at the success of our experiment and Jerry's good aim.

Jerry pulled the arrow from the ground. As we walked back through the side yard of unknowing neighbors we shared excitement and incredulity. We did not linger in the alley. Jerry went home with his bow and his arrow. We would mention the adventure to our friend Genie, but we did not spread the story far. Seldom did we speak of it. I never saw Jerry's bow-and-arrow again.

This remains a difficult story to write:
about an arrow that did nothing more than pierce a lawn;

about friends who did nothing more than a successful experiment

and nothing less than the stupidest thing they might ever do.



(c) from date of posting, by Bob Komives, Fort Collins

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