Hello. Welcome to the Weekend Gene Pool, where we ask you for personal stories under the solemn promise we will entertain you. On the day of the chat, New York City was hit with a moderate-sized earthquake, which led me to remember that I had also lived through a moderate-sized earthquake in D.C. in 2014, which I had written about, although The Wapo has killed the chat it was in, because The Post routinely kills old things, things like me.
Jack McCombs, Fairfax VA. RE: Have I ever been really scared. I was a draftee in the late ‘60s, and a VietNam combat infantry veteran. Damn right I’ve been petrified.
Well, there was my wedding day as well, but the terror has worn off after nearly 50 years of marriage to the same lady.
Posting for a friend. Walking up the stairs to the bedroom to tell her ex that she was going to divorce him. She'd seen signs of violence and knew that if she stayed that would get worse, and if she left that might be when he decided to stop holding back his violence since he had no more left to lose. Each step on the stairway she knew she was closer to that point, either get out or die. So, not petrified, she could still move, but scared as hell is accurate. Those moments were torture, everything in her screamed he was going to do what he said he'd do. Each step was a decision that her kids would, one way or the other, not grow up like she had.
Someone I knew was killed a few years ago while strolling down a street in Italy: felled by a randomly falling piece of masonry from an old building. He was a lovely guy and it was extremely sad as well as shocking, but: what a way to go! Killed instantly, from what I was told. Would not have wanted to be his wife, who was at his side.
My point? that it's important to be terrified at all times.
Another time-slowing-down driving story. 26 years ago, sixtyish and still comfortable with my own driving, I was heading west on the two-lane east-west portion of US 101 where it loops around the Olympic Peninsula in a new-to-me ‘94 Honda Accord station wagon, not a first pick for nimble performance. SR 19 from the north meets 101 at a right angle. A right hand exit lane separates from 101 abut a quarter mile to the east, but traffic turning from 19 onto the 55 mph highway tends to back up. Traffic was heavy enough that I didn’t expect any sudden moves. However as oncoming traffic cleared a bit a car pulled out for a left turn. I slowed to give him room and he could have made it, but he saw me coming and froze in my lane. Hitting him square in the driver door was obviously a bad idea, so I braked hard and cranked the wheel to the right, opting for a side-swipe or the ditch. As I made the turn I saw there was clearance between me and the next waiting car so I cranked hard to the left. The rear wheels drifted around and grabbed and I shot through the gap and came to rest on the right shoulder of 101, high on adrenalin and miffed that no one stopped to ask how I was or compliment my driving skills. -- For sheer terror, picture me at 10 years old on a roller coaster in Denver with my dad and older brother. That first plunge was bad enough but the sharply banked turn over a muddy pond was where I expected to die, probably to be eaten by the carp.
In the summer of 1988 I was driving my Alfa Romeo Spider on Virginia 211, near where it crosses Skyline Drive. That portion of 211 features a number of switchbacks, perfect for a top-down sports car and not fully focusing on the speed limit. The car hit a patch of loose gravel and spun 180 degrees into the opposite lane. Fortunately, 1) there were no cars in the opposite lane, and 2) I was able to steer into the skid and retain control of the car—especially because there are no guard rails on that lane and a hundreds-of-feet-drop into the valley beyond the shoulder.
That was as scared as I’ve ever been—when it was over. While it was happening time seemed to expand and everything seemed to occur in slow motion, even though it was just a few seconds. No, my life did not flash before my eyes. Neither did I have to change my trousers. Just my driving habits.
The irony of that Kafka quote ("The meaning of life is that it ends"), which is generally considered to be an exhortation to create while you have the chance, is that his short stories were published, and he became famous, only after his death. Perhaps another irony is that the quote on creating comes not from one of his creations or published works, but a letter to a friend --- the same friend who fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your opinion of the éminence grim) disobeyed Kafka's wishes not to have his short stories published after he died.
We are born with two innate fears: falling and loud noises, the rest (e.g., farting loudly in public) are learned (as far as we now know). Individual experiences and influencers shape our other fears as we age. We also have inherited from our earliest ancestors the innate predisposition to avoid ambiguity — make false-positive assumptions rather than false-negative assumptions --- about situations for self-preservation. This can, unfortunately, lead to a constant anxious state and hypervigilance, where actual dangers are not present but are presentiments or imagined. The intriguing part of fear is the wondrous working of the human brain. Some of the main chemicals that contribute to the “fight or flight” response are also involved in other, positive, emotional states, such as happiness and excitement. So, it makes sense that the high arousal state we experience during a scare may also be experienced in a more positive light for example, watching a scary movie. The difference in the responses between what may be an enjoyable frisson of horror and feeling terrified comes about when the "thinking" part of the brain communicates the "all clear" to the "wary" emotional part or conversely, when they agree there is danger.
So, I was flying from LAX to O’Hare in 1982. It was on one of those budget airlines that cropped up after deregulation, and the fare was $99. We were in a crowded DC-10, about 45 minutes out of LA, when the pilot yells into his microphone, “Flight attendants! Sit down now!” (No little call bell jingles that usually serve as code for some dire emergency.) Just then, that huge plane nose-dived. If we were traveling say 650 mph at 30,000 ft, that gave us about 31 seconds until we were on the ground (or, should I say, IN the ground). Thankfully, in a matter of the longest seconds I can remember, the pilot gained control and leveled us out. He said that radar had shown an air pocket ahead, which allowed him to get everyone seated. The rest of the flight was okay, but I seem to remember them giving all of us one free drink for our trouble.
I was in a children's ward in the early 1950's awaiting my eye surgery to correct my crossed eyes. The doctors specialty then was ears, eyes nose and throat. The other 12 children in their white metal cribs were all having their tonsils out; all before my surgery. I watched as they all returned to their beds throwing up what to me at the time looked like buckets of blood. To add to the trauma: I was 5 years old and my mother had told me this experience would be "FUN!" Needless to say, I never trusted anther word she uttered, especially words of encouragement. For many years afterwards I mistook routine car trips as actually trips to have my throat cut. Yes, I was permanently traumatized and still suffer from partial agoraphobia.
2014 in DC? August 23, 2011 is the earthquake when pieces fell off the National Cathedral and the Washington Monument got a few cracks.
Jack McCombs, Fairfax VA. RE: Have I ever been really scared. I was a draftee in the late ‘60s, and a VietNam combat infantry veteran. Damn right I’ve been petrified.
Well, there was my wedding day as well, but the terror has worn off after nearly 50 years of marriage to the same lady.
Posting for a friend. Walking up the stairs to the bedroom to tell her ex that she was going to divorce him. She'd seen signs of violence and knew that if she stayed that would get worse, and if she left that might be when he decided to stop holding back his violence since he had no more left to lose. Each step on the stairway she knew she was closer to that point, either get out or die. So, not petrified, she could still move, but scared as hell is accurate. Those moments were torture, everything in her screamed he was going to do what he said he'd do. Each step was a decision that her kids would, one way or the other, not grow up like she had.
Someone I knew was killed a few years ago while strolling down a street in Italy: felled by a randomly falling piece of masonry from an old building. He was a lovely guy and it was extremely sad as well as shocking, but: what a way to go! Killed instantly, from what I was told. Would not have wanted to be his wife, who was at his side.
My point? that it's important to be terrified at all times.
Another time-slowing-down driving story. 26 years ago, sixtyish and still comfortable with my own driving, I was heading west on the two-lane east-west portion of US 101 where it loops around the Olympic Peninsula in a new-to-me ‘94 Honda Accord station wagon, not a first pick for nimble performance. SR 19 from the north meets 101 at a right angle. A right hand exit lane separates from 101 abut a quarter mile to the east, but traffic turning from 19 onto the 55 mph highway tends to back up. Traffic was heavy enough that I didn’t expect any sudden moves. However as oncoming traffic cleared a bit a car pulled out for a left turn. I slowed to give him room and he could have made it, but he saw me coming and froze in my lane. Hitting him square in the driver door was obviously a bad idea, so I braked hard and cranked the wheel to the right, opting for a side-swipe or the ditch. As I made the turn I saw there was clearance between me and the next waiting car so I cranked hard to the left. The rear wheels drifted around and grabbed and I shot through the gap and came to rest on the right shoulder of 101, high on adrenalin and miffed that no one stopped to ask how I was or compliment my driving skills. -- For sheer terror, picture me at 10 years old on a roller coaster in Denver with my dad and older brother. That first plunge was bad enough but the sharply banked turn over a muddy pond was where I expected to die, probably to be eaten by the carp.
In the summer of 1988 I was driving my Alfa Romeo Spider on Virginia 211, near where it crosses Skyline Drive. That portion of 211 features a number of switchbacks, perfect for a top-down sports car and not fully focusing on the speed limit. The car hit a patch of loose gravel and spun 180 degrees into the opposite lane. Fortunately, 1) there were no cars in the opposite lane, and 2) I was able to steer into the skid and retain control of the car—especially because there are no guard rails on that lane and a hundreds-of-feet-drop into the valley beyond the shoulder.
That was as scared as I’ve ever been—when it was over. While it was happening time seemed to expand and everything seemed to occur in slow motion, even though it was just a few seconds. No, my life did not flash before my eyes. Neither did I have to change my trousers. Just my driving habits.
The irony of that Kafka quote ("The meaning of life is that it ends"), which is generally considered to be an exhortation to create while you have the chance, is that his short stories were published, and he became famous, only after his death. Perhaps another irony is that the quote on creating comes not from one of his creations or published works, but a letter to a friend --- the same friend who fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your opinion of the éminence grim) disobeyed Kafka's wishes not to have his short stories published after he died.
We are born with two innate fears: falling and loud noises, the rest (e.g., farting loudly in public) are learned (as far as we now know). Individual experiences and influencers shape our other fears as we age. We also have inherited from our earliest ancestors the innate predisposition to avoid ambiguity — make false-positive assumptions rather than false-negative assumptions --- about situations for self-preservation. This can, unfortunately, lead to a constant anxious state and hypervigilance, where actual dangers are not present but are presentiments or imagined. The intriguing part of fear is the wondrous working of the human brain. Some of the main chemicals that contribute to the “fight or flight” response are also involved in other, positive, emotional states, such as happiness and excitement. So, it makes sense that the high arousal state we experience during a scare may also be experienced in a more positive light for example, watching a scary movie. The difference in the responses between what may be an enjoyable frisson of horror and feeling terrified comes about when the "thinking" part of the brain communicates the "all clear" to the "wary" emotional part or conversely, when they agree there is danger.
So, I was flying from LAX to O’Hare in 1982. It was on one of those budget airlines that cropped up after deregulation, and the fare was $99. We were in a crowded DC-10, about 45 minutes out of LA, when the pilot yells into his microphone, “Flight attendants! Sit down now!” (No little call bell jingles that usually serve as code for some dire emergency.) Just then, that huge plane nose-dived. If we were traveling say 650 mph at 30,000 ft, that gave us about 31 seconds until we were on the ground (or, should I say, IN the ground). Thankfully, in a matter of the longest seconds I can remember, the pilot gained control and leveled us out. He said that radar had shown an air pocket ahead, which allowed him to get everyone seated. The rest of the flight was okay, but I seem to remember them giving all of us one free drink for our trouble.
The title of this column got me saying in my
my head:: “Boots, saddle to horse and away. So I HAD to look it up. And read the poem and all about the roundheads and Charles I and Cromwell, ugh,
I was in a children's ward in the early 1950's awaiting my eye surgery to correct my crossed eyes. The doctors specialty then was ears, eyes nose and throat. The other 12 children in their white metal cribs were all having their tonsils out; all before my surgery. I watched as they all returned to their beds throwing up what to me at the time looked like buckets of blood. To add to the trauma: I was 5 years old and my mother had told me this experience would be "FUN!" Needless to say, I never trusted anther word she uttered, especially words of encouragement. For many years afterwards I mistook routine car trips as actually trips to have my throat cut. Yes, I was permanently traumatized and still suffer from partial agoraphobia.
You’ve been dialing it in, Gene.