Bad-Ass Tommy and misspent youth

At the age of nineteen, I was already the manager of an auto parts store. It’s what my dad does for a living to this day, working in auto parts. My first job was actually checking in the auto parts for the company he works for once they got off the truck, and then putting them away. Yes, my first job was a stock boy. I hated it.

At nineteen, after a short time living in Houston (A few stories, that, for another time) I returned to my hometown and started working for the same company I had worked for before. This time, though, I was actually promoted to manager, which was a dubious title at the time. There were three managers, but the other two were never there. So at nineteen, I was in charge of not only the auto parts, but also the six-bay garage, writing service orders, in charge of the gas pumps, and everything on the floor. Not to mention all the nightly paperwork, schedules, and everything else that the job title Manager entails.

I was way too young and inexperienced to have the job title. This was not a small business. There were actually quite a few stores in our chain. More, the store in the next town over had no manager, so I was required to go there and do all their paperwork for close to a month in the summer of 1989.

All this leads to today’s tale, just so you understand how young I was, the pressure I was under at the time, and the cool fight I got to see.

His name was Tommy, and I was in charge of hiring him. Tommy was short, probably around 5’5” or so. But he was stocky. He had a crew cut, when it was not popular to have one. He was older than I, probably mid-20’s. He wore wire rim glasses, and was a real nice guy to his friends. I had heard about him before hiring him, that he was some sort of badass or something. That when he drank, he was not so nice, and had had multiple run-ins with the law. None of that deterred me from hiring him. Sounded like my kinda guy!

Tommy was a good worker. He was actually working two jobs at the time, but he never called in sick, was always there early, and stayed as late as needed. Which for me was a godsend, as I was so friggin’ busy that summer I thought my hair would fall out.

In late summer, early fall, a new, full-time manager was hired after I spoke to the district manager about closing in on burnout and ready to quit. I just wanted to be, at most, an assistant manager with much less responsibilities. Besides, work was cutting into my social life, a big no-no when you are 19 and living with some friends in a huge house!

So Dan was hired. Dan, in stark contrast to Tommy, was around 6’8”. Red curly hair. And one of the nicest guys I had ever met. He was so mellow; nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers. While Tommy was known for getting into fights and leading the police on forty-five minute, 100MPH chases on his motorcycle, Dan had never been in a fight a day in his life.

So it was in this group of guys, plus a few other people, that I found myself at a bar a block down from our store one night, being served alcohol at age 19! The bar also had an ample dance floor, and quite a few women were there to get their groove on.

A rowdy bunch of football players from Western Michigan University came in. There were three of them. The reason I knew that they were football players was because they had jerseys on, and talked about it the entire time. They were loud, and sat close to our table. They also had a bunch of girls at the table with them.

So one girl, a pretty redhead like Dan, ambled up to our table and politely asked Dan if he would dance with her. Dan was so shy, we had to coax him out onto the dance floor. It was not a slow dance, just jumping and waving his arms about was the extent of Dan’s ability. But you could tell he was having fun. He never even touched the girl, or her, him.

Afterwards, Dan sits back down and we all proceed to rub him about his dance moves. The girl returns to the football players’ table. And all was fine for a half-hour, until more beer found its way into the athletes.

It was then that two of the football players decide that it was not cool for Dan to have had the one dance with a girl at their table, so the two of them started to heckle Dan. But like I said, nothing bothered Dan, and he promptly ignored their taunting. Tommy, however, did (or could) not.

It started with Tommy slowly fading out of our conversation. Then came Tommy slowly and softly pounding his beer-mug on our table as the taunting started to turn ugly. A few minutes later, I suppose the football players decided to leave, but as they walked past our table to the door, one of them lightly clipped his elbow into the side of Dan’s head. It was barley a bump, and Dan simply ignored it, as he did everything else they had said earlier.

As the door swung shut behind them, Tommy, without saying a word or looking at any of us, slowly got up and walked out the door as well. It took Dan and I only a few seconds to register where and what Tommy was going to do. “Oh, shit.” I said, as Dan and I quickly jumped from our seats and went outside.

So there is Tommy, a good foot or more shorter than the shortest football player, calling them names and trying to start a fight. They did not need much encouragement.

POW! One of the football players lands a haymaker on Tommy. I mean, it was a big, hard punch. The type that I know from first hand experience makes you see stars. And BAM! Tommy goes down!

And like his legs are made from some sort of mattress springs, UP pops Tommy. Just ZIP! Back to his feet.

Tommy throws one punch, two, three, all to the face of the guy who hit him. Just POW! POW! POW! He then turns to the next guy, POW! POW! POW! Back to the first, he is reeling back now. Tommy kicks out, catching the guy in the knee. The first guy is now falling down. Tommy turns, his right fist shoots out and lands squarely on the second guys nose. Blood shows up. Back to the first guy, who is now on the ground, and Tommy is on him, more punches, battering ram like in its power and ferocity. He springs back up, jumps at the second guy, and takes him down as well. A few more punches. Lots of screaming now from the second guy. Moaning from the first.

Tommy stands up, not breathing hard or anything. The punch he took has not left a mark on Tommy. He turns to the third football player, the smaller of the three but still towering over Tommy, and calmly asks, “You want some, too? Got anything to say? You want some?” to which the third player, thunderstruck to the level of destruction he has just witnessed, wisely says “No sir.” Tommy then tells him to apologize to Dan, and he does.

The entire fight lasted less then thirty seconds. Before Dan and I could even think about helping Tommy, barley enough time for the bar door to close behind us, it was over. Just that fast. Two huge football players, tough guys both, taken out by some mean, short, crew-cut, glasses wearing little guy. It was both frightening and beautiful at the same time. I was glad I was friends with Tommy, and vowed right then and there NEVER to get him pissed off at me. Tommy is about the only guy I know who I would not fight for almost anything.

No moral of this tale from my youth. Just something that happened one night at the bar.