Back in Middle and early High School (1979-on), I had a close friend who’d moved down the street a couple years prior. Let’s call him “Jeff.”
Jeff wasn’t exactly traditionally good-looking, due to his weight, and kind of a troubling skin condition, but girls absolutely loved him—even the popular ones. Especially the popular ones.
And he had a HUGE record and tape collection in his room. HUGE! This was a guy who’d worked out that his 8-track player could record, and by 9th grade, had committed and cataloged dozens of hours of “King Biscuit Flower Hour” recordings from our AOR station, 96 Rock.
Anyway, another friend, one of the most hilarious I’ve known (we’ll call him “Jimmy”) had come over to go out and “party." Party in my burgundy, 1978 VW Rabbit diesel (I know—sexy), so we went to go hit the "town” (our small suburban Atlanta town.) This would normally involve us eventually trying to find a secluded spot to park, usually around a landfill, or construction area, firing up a sweet doob, and crankin’ some Dio-era Black Sabbath, or whatever new, shitty tapes anyone else had. But on this one night, we didn’t account for Mister Brown (Yeah that’s his real name), the retired cop, and self-appointed Guardian of the Neighborhood.
So, after Jimmy came over, he and I drove down to pick up Jeff, and continue our journey. Thing was, as a new driver, I meant to make a right at this one stop sign, and, as I was probably 16, ran up into the corner of the opposing yard a little bit.
So, unbeknownst to us, this happened right across the street from Mister Brown, the retired cop, who was apparently sitting on his porch, just waiting to put a stop to some teen shenanigans. Having thought he’d seen a “trenching” taking place, Mister Brown apparently sprung into action, his car, and began following us. As we wended through the subdivisions, I began to notice a driver had been following us for quite some time.
I mentioned this to my equally clueless mates in the car, and we all agreed that the best way to handle this would be to play a joke, pretending our car had broken down. Just pull up to the stop sign, and pop the hood. Hilarious idea, right?
I effected our plan, popped the hood, and within ten seconds, there was a knock at my driver’s window, and a tall, grown man right outside it, with a nickel-plated revolver. Kind of straight out of the Dazed and Confused mailbox guy.
I rolled down the window. Not a cop, It was Mister Brown, from the car behind us. The refurbed, Crown Vic without lights that had been tailing us the entire time. As I rolled down the window, we heard “Djmooguise Havvun Bac'dere?”
Davin: “Sorry, what?”
Mister Brown: “Didyoo Guys Have Fun Back There?!”
Davin: “Um, huh? Back…where?”
We went back and forth over the particulars of how I “ruined his neighbor’s yard,” (who he didn’t even really know), and left us with the promise that he’d be talking to all our parents, I sped away, lost him, and immediately headed home. (This was all well before we smoked that night.)
Rode up in my folks’ driveway, after Jeff had spilled his large Iced Tea onto my grey cargo pants for an excuse. Ran in, told my mom there was some crazy man with a gun chasing us around the neighborhood. She was pretty casual about it, calling Mister Brown “kooky,” so I confidently left, striding down the driveway, after which Mister Brown was already there, having rounded up my friends.
I went down there, full of apologies, showing him the massive Tea Stain on my leg, “Listen, Mister Brown, I didn’t mean to run up into the Mayer’s yard. It was an accident, and I’m glad to talk to them about whatever recompensation I can do….”
Mister Brown wasn’t having it. And as I was doing my best “Eddie Haskell” routine, my brilliant friend “Jimmy,” started cracking up. My only thought was “No, Jimmy, not now!”
So here’s the rest of that conversation, there on the street outside my parent’s house:
Mister Brown: So, ya think this is funny, do, ya, sport!
Jimmy: Um, (Sport!), No sir, *Crink* I am not a sport. I tried going out for—
Mister Brown: “Well what’s your name, son?”
JImmy (without a beat): “Donnie Iris.”
Mister Brown: Well, I tell you what, mister Iris….
Funniest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
This is the guy “Jimmy” was referencing, btw:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWsB4mVvW7c
p.s. By the way, the three of us ended up totally rockin’ out to “Mob Rules” that night.
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