Violins in Flight                         
 The Chapters of a Pilot's Life on Instruments

                                         Karen & the Summer of '72

On a warm and sunny afternoon in August of 1972, my great friend Rick and I rode our motorcycles to French Creek State Park located in Chester County, Pennsylvania. We had no particular plans; just two guys spending an hour or so at the Creek and then riding off to wherever.

Rick is merely a bystander in this story but I think it's worth mentioning that in 1972 Rick had a girlfriend, a beautiful girlfriend, and if truth be told I had hoped that he and his girlfriend would someday marry, although I never spoke that truth to Rick.

After all, only a year earlier my life unraveled when my wife and I split and I found myself in an abyss at the end of the road. Somehow, thanks to Rick and others, I was able to climb out of that abyss, eventually high enough to reach the sky.

But in the summer of 1972 there wasn't a heck of a lot left of me. As far as possessions, I had my motorcycle, which I loved, and that was pretty much it. I mean, I had no telephone, no television and no home, unless you consider living in a dilapidated house occupied by the Pagans Motorcycle Gang a home. Mercifully, I did have a job working at Eagleville Hospital as a followup interviewer helping drug addicts and alcoholics recover. My job paid $6800.00 yearly.

Even though I had virtually nothing, inexplicably, with my beard, long hair and motorcycle, I wasn't without female companionship. To paraphrase the great James Dickey: Maybe you have to lose almost everything in order to find those who care about what's left of you. And so, all in all, at age 28, I was doing okay.

After entering French Creek, Rick and I parked our bikes at a little clearing about 100 feet from where a group of families with kids had gathered. Within minutes, a gaggle of young girls came over to us. Most surrounded Rick. One started talking to me.

She was 14 years old. Beautiful. Her name was Karen. She asked me to take her for a ride around the Park on my bike. Deep down I knew that that wasn't a good idea. And yet, there was something about Karen, a depth of character that shined through as bright as her beauty, and so I told Karen that she needed to get approval from her family in order for me to take her for a ride. I was certain her parents would deny that request.

Karen walked over to her family. After a minute, maybe less, Karen came back and said her family approved of her going for a ride with me. I'm sorry about this, and not to put myself down, but something had to be amiss with that family to let her get on a motorcycle with me.

Before we rode off, I had Karen put on a helmet and helped her adjust the straps. I always carried two helmets with me when I rode but I didn't put mine on. As we headed out, I think Karen waved to her family. As for me, I just wanted to make sure that if anyone yelled STOP! I could hear them. No one did and off we went.

It was a beautiful afternoon to be on a motorcycle. At some point, Karen asked if she could ride without her helmet. I pulled off the road to a rocky clearing near the creek and helped Karen take her helmet off. We stood there looking at each other for a moment. Whatever she wanted to happen is for you, dear reader, to imagine. I gave Karen a hug and walked her over to a few large rocks where we sat down.

What follows is our conversation, mainly the words I said to Karen.

ME:  You don't know anything about me, which is just as well but I'm going to tell you a few things. Okay?

KAREN:  Okay.

ME:  I work at Eagleville Hospital not all that far from here. I see a lot of people in need of help. They're drug addicts and some are alcoholics and most of them are young, like 20 years old, some even younger than that and some in their 30s and 40s and some even older. You still with me?

KAREN:  Yes.

ME:  Thing is, their lives didn't go downhill when they were 20 or 30 or 40. For most of them, their lives went downhill when they were teenagers or even younger, when very bad things happened to them, when very bad things were done to them, things that damaged them, things that changed the course of their lives. You still listening to me?

KAREN:  Yes.

ME:  I don't want that to happen to you. I don't want to do something, I don't want to do anything, that'll change the course of your life. And I never want you to put yourself in a position where that can happen, where bad things can happen to you, where bad decisions can damage you. Okay?

KAREN:  Okay.

ME:  I just want you to grow up and live a happy life.  You know, it's funny but I never expected to find myself at Eagleville so I'm not the best person to be talking about how not to have bad things happen to you. All I know is that I don't want you to wind up at Eagleville. Ever. Anyway, that's it. I'm done. We're gonna ride back to your family now.

We stood up.

KAREN:  Can I please have your phone number so I can talk with you?

ME:  Well, here's the thing. I don't have a phone.

KAREN:  Can I write you? Please give me your address so I can write you.

ME:  (After a long pause.)  Okay.

Karen took out a folded notebook paper from one of her pockets. I found a pen in my bike's saddlebags and Karen wrote down my address.

(This story would never have been told if Karen hadn't asked for my address or if I had refused to give it to her. Because without the letter Karen mailed to me, you wouldn't have believed a word I wrote or, even worse, my words would've sounded self aggrandizing and there's nothing I hate more than self aggrandizement.)

We got back on my bike. Karen asked if he could ride without her helmet. I said okay. We rode back. She had her arms around my waist the whole time. We got to the campsite area. Said goodbye. Karen rejoined her family. Rick and I rode off.

A few days later, I received a letter in the mail from Karen. To be accurate, whenever I got mail, which was rare, it wound up being delivered to the side entrance of the house where the Pagans lived. And so, my mail was always personally delivered to me by a Pagan, usually Turtle, who was the biggest, baddest turtle you ever saw.

I opened the letter and in it was a picture of Karen and on the back of the picture were a few words written by an ingenuous 14 year old girl.

"Never forget the summer of '72 and the times we had together along with the talks we had. I hope we see each other again. Take care of yourself. Love, Karen."

Beside the picture was a note with words that were less ingenuous.

"I'll never forget the things we talked about and the things you said to me....I'll never forget you."