Stagecoach Road Page 2

  With obstructed vision, he stared out the window and prayed for someone to come by, but only the occasional call of a night animal and crickets interrupted the darkness. An hour passed, and the road remained empty. With each drip of blood, fear padded a little closer. Fear of death. Fear of not seeing his family and friends again. Fear of the once seemingly happy life he envisioned slipping away. And fear he would be unable to resolve this injustice to his satisfaction. To think this happenstance was a result of a banal emotion, jealousy. Four thugs jealous of Benny’s new graduation gift from his parents. Jealous of Benny’s academic achievements. And jealous of Benny’s fulfilling, bright future, destined to elude these four from poor families and alcoholic fathers.

  Foggy demons danced around Benjamin Arnold Weinstein’s brain as he lay on the sticky upholstery, paralyzed with pain. He pictured each of his four attackers, their faces hollowed with graveyard eyes. Shark eyes. Visions of his past encounters with these school bullies were already deeply etched into his cerebral cortex. Twelve years of terror saw to that. This present act of aggression on Benny’s body and soul was meant to be their last. Benny’s only thought in his despair was to cheat death for another moment, and to link together as many of these moments as possible. Naivety and innocence were no longer virtues, but lifelong weaknesses, desperately needing to be purged.

  Benny was all alone in the midst of this desolate strip of pebbly pavement. A panoramic view revealed just how deserted this road was compared to Gary, Indiana’s distant steel industry. Stagecoach Road; an unforgiving stretch of asphalt entwined within a thicket of tall oaks on the outskirts of Miller Beach not far from Route 12. Picturesque sand dunes, a stone’s throw away. In the not so distant horizon, orange bellowing smoke, reminiscent of the industry’s better days, could be seen emanating from towering smoke stacks hovering over Lake Michigan’s icy waters. But Miller’s sandy reprieve from the intoxicating sulfur stench was no comfort to Benny that night. His eyelids, all but shuttered by massive swelling from the blows, struggled to open so his mind could form a plan. An escape from his predicament. His mind fixed on a vibration he felt underneath his tires, praying a guardian angel was on the way. Disappointment replaced hope when he realized it was the Union Line rumbling over old, rusty train tracks which crossed over Route 12 just a few blocks away. Stagecoach Road seemed to lead nowhere. But it was about to lead somewhere. Somewhere in Benny’s semi-comatose mind were seeds of rage. Rage that was growing for almost twelve years. Rage, like no other, as he slowly started to regain consciousness and began contemplating what had just happened to him.

  As that night progressed, Benny realized just how bad his injuries were. He was able to slowly slide his broken fingers to the top of his head, where he felt an open wound and cracked skull, warm blood rhythmically dripping onto the leather seats. His legs were broken. The gap in his mouth felt cavernous from his missing teeth. But he still could see. Thank God, he thought to himself. He couldn’t move enough to get help. He had to helplessly and painfully lie there, and wait for morning or luck--someone to drive by and bring him to a hospital.

  The minutes turned to hours as he lay there, drenched in his own life fluids, preparing to die. And it was luck. It was the proverbial dumb luck that another classmate and friend of his, Steve Green, just happened down the road on his way to a romantic interlude with Stephanie Shapiro. It was 2:30 a.m. The two had planned this rendezvous the week before. A final fling before each went their separate ways to college.

  Steve’s headlights shone on the blue Mustang as he negotiated a turn about two hundred yards passed the last house on the road. Not realizing it was Benny’s new car, Steve assumed it was someone from the graduation party, and slowly drove alongside--offering some friendly harassment out his window and a ‘thumbs up’ to the couple he thought must be inside. But it was Stephanie who had the passenger’s view of the person in the Mustang. Upon seeing this mangled, bloodied body, Stephanie shrieked. Steve hit the gas. He then turned around and headed back towards the main road, past the Mustang again, and called for help at the Gas ‘N Go, the all night truck stop--two blocks passed Stagecoach Road on County Line Road. The police and ambulance arrived within fifteen minutes.

  * * * * *

  It was only a few hours before that Benny had wistfully entered the graduation party at the Marquette Park Pavilion with his girlfriend, Laura Burns. She was a beautiful, shapely girl with brown hair and gorgeous eyes. Many think she looked like an even more stunning version of Mary Tyler Moore. Maybe they thought that because her name was Laura. Either way, she was a looker, and liked to dress provocatively, as she did that night. They went there in Benny’s new car after a family celebration at his house that lasted until 5:00 p.m. He wanted to wish his lifelong classmates and friends good luck. Scott Mathis, Chuck Merkov, and Greg McGee were all there--having a good time and talking about their futures. Chuck often ribbed Benny about how good looking Laura was compared to him. “She must like the Howdy-Doody look,” laughed Chuck. Actually, most thought Benny was a good looking guy with his thick mop of red hair, rounded face and handsome nose. He stood about 6 feet tall and weighed close to 180 lbs. Running kept him in shape.

  The Pavilion sat atop a hill overlooking the Marquette Park Lagoon. Benny fished there as a kid, and it was his childhood paradise. The lagoon had two old wobbly wooden piers stretching about a hundred feet from shore. It was a typical, spooky body of water--the kind you would see in an old black and white creature movie. During the days before the city cleaned it up and spoiled its charm by replacing the wooden piers with ugly cement piers, the lagoon teemed with all sorts of game and scavenger fish ranging from 5 ounce Sun fish to 15 pound carp--and just about everything in between. It was also at this little body of water where several drownings occurred--mostly Hispanic teenage daredevils trying to swim across without getting tangled in the thick seaweed. Everyone in town seemed to know when there was a drowning moments after it happened. The scene was an all too familiar one--frogmen with space-like masks entering the water and dragging the bottom for the pruned corpse they knew had to be hidden below somewhere--the victim’s family standing vigil, anxiously praying for a miracle. But every drowning ended the same tragic way; the body was discovered and the local police chased away the curiosity seekers--kids, mostly.

  The Pavilion itself was a little spooky, too. It stands as an old, but solidly built structure that looks strong and marbled like a large city’s Capitol building without the dome. While empty, you can hear each of your footsteps echoing in its vast mystical tombs. Knowing the history of the lagoon below adds to its aura of gloom--a place no one would want to visit alone.

  But during the night of June 14th, 1973 this old, scary Pavilion was very much alive. About three hundred young men and women were experiencing their first, almost legal, adult party. They finally made it--soon to be catapulted into the real world of work, school, and marriage. The six or so teachers chaperoning the event looked the other way when a few bottles of Crown Royal and a case of Schlitz made it through the front entrance.

  Marquette Park was only five blocks from Wirt High School. The Pavilion was the biggest hall in town and every party, from proms to class reunions, was held at this massive building. Behind the Pavilion was a dimly lit and very romantic walkway that led to the moonlit lagoon. It was built some time in the 1920’s and was probably never remodeled except for minor repairs to the cracked ceiling and chipped paint. It was at this place where Benny and Laura were to begin another chapter in their young lives.

  Laura was Benny’s high school sweetheart. They dated for almost three years but Benny sensed she was getting restless and wanted a change. But he never thought the change would occur that night.

  The couple arrived at the party at 7:30 p.m. They did all of their talking earlier because as soon as they entered the hall all they could hear was the thunderous sound of the band playing Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Jimi Hendrix, and several cuts from Hat Trick, America’s latest album
. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. People were screaming at the top of their lungs just to make simple conversation. But it wasn’t what the band was playing that changed Benny’s life. It was the band’s drummer, Larry Kroll, who immediately cast a determined stare at Laura as she walked passed. It wasn’t your usual stare--not the kind that every guy would make when they see a pretty girl walk by. It was a “she’s mine,” stare. Larry wanted her.

  It wasn’t clear to Benny that Larry had designs on Laura. But his suspicions were soon aroused when Laura kept disappearing to speak with a “friend” of hers. She disappeared three times during the first hour. When Laura asked to be excused for the fourth time, Benny quietly followed her. Who was this friend that was so important? Benny didn’t even see Larry approach her the first time. It turned out that when Benny went to the bathroom, Larry seized the opportunity to introduce himself to Laura and made his play.

  Larry was every nice guy’s nightmare. He was a twenty-one-year-old high school dropout, sexually experienced, tall, rugged, a popular musician, and had that dangerous bad boy druggie look that was seductive to the ladies during the post Woodstock days. Benny, on the other hand, was every mother’s dream--studious, polite, and non-threatening. And yes, he did look a little like Howdy-Doody like Chuck said, only with casual slacks and open collar dress shirts--a far cry from the hippie culture. To top it off, Benny’s and Laura’s parents were good friends. So while Benny knew Laura was looking for some excitement, he never thought she would do this about-face. Of all nights. How could she go for this scumbag? How could she even think of it? What were those magic words Larry said to her to make her go home with him that night?

  It was about 11:00 p.m. when Benny knew he and Laura were a thing of the past. Laura was now spending all of her time sitting next to Larry as he pounded out the ear splitting rhythms. She flaunted it. The band, by law, had to be out of there by midnight. Benny’s friends were trying their best to console him, but to no avail.

  Steve Green gave it his best shot. “Benny, you’re going to Indiana U in a couple months. The campus is crawling with babes. Don’t worry about it.”

  But all Benny could do was look at Laura, giggling at every remark Larry made and hugging his neck while he played. The night that had so much promise, turned out to be the lowest point of his life.

  It was also around that time Benny decided he had enough. Laura didn’t need him to drive her home. And he didn’t want anyone else to console him. He made his way to the exit.

  Steve gave chase and begged him to stay. “We’re all going to my house afterward--c’mon, meet us there in an hour.”

  Benny weakly acknowledged and headed for his new Mustang.

  The parking lot was dotted with new cars--mostly graduation presents from the well-to-do parents. There weren’t many people in the lot. Most were still inside, intending to rock to at least twelve o’clock.

  It was a pleasant, warm evening. The sounds of late spring filled the air with a steady chirping of crickets. Benny took one last look at the Pavilion, knowing this was going to be a long night, and was imagining the worst case scenario with Laura in Larry’s arms, in Larry’s apartment. Hell, Benny and Laura never consummated their relationship; almost, but they never did. And the unthinkable; it was going to be Larry, not he, who was going to pleasure Laura that night. Benny was sure of it. He couldn’t get those dirty pictures out of his mind; Laura, screaming with ecstasy while Larry fingered her on the floor until he was ready to penetrate her body, letting him steal her virginity that rightfully belonged to Benny. Or worse, maybe once in Larry’s apartment Laura wouldn’t know how to say no if Larry got so horny he just couldn’t stop. At least that was what Benny was thinking. He couldn’t stand it. The only thing left to do was get away from that Pavilion. And fast. It didn’t matter where. It didn’t matter what Benny imagined about Laura in Larry’s apartment. He would find out later.

  Benny got into his car and sat there for a few minutes, listening to the radio and hearing Bob Cheats, a local DJ, wishing all the new grads good luck and playing farewell tunes.

  Sonny and Cher were singing All I Ever Need Is You when Benny finally left the parking lot and headed towards Stagecoach Road. And why he headed for Stagecoach Road is still a mystery, even to him. Maybe it was a place where he knew he could be alone. As bad as he felt, though, he wasn’t suicidal. He didn’t know how the evening was going to end.

  Stagecoach Road had a bad reputation. Instead of ghost stories, kids would tell Stagecoach Road stories to scare the hell out of anyone who would listen. These fabricated stories were the stuff of werewolf and slasher movies. A dark, deserted strip where no one would dare venture alone--at least not unless they packed a gun. But that’s where Benny was heading. His depression shadowed over any perceived fear he might have had about Stagecoach Road. He just wanted to be alone.

  There weren’t many stores open late, except for the Gas ‘N Go on County Line Road. Benny thought of stopping to get a Coke, but didn’t. Stagecoach Road was just ahead, and he wanted to let off some steam by flooring his new car. There were only a few houses on Stagecoach Road, spaced further and further apart as the road narrowed into wilderness. Old, abandoned barns were visible during the day, but a rumor at night. No cops, which made it such a good drag strip. Chances of hitting anyone or anything going 90 were nil. But that’s also what made anyone entering the road so vulnerable. Very few people went there, except for the tough guys with fast cars and fast women.

  At about 11:20 p.m. Benny turned down Stagecoach Road and slowly passed the houses that flanked him on each side. He had to drive slowly passed the houses since the road was rough and each bit of gravel pinged against his tires--even at 15 miles per hour. Thirty miles per hour would have awakened anyone in the houses.

  When he reached the end of the houses, he turned on his brights so he could at least see twenty feet ahead. There were no street lights on the road. He then pushed his foot on the gas and zoomed for a couple of miles, nearly missing a deer. That got his attention. He almost hit that deer. His heart pounded at the near miss. That’s when he stopped to turn around and headed back towards County Line Road and then maybe home. Laura was heavy on his mind. He stopped a couple of blocks before the houses, and cut the engine as he looked at the second hand on his watch and counted the ticks which were clearly audible on that still night.

  It was fast approaching midnight. The magic hour. The band had to leave the Pavilion by twelve. This also meant Laura would be leaving with Larry and Benny’s biggest nightmare would be realized. He didn’t want to think about that any longer, but he couldn’t talk himself out of it. He tried to think of all the positive things in his life--college, his friends, and how he loved to play the piano. The piano was his best friend. That’s how he met Laura. Benny was playing a Chopin Prelude in the school music room when Laura stopped to listen. She was impressed and complimented him on his playing. So even though Laura was no longer his, his music stood by him. They couldn’t take that away.

  Benny sat in his car for about ten minutes and was starting to snap out of his gloom. He reached for the ignition and turned the key. Still in park, he revved the motor a couple of times before he put the car in drive. He was ready to go home when in the distance he saw another set of brights coming his way. Who on earth could that be, he thought to himself. He wasn’t worried because he was in his car with the engine running. But Stagecoach Road was narrow--barely enough room for two cars to ride abreast. He thought he would wait for the oncoming car to pass him before he took off.

  The other car, a badly damaged red Camaro with a loud, broken muffler, started to slow down as it approached. As the old hotrod crept closer, it challenged the Mustang by heading straight for it--an uninvited game of chicken. Benny didn’t move. The Camaro’s brights blinded him for moment and then stopped right in front of his car, headlights to headlights. Benny put his car in reverse and tried to get away. The three passengers inside the heap quickly got out and r
an towards the Mustang. Benny tried to hit his locks but it was too late. One guy was able to open the driver’s side. Benny, it appeared, was doomed.

  This whole episode was just pure chance. The thugs inside weren’t looking for Benny--they were looking for trouble. They thought there was a couple inside and they intended to rape any girl who happened to be in the car. But it turned out to be Benny, the guy these goons bullied since the first grade.

  Benny was a sitting duck. He was at the mercy of the four bullies he feared the most: Murphy Spevacek, Frank Stram, Gerald Hill, and Tommy Gunther. He hated all of them.

  “Look what we’ve got here,” said Frank, licking his chops like a bulldog with a steak. “Jew boy himself.”

  Frank was the meanest of the bunch. He had a badly pockmarked face, a blackened front tooth, and the longest rap sheet, burglaries mostly. His hair was dirty blond and oily. He was the tallest of the group, about six-foot-two. All of them dropped out a few months before graduation. They too went to the Pavilion that night but were abruptly escorted out by the security guard. They weren’t welcomed there. This added to the already inflamed chip on their shoulders. Not that they needed another reason for their aggression. They were groomed to be anti-Semites even though there was very little anti-Semitism in Miller. What was more convenient than to blame a guy named Weinstein for their troubles.

  “L-l-listen guys,” Benny stammered. “I d-didn’t do anything to you. I just want to go home.”

  Benny spoke with a slight but embarrassing stutter during stressful situations which was fodder for these delinquents.