BOOK EXCERPT

Winding Up Behind The Eightball
By Jim Ganley
Mr. New Hampshire 1977

Chapter Three (abridged)

Jack met Biff McAllister for the first time in the YMCA Weight Room during the summer of 1968. Biff was in town on leave from a tour in Viet Nam with the Marines, and at that time was masquerading as a 'good old boy' from the South, one of several disguises which he would successfully employ in the years ahead.

Weighing about two hundred and thirty pounds at a height of just over six feet, Biff had a powerfully hulking appearance that made the other lifters at the 'Y' wonder what sort of workouts he'd been following. With heavily muscled shoulders and club-like arms, Biff's closely cropped, sandy colored hair gave him an appearance similar to that of a grapefruit perched atop a refrigerator. Most of the guys there thought that Biff appeared incredibly fit for a marine grunt who'd just returned from the thick of jungle warfare. True, there may have been no visible scars of combat on Biff McAllister's 'Mr. America' physique, but unknown to anyone at the time, there were many buried deeply within his troubled mind.

After having pumped out his final set of dumbbell incline presses, he slammed the dumbbells back into the rack and turned to face Jack Benson and the other guys, Bob Talbot and Frank Frickland.

"Y'all been down to that Derryfield Hotel? That place is a real house of ill repute, y'now. I mean a real bordello!"

Biff was referring to the Derryfield Hotel and lounge located two blocks away from the 'Y' over on Concord Street in the heart of Downtown Manchester, N.H. Because neither Jack nor any of the other weight room regulars had ever seen Biff before, and because none of them were old enough to have been admitted to the notorious night club, they just listened in awe as he elaborated between sets of dips on the parallel bars.

"I went over there last night to put away a few cold ones, when this lewd lookin' lady came up an' started grabbin' my arms! She says, 'Come with me, stud!', an' I wound up spendin' the night there. Gollee!"

Neither Jack nor his two friends were accustomed to this sort of talk, and they began to grow apprehensive. This muscular stranger projected the image of a delusional maniac, or so they thought on first impression.

"Now that lewd woman had a boyfriend," Biff went on, "One o' them there greasy motorcycle fellas, an' at 'bout two A.M. he starts bangin' on the door to her room asking who's with his old lady an' makin' all kinds o' threats. Now I chose to keep my mouth shut so as not to inflame the situation... y'know what I mean? But just then he breaks down the door an' hits me in the head with a pool cue. I'm sorry about it now, but I guess I lost it and unloaded on that loser, pummelin' him severely about the head an' shoulders. Got me some beaucoup good rock an' roll last night, but now my knucles are all scuffed up pretty bad... look."

Biff held out both of his fists for Jack to examine and, sure enough, they were all scabbed over.

Bob Talbot, in addition to having been a state champion high school gymnast, was also the strongest guy at the 'Y'. On that particular afternoon he was doing curls with a pair of 60lb dumbbells, showing off as was often his style. You can imagine his surprise when Biff came along side of him and started curling with the 75s.

"Say, Bobby, is this here a good exercise fo' buildin' arms?" McAllister cackled, hoisting the weights with ease.

Bob put down the 60s and just listened as Biff launched himself into a monolgue.

"I'm so sick and tired o' bein' over there in the crotch with a bunch o' pussy lietenants tellin' us what to do! You guys an' me could really lay waste to those gooks!"

Biff was attempting to explain the frustration of trying to fight a war without any kind of cohesive game plan. The frustration engendered by trying fight a war conceived and orchestrated by politicians. The frustration of having no control over your life, of not knowing if you would be coming home in one piece, or if you would be coming home at all. Frustration and fear were emotions that could drive you crazy, but you had to learn to live with them in order to survive.

On that balmy afternoon at the YMCA in the summer of 1968, Biff was in his glory, lecturing before a receptive audience.

"I'm goin' back there to 'Nam!" he explained, "I signed on fo' one more tour, an' me an' my boys gonna drive them Viet Cong clearup that Ho Chi Minh Trail and up on into China! Then I'm comin' back home to see you guys, my friends... an' we'll start a squad o' musclemen! We'll destroy all those pukes, commies, pinkos, and drug-ridden losers! I'm not jivin' you, my friends!"

Then Biff cleaned a 205lb barbell off the floor and began heaving it up down with such ferocity that, from the noises he was making, it was impossible to tell whether he was coming or going. After he had finished that set and nearly collapsed, he grabbed the hands of everyone present and began pumping them so hard that it felt as if their arms were about to be wrenched from their sockets.

"So long my friends, " He shouted to everyone, "I'm doing all this for you, for God, and for our country!"

Then he sprinted upstairs and out of the weight room.

Bob Talbot scratched his head and looking confused, remarked, " Hey, who was that guy?"

"I don't know," admitted Frank, "He never told us his name, "But it's a good thing he liked us."

- - -

If you're interested in the publication of Jim's novel which he calls "a poignant yet humorous retrospective tour de farce of young men coming of age in the 60's and 70's set against the backdrop of weights, dates, and social decadence," you may contact him at [email protected].

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