Overlook Nights
This next installment of Bridgeton Legends comes to us all the way from France courtesy of Mr. Bill Fahber. It's was very difficult for me to resist the urge to immediately post it when Bill sent it to me, but now that people are clamoring for more stories, the time is right. Enjoy.
Overlook Nights
by Bill Fahber
Bridgeton's old Overlook Cemetery is a very special place for me. Not only because I have two grandparents laid to rest there. And not because of the enjoyable summer days playing pickup softball games in the field nearby.
The reason Overlook Cemetery is really close to my heart is because it's where some friends and I played our favorite nocturnal summer sport: running from the cops.
The sport never had an official name. Basically it consisted of putting a quarter in the 7-11 payphone late at night, dialing the police station, complaining that there are a bunch of hooligans carrying on in the cemetery, and then running as fast as possible to get to the cemetery before the cops do. Once there and in position, you simply waited until you saw the police headlights racing up the trail. And then, just when they got close, you ran like hell.
Timing the run was critical. Dart too fast and there's no thrill of the chase. Lag a few steps behind and you're a goner. You really had to find that sweet spot—knowing exactly how big those headlights should look before you made your move. It was sort of like base stealing. We were the Vince Colemans and Ricky Hendersons of the Bridgeton Cemetery Cop Fleeing League. Jimmy Kille was All-Conference.
The funniest, though, was the time Kille almost got tagged out.
At night, it gets pretty dark there. Some of the tombstones are visible, but the playing field is hard to read. This was season four, game eight, and Jimmy Kille was going for a record. After seeing the cop cars, the rest of us were already off and running, but this time Kille was still squatting down—like a track star waiting for the gunshot.
We're yelling, "Jim, come on, we're outta here!" and he's still squatting. Then we're hopping the fence. He's still squatting. Then, just when the cars are close enough that we can hear their tires rubbing against the gravel, Kille plunges forward and flies full-speed ahead. Lightning fast. He looked like a glow-in-the-dark Jesse Owens sprinting through the cemetery night. But then suddenly, with a solid thrust, just as he tries to leap between two big bushes…SPLAT!
I swear, if you've ever watched the Road Runner, where the Wiley Coyote smashes flat against a brick wall and then slowly peels off, that's exactly what it looked like. Between the two bushes was a gigantic marble tombstone, totally invisible to anyone not wearing night-vision goggles. Even during the day you could barely see it.
We were sure he was busted. This time we went too far. Somehow, though, he got to his feet and dashed to safety by the skin of his teeth, but not before giving us the scare of our lives. Whoever's tombstone he slammed into, I could imagine the person up in heaven smiling down, thinking, "Ha ha, game over, you knuckle heads."
And it was over. That night was the final run. Jimmy Kille pulled off the impossible and we knew we'd never top it. Plus, it was just a matter of time before we'd likely get caught. Which we would've deserved, since what we were doing was "dead wrong." So in a way, that hidden tombstone probably saved our hides.
But more importantly, it allowed us to finish our Cemetery Cop Fleeing careers with another perfect season. Undefeated.
E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com
Overlook Nights
by Bill Fahber
Bridgeton's old Overlook Cemetery is a very special place for me. Not only because I have two grandparents laid to rest there. And not because of the enjoyable summer days playing pickup softball games in the field nearby.
The reason Overlook Cemetery is really close to my heart is because it's where some friends and I played our favorite nocturnal summer sport: running from the cops.
The sport never had an official name. Basically it consisted of putting a quarter in the 7-11 payphone late at night, dialing the police station, complaining that there are a bunch of hooligans carrying on in the cemetery, and then running as fast as possible to get to the cemetery before the cops do. Once there and in position, you simply waited until you saw the police headlights racing up the trail. And then, just when they got close, you ran like hell.
Timing the run was critical. Dart too fast and there's no thrill of the chase. Lag a few steps behind and you're a goner. You really had to find that sweet spot—knowing exactly how big those headlights should look before you made your move. It was sort of like base stealing. We were the Vince Colemans and Ricky Hendersons of the Bridgeton Cemetery Cop Fleeing League. Jimmy Kille was All-Conference.
The funniest, though, was the time Kille almost got tagged out.
At night, it gets pretty dark there. Some of the tombstones are visible, but the playing field is hard to read. This was season four, game eight, and Jimmy Kille was going for a record. After seeing the cop cars, the rest of us were already off and running, but this time Kille was still squatting down—like a track star waiting for the gunshot.
We're yelling, "Jim, come on, we're outta here!" and he's still squatting. Then we're hopping the fence. He's still squatting. Then, just when the cars are close enough that we can hear their tires rubbing against the gravel, Kille plunges forward and flies full-speed ahead. Lightning fast. He looked like a glow-in-the-dark Jesse Owens sprinting through the cemetery night. But then suddenly, with a solid thrust, just as he tries to leap between two big bushes…SPLAT!
I swear, if you've ever watched the Road Runner, where the Wiley Coyote smashes flat against a brick wall and then slowly peels off, that's exactly what it looked like. Between the two bushes was a gigantic marble tombstone, totally invisible to anyone not wearing night-vision goggles. Even during the day you could barely see it.
We were sure he was busted. This time we went too far. Somehow, though, he got to his feet and dashed to safety by the skin of his teeth, but not before giving us the scare of our lives. Whoever's tombstone he slammed into, I could imagine the person up in heaven smiling down, thinking, "Ha ha, game over, you knuckle heads."
And it was over. That night was the final run. Jimmy Kille pulled off the impossible and we knew we'd never top it. Plus, it was just a matter of time before we'd likely get caught. Which we would've deserved, since what we were doing was "dead wrong." So in a way, that hidden tombstone probably saved our hides.
But more importantly, it allowed us to finish our Cemetery Cop Fleeing careers with another perfect season. Undefeated.
E-mail stories to getaholdofkyle@yahoo.com
posted by Kyle at 3:23 PM
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