It was a Sunday, and I'd spent the afternoon at the home of Bob Barnes and Louis Rivera, attending the weekly music get together they hosted. I departed early, because I was scheduled to take Wendy Wilmes out to dinner. It was during the late autumn or early winter, so darkness fell early.
Heading to the home of Wendy and her mother Mary Halcrow, I missed my turn, and the street I was on ended in a dirt area a hundred yards or so farther. There were many tracks in the dirt from vehicles that had turned around there, and I continued on to do the same. In the darkness I did not see there was a rusty chain stretched across the end of the street, with no sign or safety banners.
The chain snapped up over the front of my car and started climbing the windshield. I ducked, and fortunately the XK120 had cut down doors, so the chain, rather than decapitating me, slapped me across the face, yanking my head back.
Somehow, I was able to turn around and took the right turn, stopping at the right house. Wendy and her mother Mary were there, and they could see that I was injured. I asked them why I was there, and they told me I was supposed to take Wendy out for dinner. At this point my memory spanned less than 10 minutes, so I kept going out to see if the car was damaged (it had no significant damage) and to try to figure out just what had happened. How I got the car back out under that chain, I have no memory of.
They got hold of my mother, possibly from information in my wallet. They also went to the scene of the accident and retrieved my glasses which had been knocked off (I was near sighted in those days).
My mother took me to Adventist Hospital, which was close. There, in the emergency room, they had a look at me and told my mother to take me home, and if I hadn't improved by morning, to either bring me back, or take me to St. Joseph's in Burbank. They said the same neurosurgeon worked in both hospitals and would have a look at me. I have only an extremely vague memory from that visit, and only of the inside of the parking structure.
In the morning, I still had no long term memory, so my mother took me to St. Joseph's, because that's where she always took my brother Ron for motorcycle accidents. We went into a receiving area.
From the neurosurgeon event, I clearly remembered two things. One was the little triangular brown rubber hammer he hit my knee with to test my reflexes. The other was that he'd apparently just read about an unusual spinal disease that he was sure had caused me to black out and have the accident. I had some impression of what had happened, and protested, but he couldn't be convinced. He told my mother he would do a spinal tap to detect the disease.
My mother went around to the front office to handle the paperwork. Meanwhile, I was just sitting on a gurney and nobody was paying any attention to me. I had become convinced this neurosurgeon was a real nut case, and that a spinal tap didn't sound real comfortable. I picked up my jacket and headed for the door. It was an automatic door and opened helpfully.
Meanwhile my mother answered all the questions for the receptionist, who finally said she had just about everything. Then she said, "Oh, one more thing. Is he Catholic?" My mother answered "No.". The receptionist asked, "What church does he attended?". My mother told her the last one I had attended was Methodist. So the receptionist entered "Methodist" and filled out some more stuff.
The receptionist thought for a moment, then asked, "Has he been baptized?". My mother answered, "Yes, in fact he was christened in St. Ann's Cathedral in New York City. The receptionist suddenly brightened up, saying, "Oh! He's Catholic then!", and started erasing things from the form and making new entries. My mother headed off to work.
Meanwhile, I was on my way. Buena Vista, a major street in Burbank, looked sort of familiar, and went the way I thought I wanted to go, but I decided to take a small parallel street so they couldn't find me when they came looking for me.
I walked a few blocks, and encountered a guy working in the engine compartment of a black Jaguar sedan (one of the larger ones). I stopped and talked briefly, giving him some suggestions about the engine (which I was very familiar with), and headed on my way.
So, I walked diagonally all the way across Burbank to Sun Valley. As I went I compared features that I saw with features that were slowly seeping back from my memory, seriously trying to determine if I was now still in the same world as I had been before. Things seemed to match, except what I thought should be San Fernando Road, was signed San Fernando Blvd. This did give me a touch of concern.
I finally got to Sun Valley where I found my mother's place. Things were looking more and more familiar, so I raided the refrigerator, then headed for my place, a converted migrant farm worker's cottage a mile and a half away, 10519-1/4 La Tuna Canyon Road. My key fit the lock, so I went in and took a short nap. Then I started making phone calls to friends.
At about 2:30 in the afternoon, I got a call from the hospital, asking if I knew where Andrew Grygus was. I answered, "Speaking". The person said "What?" I said "Speaking, this is me, Andrew Grygus". "Oh", she said, "What happened to you?" I told her nobody was paying attention to me, so I left. She told me that in this case, the hospital couldn't be responsible for my condition. I told her I was just fine with that.
Meanwhile, my mother was also making phone calls. She found out, probably from Mary, that I'd been coming from Bob and Lou's, and got their phone number. She got through to Bob, described the situation, and asked him if I had been drinking. Bob responded, "Well, yes, of course, but not that much, and he was in good shape when he left".
Then Bob said, "Well, anyway, I'm glad he's getting better". My mother said, "He's in the hospital, you know". Bob replied "Oh no he's not". So then I got a call from my mother.
Monday I called in to Bell & Howell and told them I was taking two days off for recovery. I gave them a brief description of events. The word spread quickly, to all the engineers and office workers, that I had walked all the way across Burbank in a hospital gown. I saw no reason whatever to correct them on this matter.
I tried to contact the neurosurgeon, but he was so offended that I'd escaped from him he wouldn't speak to me. He did send a bill, though.