Kidner Transport Roll Call - Part One

Profiles of the Kidner Tranport luminaries presents Mike Back.

Born and raised in the wilds of Western Pennsylvania Michael was a pill-popping Roid’ maniac who would carry loaded file cabinets on his head for recreation. Michael used to be in the army and was discharged after his parachute didn’t open causing him to crash into the Bolivian jungle with survivable but terrifying injuries. His right foot had telescoped up to his knee, he had the scars to prove it and credited the army for introducing him to the “awesome” world of steroids and high-grade pain medication during his rehab and recovery.

Michael talked in a sing-song cigarette scarred lunatic’s chortle and drove at absolutely maniacal speeds at all times. He saw weight and height limits on the highways as a challenge and not a mandate and would challenge them frequently yelling, “we’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make it…..OMIGOD BUD CAN YOU BELIEVE WE MADE IT!!!!” then do it all over again. He was constantly high on the job and behind the wheel and would find excruciatingly painful circumstances attached to his good times which, after he regained consciousness he would question with a, “why’s the world so mean Bud, I was just having fun!”

To wit – Once at the Crystal City restaurant (low-grade Viriginia strip bar) he hopped up on the stage and started dancing around like a chimp complete with one hand on top of his head and the other under his arm. After a few seconds he leapt from the stage and ran out the door followed first by the bouncers and then by his colleagues, (myself included). They bouncers ran Michael down in a gravel parking lot and commenced with the shit-beating they were after. I stood on the fringes as my cohorts jumped in and smashed the faces, knees and groins of the bouncers to pulp proving the point that having a tight black t-shirt, big arms and a Gold’s gym membership has nothing on being a good old beaten since birth low-thinking redneck when it comes to ass-whipping capability. I figured to have a reasonable excuse for not engaging in the fisticuffs and cock-kicking I had better tend to Michael who was gasping and wheezing from several broken ribs and a huge amount of gravel and dust that had been forced into his lungs during the fray. He was spitting up blood and had lost a tooth, all in all the boy was in pretty bad shape, He smiled a wan smile and whispered, “Did you see it bud, I did it during Bon FUCKING Jovi…that was awesome!!!” Then he passed out. He woke up in the ambulance with a tube down his throat…laughing hysterically.

To wit again – Michael and his brother-in-law Jeff (more about him in a future post) once took a moving trip to a small town in South Carolina. As was the norm they were drunk and high on the ride down and upon arrival at their destination quickly found a bar to wash down the dust from the road. Things happened as they sometimes do between loving families and soon Jeff and Michael were beating the crap out of each other and smashing furniture and generally making a mess. The local constabulary was called and stepped in with hob-nailed boots at the ready. Well…just because they had been trying to kill each other doesn’t mean Michael and Jeff weren’t family and goddamn if some hick deputy was going to lay hands on a family member. Soon Jeff and Michael were back-to-back fighting the deputies, the barstaff, assorted patrons and anyone else they could get their hands on and doing pretty well from all accounts. Finally under a hail of whacking sticks they were cuffed, bloodied and battered but undaunted. A deputy read the rights off the little plastic card and asked Michael, “do you have any questions?”. Michael (laughing as always) replied, “yeah Bud, when do I get to meet Boss Hogg”. The humor was lost on the local boys in blue and after he sustained four broken ribs and a concussion I had to go to South Carolina to pick up my yahoos and the moving truck. The charges were dropped after Kidner agreed to pay for damages and the lads were free to go. I got in the truck with Michael and his swollen, blackened face and asked how he was. He said, “Bud I’m fine but I’ll tell ya, people in the South have no sense of humor”

Next up – the Powers of Pain.