Keith K Nearly Meets His Maker

[Keith K]

I thought I would try an addition to this area of the site. Although I am dating myself, here is a true story from my youth:

In the summer of my seventeenth year I traveled Northern Europe for a month with a Catholic youth group. One of our first stops was Brussels, Belgium where we stayed in a youth hostel. This hostel was shaped sort of like a "C" or bracket "[ ". In the middle courtyard it was open aired and grassy, to the back there was a low stone wall topped by an iron fence. Beyond the fence was a 60 foot drop to the alley below. We sat out there, my friends and I, looking down into the alley watching children playing soccer on the cobbled street.

Later, while exploring the city I saw a billboard promoting the rock band Uriah Heep and their concert that was scheduled for that very night! Now in those days I really liked that band and the thought of seeing them in Europe was just way too cool to pass up. So I convinced my friend and 2 other girls we met as part of our tour group to go to this concert. I will skip over the part of trying to find this place in a strange city and me with only a minimum of French fluency...that was an adventure in itself...

Anyways, we found the place, enjoyed the show, had a blast and then tried to navigate home later that night. There another adventure in bus changes and wrong stops continued...

When we finally found the dang hostel where we were staying it was well past midnight. Now in those days the hostels closed at certain times and if you weren't inside then you were on your own until morning. We were in big trouble because the priests were going to be really pissed off that they had lost 4 teenagers on the second day of the trip! I am sure that there was quite a bit of consternation when we missed the head count that night.

I was in a quandry as to what to do. I didn't know my way around, there weren't any other places to stay, the females were bitching...it was a bummer let me tell you.

There was still activity on the streets and folks were passing by. I tried to converse with some of them in my fractured French but was not getting anywhere. So we just started walking and not too far down the street we came to a nightclub that was going full bore with rock music and drinking. We were way underage for America but in Brussels we were served all the alchohol we wanted. We partied for three more hours until we were too tired to go on. We stumbled back to the front of the hostel and it's heavy arched wooden door. Across the street was a small church that must have been 400 years old, with a tiny cemetery attatched. We went there and sat down amongst the crosses and stones to rest.

I was thinking, "This is not good. There must be a way to get in." That is when it hit me. The Courtyard of the Hostel! Of course! I remembered that the building next to that alley where the kids were playing soccer had these windows with bars on them. If someone was careful, he could climb from window to window up to the level of the courtyard and then swing over and grab the iron railing that guarded the back of the courtyard. Once there all he had to do was walk across the courtyard to the front door, open it and let the others in.

As I explained this cockamamy plan to my little group the women were all for it. (sure, let him risk his young ass so daddy's little princess won't get in trouble). Mark wasn't so certain though. He thought that the windows were too far apart. But I was tall, much taller than the others. I felt that it could be done. In fact I insisted on it. So we all walked the long twisting route down to the back of the hostel. We were down in the alley looking up at the railing of the hostel courtyard and I measured the possibilities from this new perspective. It appeared that Mark may have been right. The distance looked possible but very dangerous.

Stupid and undeterred, I announced that I was going up. I was going over, and I was going in. They were to just watch.

The windows were difficult to manage. They were shaped like arches - rounded at the top. The bars that guarded them were shaped to fit. I could just pull myself up far enough to reach the next level and I began to climb. After I cleared two stories I paused and rested, clinging tightly to the bars and hoping that they were all well anchored. It hadn't occured to me that they may pull out of the dang building from my weight.

I looked up. Only one more level to go. I pulled myself up and was level with the courtyard. Almost. Not quite level actually, now that I was up there and could see better. The final move to be made...the one that would put me on the railing of the courtyard...was too far!!! I was long and tall but it just was a bit too far to swing from the window of my building to the hostel next door.

I looked down. There were my three friends below me watching. I decided that I couldn't make the maneuver and would have to retrace my steps. That is when I discovered that down was not an option either. At least down by climbing. Down by falling was much more likely. The windows were recessed, and the bars were fitted inside. It was like a smooth wall below me with no footholds.

I can still remember vividly the thoughts that raced through my dazed brain as I clung to that window and felt the wind blowing on my face that summer of 1973. Even as I sit here now almost 32 long years later. It was a picture of the local paper with a bold headline Youth Dies In Fall Abroad! Oh! How my heart was beating! Let me tell y'all I was feeling pretty scared all of a sudden. The alchohol was wearing off quickly with the adrenelene rush of my life being at stake, and I was thinking since I cant go down, I will have to make the attempt to swing over the long distance to my left that would put me safely home.

There was only going to be one attempt. I knew this. I was going to have to hang on the window bar with my right hand, swing my whole body over and reach out with my left hand to the next building. I could not do this without letting go of the window bar at the apex of my swing maneuver. It was right out of Arnold Swarzenegger or The Matrix or something like that.
If I missed the railing I would continue falling to the cobbled street below.

Of course I made it. Obviously, since I lived to tell the tale. My hand found the bottom of that railing and I clung to it for dear life. I quickly brough my right hand over and now I was almost done. I had two hands firmly clutching the the iron railing, (Hell, pressing grooves in them I was hanging on so tight). My feet were dangling, and my fans were cheering below. I pulled myself up and over. I was in!

I looked down at my friends. Down in the alley where the children play. Triumphantly I raised my arms ala Rocky and jumped up and down. Seriously, somebody should have been playing that music from Rocky it was such a magnificent moment for me. I called down to them and told them to start walking back and be very quiet when they tapped on the door. I lay on my back in the courtyard grass and looked up at the stars of Belgium and waited. It was going to take them at least 20 minutes to walk all the way back around to the front door of the hostel.

When I felt that they should almost be there I carefully snuck over to the main door. All was quiet and all were asleep. Or so I thought. Just as I heard a soft tapping at the door and was about to open it, a firm hand suddenly grasped my shoulder. Surprised, I turned around and found myself staring into the not too pleased face of Mr. Reynolds, one of the adult volunteers for our tour. He told me "This hostel does not open until 7am. You may enter it then". He then opened the door and put me out with my disheveled friends. The door closed and the lock was set again. And there I stood. Right where I was so many hours before. I learned many lessons that night and not least among them was a lesson in irony.