 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| GHOSTS AND ECHOES Letting Go Of the Past |
In July of 2006 circumstances forced me to move into the small apartment unit
inside of Bullitt Bowl. The cramped 400 square foot unit was not much, but it was
home. It was also the first place in years I had been able to pay for on my own; I
needed no roommate nor romantic partner to help me pay the rent. People have
always joked that I "lived" at the bowling alley. I remember laughing that now, I
really did. I moved in slowly, bringing one load each time I came to work. The first
night I stayed here I had the usual "new place" jitters that come from sleeping in a
strange place.
All older buildings have strange sounds that echo throughout. Sometimes
buildings settle and the creaks and groans of old pipes can sound a little spooky.
However what I heard that night and every night for the next nine months was not
the sound of a building settling. As a bowler I know very well the sound of a ball
hitting the pins. Around 2 in the morning I was awakened by that very distinct
sound. I went outside of my apartment to the side entrance of the building to see if
perhaps the manager had friends bowling late.
The lights were off, no lanes were on. The center proper was devoid of life.
However, as time went on I got to know that those late night pin crashes were very
real. Bullitt Bowl was haunted.
Okay, some of you may think this is hokey. For a time, I did not believe in
ghosts-souls either went go heaven or the other direction-ghosts do not exist.
Then I would hear the pins crash at 2 am again.
Other strange things happened, as well. One night I had to fill in for the mechanic
and had issues with one of the lanes. I ended up lowering it's sweep and turning
off all power to it at the breaker. A few hours later while I was vacuuming the
carpet that very lane came on, cycled and reset a full rack of pins. When I went to
the back, the machine's breakers were still off. Other times doors would open, yet
no one was there. Jessica was there once when the bumpers decided to go up
and down at random. Troy saw someone walking over the catwalk once, but no
one was there. Perhaps the strangest thing happened on lanes 23 and 24. I was
practicing and threw a ball down lane 24. Instead of coming back up under the
lane on the ball return, I stood in awe as I saw my ball come UP THE GUTTER on
lane 23. This is not possible with the mechanical systems of these pinspotters, but
I promise you it happened all the same.
I was telling this story to a lady who used to work here and she told me the reason
for these happenings. Back in the 1980s, when Cindy worked here an older
gentleman had the first 11 strikes of a perfect game, then collapsed and died on
the approach from an apparent heart attack. Yes, on lanes 23 and 24.
As time got closer to the closing of Bullitt Bowl the strange things became more
common. Some have taken pictures with the "smoky" apparition covering the
photo. Bowling prodigy Kyle Rodgers was hanging out while we were cleaning up
one night and saw the ghost almost face to face. Just a flash, he said, of an older
guy with a grey beard. A week before we closed, Matt and Jamie saw him
approach the desk, then disappear.
All of those nights, he was trying to get that final strike. I have heard that ghosts
are souls that feel they have unfinished business in this life. I am assuming that
our ghost wanted that perfect game, to finish what he started.
The last full night of business most of the Bullitt Bowl "family" was here having our
last times bowling together. Kyle was there bowling with his friends. Matt was there
bowling and taking videos of the place that had become his "escape' just as it had
become mine. Jamie and I were busy giving the old girl one final cleaning. Some
thought it was stupid of us to be scrubbing corners and dusting in a business about
to close forever. But Bullitt Bowl was so very much to us. We wanted to show her
the respect she was due for being so good to us. For it was on lanes 15 & 16 that
Jamie and I met in person.
While cleaning I saw Kyle doing something strange. He had turned on lanes 23 &
24 and was putting a pair of bowling shoes and a bowling ball at the foul line. He
then put in the name "Mr. Still Going" and manually entered the first 11 strikes for
our friend, the ghost. Kyle wanted our apparition to have his last time bowling as
well.
Between 7 and 9 pm, those lanes reset themselves twice. No human was near
them pushing buttons or bowling.
After we "closed" for the day I bowled one more game with my sister Dee and my
friends Kyle and Matt "Mumbles" Jackson. Jamie had another pair of lanes beside
us and was bowling for the first and last time there with her mom, and one last time
with her dad. While she was not looking I slid back over to the apartment to
change clothes. Jamie's mom took her to the restroom. A few moments later Jamie
heard the song "You've Got A Friend" over the speakers. This was the first song I
ever played for her. When she came out, there I stood on lanes 15 & 16, wearing
the same clothes I was wearing the night we met. Our friends helped us lock up so
she and I could bowl one last time alone.
Well, almost alone.
For as we bowled, hugged, slow-danced and kissed on those approaches, we felt
we were being watched. We looked down at the lanes we had left on and knew
that our friendly "Mr. Still Going" was waiting for us to leave. As we put our things
away we saw flashes out of the corners of our eyes. When we left for the night, we
turned off the pinspotters to lanes 23 & 24, but left the scorekeepers on, with the
ball and shoes still on the approach.
Shortly thereafter Jamie, Dee and I were sitting in the apartment sharing memories
and tears. At 2 in the morning we heard the distinct sound of the pinspotter
resetting itself. Then we thought we heard the ball hit the pins. A few moments
later we heard the sound of a rack-shredding strike and someone let out a very
loud shout of celebration. We all rushed out to peer through the glass doors. The
ball and shoes were still there, the center was dark and the pinspotters were off.
The scorekeeper had not changed. But something "felt" different.
That was last Sunday night/Monday morning. Since then I have not heard a peep
or a bump in the night. There have been no sounds of the ball hitting pins nor
pinspotters cycling themselves. Our ghost finally finished his perfect game. He got
that last strike, and now he can rest in peace.
The state has had us keeping an eye on the building for them until Dennis gets his
items out. As soon as the red tape is sorted out Jamie and I will be leaving to move
to Graves county to be with my kids. Today Dennis took the last of his things out.
All that is left are the computers, pinspotters, lanes and the fixtures. Bullitt Bowl is
now just a shell of what she used to be.
As I look to my shrunken arms and depleted legs, I know that I too am just a shell of
what I used to be. My body has gone through hell the last while.
But as I look in the mirror, I see that the man looking back is not what he used to be
either. There are no more shadows of a scared and lonely little boy. Jamie, my
oasis in the desert, made me face many painful things about myself. She held me
as I faced the painful truths and agonizing memories. But rather than tell me to
"suck it up and get over it" she talked me through those things. Because of her I
know now why the smell of "old lady" perfume always triggerred asthma attacks.
Funny, but thanks to my Lady Hawk that same perfume no longer triggers anything
in my memories. She helped me lay to rest many of my own personal ghosts.
Finally too, I am totally comfortable with the man I am. For the first time ever I can
be what I am down to the core. Jamie takes me as I am, warts and all. She does
not tell me how gross my farts smell or tell me I am disgusting when I make a crude
joke. My kids do not get scolded for belching in their own home. I even feel
comfortable kissing her when I have my false teeth out to soak. Where I wanted to
kill that spectre that was the frightened little boy in me, Jamie held him and let him
grow into the man he only dreamed he could be. Finally, Sponge Daddy is no
longer a persona. No more masks to wear. I am who I am. I can be comfortable in
my PBA jersey or going to a nice restaurant in my pajamas (which we have done,
clothes are just clothes). For the first time ever, the man in the mirror is not
someone I hate.
Finally, I am free. Thanks to Jamie. Funny how when her life was falling apart I
took her under my broken wings and taught her how to fight the disease and the
bad days. I taught her how the red nose could and all I believe in could get her
though anything. I was her hero, and became her mentor. But my Lady Hawk
taught me something no one else could, how to be my OWN hero. Soon, she and I
will be off to Graves county, to "soar above the ordinary."
Soon I will be locking the doors for good on the shell of a building. When I do, I will
also be locking the doors on the shell of what I used to be. Bullitt Bowl's ghost has
finally found peace.
And so have I.
Good or bad health I will be building my game back up over the next few months.
The smile on my face is real now. With this new confidence, that others worked so
hard to keep down, I will be bringing my game and my way of life to tournaments all
over the place. One more frame? Sure. There are no more frames left for me at
Bullitt Bowl. But the film of my life is going on to the next reel. I look forward to
seeing the frames in that reel unfold. But I have already taken on my greatest foe,
the ghosts of my own past. And I won.
Be well,
Sponge (& Jamie)
05/05/2007
inside of Bullitt Bowl. The cramped 400 square foot unit was not much, but it was
home. It was also the first place in years I had been able to pay for on my own; I
needed no roommate nor romantic partner to help me pay the rent. People have
always joked that I "lived" at the bowling alley. I remember laughing that now, I
really did. I moved in slowly, bringing one load each time I came to work. The first
night I stayed here I had the usual "new place" jitters that come from sleeping in a
strange place.
All older buildings have strange sounds that echo throughout. Sometimes
buildings settle and the creaks and groans of old pipes can sound a little spooky.
However what I heard that night and every night for the next nine months was not
the sound of a building settling. As a bowler I know very well the sound of a ball
hitting the pins. Around 2 in the morning I was awakened by that very distinct
sound. I went outside of my apartment to the side entrance of the building to see if
perhaps the manager had friends bowling late.
The lights were off, no lanes were on. The center proper was devoid of life.
However, as time went on I got to know that those late night pin crashes were very
real. Bullitt Bowl was haunted.
Okay, some of you may think this is hokey. For a time, I did not believe in
ghosts-souls either went go heaven or the other direction-ghosts do not exist.
Then I would hear the pins crash at 2 am again.
Other strange things happened, as well. One night I had to fill in for the mechanic
and had issues with one of the lanes. I ended up lowering it's sweep and turning
off all power to it at the breaker. A few hours later while I was vacuuming the
carpet that very lane came on, cycled and reset a full rack of pins. When I went to
the back, the machine's breakers were still off. Other times doors would open, yet
no one was there. Jessica was there once when the bumpers decided to go up
and down at random. Troy saw someone walking over the catwalk once, but no
one was there. Perhaps the strangest thing happened on lanes 23 and 24. I was
practicing and threw a ball down lane 24. Instead of coming back up under the
lane on the ball return, I stood in awe as I saw my ball come UP THE GUTTER on
lane 23. This is not possible with the mechanical systems of these pinspotters, but
I promise you it happened all the same.
I was telling this story to a lady who used to work here and she told me the reason
for these happenings. Back in the 1980s, when Cindy worked here an older
gentleman had the first 11 strikes of a perfect game, then collapsed and died on
the approach from an apparent heart attack. Yes, on lanes 23 and 24.
As time got closer to the closing of Bullitt Bowl the strange things became more
common. Some have taken pictures with the "smoky" apparition covering the
photo. Bowling prodigy Kyle Rodgers was hanging out while we were cleaning up
one night and saw the ghost almost face to face. Just a flash, he said, of an older
guy with a grey beard. A week before we closed, Matt and Jamie saw him
approach the desk, then disappear.
All of those nights, he was trying to get that final strike. I have heard that ghosts
are souls that feel they have unfinished business in this life. I am assuming that
our ghost wanted that perfect game, to finish what he started.
The last full night of business most of the Bullitt Bowl "family" was here having our
last times bowling together. Kyle was there bowling with his friends. Matt was there
bowling and taking videos of the place that had become his "escape' just as it had
become mine. Jamie and I were busy giving the old girl one final cleaning. Some
thought it was stupid of us to be scrubbing corners and dusting in a business about
to close forever. But Bullitt Bowl was so very much to us. We wanted to show her
the respect she was due for being so good to us. For it was on lanes 15 & 16 that
Jamie and I met in person.
While cleaning I saw Kyle doing something strange. He had turned on lanes 23 &
24 and was putting a pair of bowling shoes and a bowling ball at the foul line. He
then put in the name "Mr. Still Going" and manually entered the first 11 strikes for
our friend, the ghost. Kyle wanted our apparition to have his last time bowling as
well.
Between 7 and 9 pm, those lanes reset themselves twice. No human was near
them pushing buttons or bowling.
After we "closed" for the day I bowled one more game with my sister Dee and my
friends Kyle and Matt "Mumbles" Jackson. Jamie had another pair of lanes beside
us and was bowling for the first and last time there with her mom, and one last time
with her dad. While she was not looking I slid back over to the apartment to
change clothes. Jamie's mom took her to the restroom. A few moments later Jamie
heard the song "You've Got A Friend" over the speakers. This was the first song I
ever played for her. When she came out, there I stood on lanes 15 & 16, wearing
the same clothes I was wearing the night we met. Our friends helped us lock up so
she and I could bowl one last time alone.
Well, almost alone.
For as we bowled, hugged, slow-danced and kissed on those approaches, we felt
we were being watched. We looked down at the lanes we had left on and knew
that our friendly "Mr. Still Going" was waiting for us to leave. As we put our things
away we saw flashes out of the corners of our eyes. When we left for the night, we
turned off the pinspotters to lanes 23 & 24, but left the scorekeepers on, with the
ball and shoes still on the approach.
Shortly thereafter Jamie, Dee and I were sitting in the apartment sharing memories
and tears. At 2 in the morning we heard the distinct sound of the pinspotter
resetting itself. Then we thought we heard the ball hit the pins. A few moments
later we heard the sound of a rack-shredding strike and someone let out a very
loud shout of celebration. We all rushed out to peer through the glass doors. The
ball and shoes were still there, the center was dark and the pinspotters were off.
The scorekeeper had not changed. But something "felt" different.
That was last Sunday night/Monday morning. Since then I have not heard a peep
or a bump in the night. There have been no sounds of the ball hitting pins nor
pinspotters cycling themselves. Our ghost finally finished his perfect game. He got
that last strike, and now he can rest in peace.
The state has had us keeping an eye on the building for them until Dennis gets his
items out. As soon as the red tape is sorted out Jamie and I will be leaving to move
to Graves county to be with my kids. Today Dennis took the last of his things out.
All that is left are the computers, pinspotters, lanes and the fixtures. Bullitt Bowl is
now just a shell of what she used to be.
As I look to my shrunken arms and depleted legs, I know that I too am just a shell of
what I used to be. My body has gone through hell the last while.
But as I look in the mirror, I see that the man looking back is not what he used to be
either. There are no more shadows of a scared and lonely little boy. Jamie, my
oasis in the desert, made me face many painful things about myself. She held me
as I faced the painful truths and agonizing memories. But rather than tell me to
"suck it up and get over it" she talked me through those things. Because of her I
know now why the smell of "old lady" perfume always triggerred asthma attacks.
Funny, but thanks to my Lady Hawk that same perfume no longer triggers anything
in my memories. She helped me lay to rest many of my own personal ghosts.
Finally too, I am totally comfortable with the man I am. For the first time ever I can
be what I am down to the core. Jamie takes me as I am, warts and all. She does
not tell me how gross my farts smell or tell me I am disgusting when I make a crude
joke. My kids do not get scolded for belching in their own home. I even feel
comfortable kissing her when I have my false teeth out to soak. Where I wanted to
kill that spectre that was the frightened little boy in me, Jamie held him and let him
grow into the man he only dreamed he could be. Finally, Sponge Daddy is no
longer a persona. No more masks to wear. I am who I am. I can be comfortable in
my PBA jersey or going to a nice restaurant in my pajamas (which we have done,
clothes are just clothes). For the first time ever, the man in the mirror is not
someone I hate.
Finally, I am free. Thanks to Jamie. Funny how when her life was falling apart I
took her under my broken wings and taught her how to fight the disease and the
bad days. I taught her how the red nose could and all I believe in could get her
though anything. I was her hero, and became her mentor. But my Lady Hawk
taught me something no one else could, how to be my OWN hero. Soon, she and I
will be off to Graves county, to "soar above the ordinary."
Soon I will be locking the doors for good on the shell of a building. When I do, I will
also be locking the doors on the shell of what I used to be. Bullitt Bowl's ghost has
finally found peace.
And so have I.
Good or bad health I will be building my game back up over the next few months.
The smile on my face is real now. With this new confidence, that others worked so
hard to keep down, I will be bringing my game and my way of life to tournaments all
over the place. One more frame? Sure. There are no more frames left for me at
Bullitt Bowl. But the film of my life is going on to the next reel. I look forward to
seeing the frames in that reel unfold. But I have already taken on my greatest foe,
the ghosts of my own past. And I won.
Be well,
Sponge (& Jamie)
05/05/2007
| Photo taken by Tony Eustace |
| SPECIAL LINK AT BOTTOM OF PAGE!!!! |