I recently noticed that the gregarious man of many tall tales, Mike Swalley, passed away in 2009. I, Bob Shattuck, was on both the newspaper staff and a member of the Montebello Ridge Rats, along with Mike. I didn't spend much time with Mike in the newspaper office, as he and Duane Shewega were always hot on some story or gag, but I did get to spend a few close days with him on a Ridge Rats road trip.
When my dad found out that the Ridge Rats would be going south, to the deserts of California, he signed on as a driver, with room for four. We showed up at the pre-trip meeting to sort out who was going in with whom, and it turned out that my dad, got all the oddballs (like my dad) me, Mike, Randy Wellman and a guy named, Pat . . . Pat with long dark hair and I recall that he might have had a hot sister.
Our caravan of cars left the Peterson parking lot early in the morning, with Dan Baer, leading the way and my dad, floating along at the back of the pack.
When we got out on the highway and the sun began to rise, we all pulled out Groucho Marx glasses, with the big nose . . . We picked up speed and cruised by all the other cars, trying to remain serious, staring straight ahead. We got a lot of laughs out of that and it sort of set the tone for the trip. We had fun.
Mike had a story for everything and we all just listened, including my dad, to his many tales . . . He'd already had, if you added it up, more cars, women and close escapes with the law, than anyone. I was always just amazed and a little jealous around him and his stories which he told with such bravado he peppered them with swearing too, which I was reluctant to do in front of my dad, so I was the only one in the car, not saying much.
Pat had a few stories, but mostly he kept quiet and I had the feeling that he was much older and experienced than the rest of us (in spite of Mike's bragging) and he kept swiping things from the gas stations and showing them to me.
Randy Wellman, well, what can I say, I think he got verbally abused and tossed in the trash can by Mike and Pat the entire trip, but we all ultimately got along.
We were down in Twenty-Nine Palms, I think, in some campground and a certain cheerleader/prom queen took an interest in my dad's car, a 1963 Dodge Polara. Why she wanted to drive it, I do not know. But I vaguely recall Mike calling my attention to the fact that at one point, my dad came driving by with this cheerleader sitting in his lap and steering the car. I think dropping a few jaws of the other parents.
I don't know what Mike did after high school, but I hope he found those cars, girls and thrills.
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