Chapter Five: Intermission

Dr. Stanley originally recommended the Scottish Rite hospital for my next step. Dr. Greenfield, my far superior specialist (whom I still utilize to this day) had suggested the Shriners. My father and I were both pleased with that recommendation. In 1952, the year my father was born, my great-grandfather was the Potentate of the Alzafar Temple in San Antonio. Although he had passed away several years earlier, we still had several connections with the Shriners. My dad's uncle, Johnny, was (and still is today) very active with the organization. As soon as he heard about my condition, he did everything possible to get me in to see the specialists in Houston.

My sophomore year of high school was, with only a few exceptions, uneventful. I was no longer in the band, and a majority of my classes were far too easy. The one class that actually kept my attention all year was chemistry. Chuck was an awesome teacher with a very unique sense of humor. I'm quite certain that my interest in the sciences would be far less than it currently is had I not taken his class. I also renewed my interest in bowling and joined the junior league once again. Sean decided to join as well, and we ended up on a team with Jason. Together, we were the "Three Fat Alley Cats", and while we didn't do so well during the regular season, we certainly turned up the heat that following summer.

I was a member of Business Professionals of America that particular year, and it was the first school club I'd been in with serious competitions (aside from band) that were further away than San Antonio. Regionals were rather boring, but I did take first place in the Management Concepts event, which consisted of a 50-question multiple choice test on common sense business decisions. A month later, we traveled to Arlington for the state competition. The test was just as easy as before, but I had placed fifth. I was the first alternate for nationals, six weeks later in Orlando. I also realized during that trip that I would probably never be able to enjoy a roller coaster again because it was just impossible to sit in one with my hip problems. Three weeks after State, my teacher received a call. One of the top four from Texas had failed a class and was ineligible to go to Nationals. I was on my way to Orlando!

Most of the time was spent playing around. EPCOT and NASA's Kennedy Space Center were the high points of the trip, until the events were all over. We arrived at the award ceremony early to get good seats, and the emcees called up the top ten to the stage for each event. I was more than surprised to hear my name called when they got to Management Concepts. Awkwardly, I made it to the stage and joined the nine other finalists. My fingers crossed behind my back, I stood there hoping to hear my name again. Third place? Someone else from Texas. Second place? Someone from Ohio. First place? "Justin Burdette, Boerne, Texas"

I was in shock. There were no words to describe how I felt at the time, and I think my teacher was on the verge of having a heart attack when they called my name as well. I stumbled forward to accept my plaque and ribbon, then we shuffled off the stage. Before I could even get a chance to call my father, Sam Champion, the high school principal, called my hotel room to congratulate me. I found out then that I was the first person from Boerne High to ever take first place in a national-level competition. The rest of the year flashed by, but not without a lot of recognition (and my name on the marquee until the last week of school!)

The last day of school came, and everyone celebrated. Sean, Jason and I loaded up in my dad's van for a trip to San Antonio. Our destination was the Columbia 300 bowling ball factory. My father had become friendly with the CEO through his job and was given an invitation for my sister and I, plus our teams, to come see the factory and get new bowling balls for the upcoming state tournament. Sean chose the Beast, Jason went with a Cuda, and I chose the brand new Pulse. At the time, my father was on the board of directors for the bowling alley in Boerne, and as such, he had the keys. We practiced with our new equipment almost every day until the tournament, sometimes bowling as many as fifteen games in an afternoon. Our averages at the end of the season were less than spectacular. I closed out with a 135, Sean with a 131, and Jason with a 127. As the tournament grew close, we were consistently rolling 180 and above. We were confident going in to the tournament, as we knew the lanes at the Boerne Turn Verein were considerably more challenging than almost any other center in the country.

Before the tournament, however, my sister and I had to make the annual summer trip to Tennessee. In most previous years, we would visit for a month, but because of everything else going on, we were only there for ten days. My aunt was disappointed to see the lack of progress with my hip, but she understood what was going on and didn't push too hard. Upon our return, my father and I had a little project to work on. I had earned my driver's license just a few months earlier and, until then, had been borrowing my dad's van when he wasn't at work. One of his co-workers had given me an old junker of a car that needed a lot of work. Apparently it had belonged to one of his kids when they were my age just a few years earlier. This magnificently craptastic automobile was a 1974 Plymouth Valiant...or at least that's what my insurance company called it. I'm pretty sure it was a pile of rust pasted together with raw shit. Our first project was to replace the tires and valve cover gaskets, which we did with almost no problems. I drove it in to town that afternoon for the inspection, and found out that it needed a voltage regulator as the wipers didn't work. One of my father's friends from the bowling alley was able to fix it, and later that afternoon my car was completely legal to drive. The next day, however, I was getting ready to leave Wal-Mart and it just wouldn't start. We tried for almost two hours. It ended up being the timing chain, and my dad's friend was all too happy to fix that as well. Unfortunately, it would take almost a week to repair.

I ended up not missing it most of that week. The very next day, my father came home from work and told my sister that we had to flip a coin to see who got the washing machine first, as our bags had to be packed and ready to go by 3:15 the next morning. At first, he wouldn't tell us where we were going...but he gave us a clue, underestimating my memory. The clue was "17", and I immediately knew what that meant! Amanda and I actually cooperated on laundry for once, and all I told her was to pack for the beach. At 6:05 the next morning, we were airborne and headed for DFW. My sister still didn't know where we were going, and I doubt seeing the bag tags marked "HNL" would have given her a clue. Imagine her surprise when, after breakfast at DFW, we walked to Delta's Gate 17 at DFW to wait for three seats on Flight 17, nonstop to Honolulu!

Traveling as a "non-rev" is not always fun. For the uninitiated, "non-rev" is airline slang for an employee or family member who is flying for free. It sounds nice until you realize that you can only fly when there are empty seats on the plane. Honolulu, being a popular destination year-round, is difficult to get to as a non-rev. We were fortunate, though, and got the last three of the 302 seats on the L-1011. My sister and I opted to switch seats to make things more comfortable for everyone, and in retrospect, I'd rather have been cramped in a window seat instead of what I had to go through.

The woman seated next to me in 24D was in her mid-forties and obviously had not traveled much. She seemed very nervous as the plane taxied to the runway. I generally don't strike up conversations when flying, but she had no problem with it! Over the next seven hours, I learned that she was moving to Hawaii for a job and was going to look for a place to live. She also revealed to me that she had never been married or had children, but she was very proud of her cat! I winced as she reached for her carry-on and pulled out THREE separate photo albums. All of them were pictures of her precious feline. I think that was the only point in my life when the idea of a free-fall from 37,000 feet into the Pacific Ocean was an appealing thought. Fortunately, I fell asleep. I woke up about 30 minutes before landing, now regretting not having a window seat.

Hawaii was amazing. We took in as much of Oahu as we could in the five days we had and did many of the usual tourist activities. Our plan was to go on to Maui for two days before returning home, but that plan was cut short by a phone call at 3AM. At first, I thought my grandmother was drunk when she called us.
"They're evacuating me! What do you want me to do with the dogs?"
"Huh?" I thought, not quite coherent thanks to the time difference. It wasn't a scotch-induced hallucination, the Sheriff and Fire Chief were on our front porch in Boerne with a rubber raft. The Guadalupe River had surged overnight and was ten feet from our front door, with indications that it would come even higher. Normally the river was a good quarter mile away and at least 100 feet below us. With this news, it was decided that we would fly back that afternoon. My grandmother was evacuated safely and was waiting for us, scotch and cigarettes in hand, when we made it back the day after.

It took a few days to get back to normal, but the tournament approached quickly. Arriving on a Friday, we thought it would be smart to roll a practice game or two at the center we'd be competing at the next morning. I thought I was doing quite well with a 196, but Jason surprised us all with is 244. We all went to bed early that night. The next morning proved to be just as great as we were hoping. During the team event that Saturday, we all bowled the best games of our lives, and not a single score on our sheet was under 190. It took me a few frames to really get in a rhythm at first, but I found my spot and closed out the first game with five strikes for a 229. The second game started off much better, but my nerves were being put to the test.

Nine frames down. Nine "X" marks on the screen next to my name. Three more strikes and I'd have my first perfect game. Several of my league members came over to watch and cheer me on as I took a deep breath and stepped up on the right lane's approach. I thought to myself, "Just like before. Right foot lined up with the second dot, focus on the third arrow. Wrist, perfect. Grip, dry...now push off." The ball's fourteen pounds felt like nothing as I came to the peak of my backswing. My slide was perfect, my toes stopping two inches from the foul line. Delivery was almost silent. The ball rolled directly over the third arrow, sliding closer to the right gutter and looking for a dry board to catch. Time slowed to a crawl as the ball gripped and turned left, aimed perfectly at the 1-3 pocket. The pins seem to fall in slow motion, but the sound of another perfect strike snapped me back to reality. Now my nerves were ablaze, as I'd never been this close to perfection. I stepped off the approach, grabbed my lucky towel and rosin bag, and continued breathing deeply. My teammates and fellow Boerne bowlers were cheering me on, and it was all I could do to get them to shut up so I wouldn't be so nervous. My ball came back, and I prepared for my next shot. Wiping the oil track off the ball, then drying my hands, I entered my routine again. Like a cruise missile, I was locked on to the third arrow and ready to go one step closer to perfection. The ball still felt lighter than air as I brought it to meet the lane, but something was amiss and it was too late to stop. Sweaty palms are always the bowler's worst enemy, and this time the sweat had caused my ring finger to lose its grip just a microsecond too soon. The ball rolled right across the third arrow, seemingly aimed at the gutter as before, and it turned to the left at the same spot...only this time, the turn was not as sharp. It entered the rack right between the 3 and 6 pins, taking out six of the ten I originally hoped for. The "wash-out", or 1-2-4-7 combination, remained standing, taunting me. Fortunately it was an easy spare to convert, and I ended game two with a whopping 286. The rest of the tournament went very well, with the lowest game among the three of us being a 194 on the second day.

Again, school approached...what would the next year bring?