The author, John Dale, ready for action in 1952 at age 3.

By John’ Butch’ Dale
Guest Columnist

Have you ever done anything really stupid? How about really, really, really stupid? C’mon, admit it. You know you have. Believe me, I have.

John ‘Butch’ Dale

Now I’m not talking about the dumb things I did as a little whippersnapper when I didn’t know any better … such as cutting a light cord in two with a pair of scissors … or shoving a razor blade through my cheek while pretending to shave … or loading up Dad’s 12 gauge shotgun and firing off a round … or even drinking from a creek and ending up with typhoid fever … all of which I managed to accomplish before the age of 10.

No, what I am talking about are stupid things that we have all done when we were older and supposedly had a smidgeon of common sense and should have known better.

I have searched my brain and come up with four really dumb things I have done:

(1)-Age 14 … I knew that I should not throw rocks at people (unless of course, they threw rocks at me first). But back in a field one day, I thought it would be fun to throw rocks at my brother Gary … not hit him in the face, just ping a few at his legs. A dumb decision. As I laughed and walked away, Gary picked up a rock about the size of a baseball and hit me in the back of the head. Yep, I suffered a large gash and was knocked unconscious. As Dad placed me in the truck, he told me not to move … as my brains were leaking out. Funny, Dad, real funny.

(2)-Age 19 … When I was first married, I helped my father-in-law on his farm part-time while attending Purdue. One spring afternoon, I drove his tractor to a field to begin plowing. He asked me if I needed help in lowering a spring tooth harrow down (which dragged behind the plow and broke up the clods). It was very heavy, but I told him I could do it myself. Dumb decision. After he left, and as I started to lower it, my sweaty hands lost their grip, and the harrow dropped. I felt something. I looked down, and a 3/8th-inch diameter steel rod had gone through my foot. Not good. When I lifted it up, blood shot up like an oil well. After experiencing extreme pain, a loss of a lot of blood, and a trip to Culver hospital, I was laid up for almost a month while it healed.

(3)-Age 37 … While trying to arrest a drugged-up psycho who had tried to burn down his mother’s house, I chased him into a field. When he stopped and then came at me with a butcher knife, I drew my revolver, and he took off running back toward the house. I heard a dog barking as I ran after the fellow, but didn’t put two and two together. I should have stopped right then and there, but I didn’t. Dumb decision. The psycho then sicced the dog … a pit bull … on me. It bit my leg, clamped down, and shook my leg like an old rag, ripping my pants to shreds. I had a large bruise on my leg for over a month.

(4)-Age 50 … While teaching at Clinton Prairie high school, a student dared me to try pole vaulting during PE class. “Sure, I can still do it!” Well, I did it and luckily didn’t pull any muscles or break my neck. That evening, feeling young again, I went out to feed my mother-in-law’s pet donkey. Instead of walking through a gate, I decided to jump over a 3-foot high hog panel. Dumb decision. My hind foot caught the top of the panel, and I landed on concrete … my knee striking a broken-off steel fence post. It felt like someone had hit me with a hammer as hard as they could. I am pretty sure that I chipped a bone, but I never went to the doctor. That knee still causes me trouble.

It never ends. Last year I decided to remove the tin roof from an old garage. By myself. Dumb decision. I fell off an 8-foot ladder and tore a ligament in my elbow. Well, folks, I could list many, many more incidents of dumb decisions during my lifetime. Regarding the subsequent injuries, in the spirit of John Houseman, the spokesman for Smith Barney … “I had injuries the old-fashioned way… I earned them!”