A Life Wasted

Winnebago Fire

When we arrived in Las Vegas the motor home's engine died in traffic. It was rolling enough I was able to get it to the side of the road, but it was still in the way. I'm not a mechanic. Not even a little. Mary's dad was a Methodist preacher who earned part of his income as a back-yard mechanic, so she knew a bit about fixing cars. Certainly more than I. Still, being the macho guy I had to pull the motor cover back and take a look. I am sure it was Mary who figured out that the engine wasn't getting any gas. The problem was a clogged gas filter. When I pulled the gas line off behind the filter, gas came out, but it wasn't making it into the carburetor (something old-timey engines had). Being the creative genius type that I am, I came up with a brilliant idea. If the gas couldn't reach the carburetor, then all I had to do was bypass the clogged filter by pouring gas directly into the carburetor. Couldn't be simpler.

I only needed to move the motor home a few blocks to the Circus Circus casino where we'd park it and have ample time to replace the fuel filter. I filled a plastic Coke bottle with gas from the convenient gas line hose with intentions of pouring gasoline into the carburetor. Least you think me a complete idiot (which I very much was) my Coast Guard training kicked in causing me to place our two fire extinguishers within easy reach. I sat in the driver's seat and poured a little gas into the carburetor then started the engine. I said, "I love it when a plan comes together," then pulled back into traffic, pouring in a little more gas as I drove. When we reached the first red light I pulled my foot off the accelerator and the carburetor backfired.

Without an air filter covering the carburetor the backfire threw a flame into the air, instantly igniting the gas fumes. The entire top of the engine, and the right half of my body were covered with gasoline. So many things happened at once, yet to me it was all in slow motion. Mary sat in the passenger's seat with our baby cradled in her arms. She turned the baby away from the fire to protect it. The kids screamed in the back of the motor home. The dog barked. The entire right side of my body was burning and I still held the plastic Coke bottle filled with gasoline in my right hand. Knowing I held a bomb, I dropped the bottle through the engine gap and onto the road below. It is amazing it didn't explode in my hand.

The flame had Mary pinned to the side wall, so I picked up the first fire extinguisher and used it to put out the fire on her side of the engine compartment. As soon as the flame went down Mary bolted for the side door with the baby covered protectively. While watching all this I continued to use the fire extinguisher on the flame. When the first fire extinguisher was exhausted I grabbed the second. When the engine fire was finally out I was still burning from my right foot all the way up my right side to my shoulder and down my arm. This hadn't seemed to be a problem while the engine burned. Now my burning parts got my attention. As calmly as a Hollywood stuntman, I turned the fire extinguisher on myself and used the last of it's charge to put out my own fire.

I looked in the back of the motor home for the kids but they were gone. When I stepped out the door and on to the road traffic had stopped and strangers were helping my wife and children. When the fire started my oldest daughter Emily opened the back window and calmly lowered her siblings to a guy who had ran over to help. After the kids were out Emily handed out the dog, and finally herself. A clear headed thinker, my daughter Emily. She was ten.

A woman ran up to me to give me aid but I said I was fine. They saw me on fire so knew better. I was wearing blue jeans and a jean jacket. Both were literally burned to a crisp. The woman and a man pealed the jacket off me. My left arm was normal, but my right was bright red, like I had a severe sunburn. When the air hit my arm I started shaking uncontrollably. The pain wasn't that bad, but I was suffering from shock. This is a normal reaction from me. I'm cool as can be when something dangerous is happening, but when its over all those repressed emotions surface and I react.

Amazingly I was the only one injured and I wasn't hurt bad enough to need medical care. We had the motor home towed to a garage. All that was required was to replace a few damaged hoses and the clogged fuel filter. The forward part of the Winnebago was covered in white powder from the two fire extinguishers, but other than that everything else was fine.

Circus Circus was better than we expected. The "campground" was more a large parking lot with hookups, but the place was set up well for kids. Lots of playgrounds and things to do. The thing they (and dad) liked most was the casino itself. Unlike other casinos, Circus Circus was set up for kids. There was a mall size area without gambling (under Nevada law, under 21 can't even walk through a gambling area). Circus Circus was designed with this and the family in mind. There was a multi-level area reminiscent of a circus big top, complete with live acts ranging from flying trapeze artist to clowns and lions and tigers. A live act was in progress every time I walked through that area. Surrounding this huge room was set up much like a carnival with games and attractions. And of course there was a gigantic arcade room that had every videogame ever made. It was every child's fantasy. I loved the place. My children liked it too.

Every day our family rode the ultra-futuristic monorail from the campground into the circus. Mary and I got a little alone time, and I even spent a little time gambling (I like blackjack), but this was time for the children. Vegas isn't usually considered a destination for children, but the Circus Circus Casino made this a reality. We loved the place.

Unfortunately it came to a premature end when we got kicked out by security. This time it wasn't my fault, it was Emily's. At one of the campground's playgrounds an older kid pushed Emily down. The reaction from the rest of my pack of wolves was instant. They were all small, but as a single fighting organism they jumped on the bully and beat him up. I didn't see this, but heard all about it from two Circus Circus security guards. They said we had to leave immediately and never come back. I said I'd been kicked out of better places, but I hadn't. I told my children I was proud of them for protecting each other.

Later in life when I would visit Vegas for business or a convention (Comdex is there every year) I always stayed at Circus Circus in honor of how much my family enjoyed the place. They never figured out I was the guy with the wolf pack.

When we returned home what we found was disheartening. The man who owned the house we rented evicted us in our absence. The owner of the dog I shot knew the homeowner and told his version of the story. Of course the evidence of the event was still evident. We left on vacation on a whim a few days after the incident with the dogs, so I hadn't repaired or replaced anything yet, though I had intended to when we returned. Of course the homeowner didn't see it that way and since I had messed up I didn't blame him. So we returned to no home and our possessions in storage. That really sucked.

We rented a house in Dahlonega, a quaint mountain village a little over an hour drive north of Atlanta. We liked this area a great deal. What I liked the most was the small airport just outside of town. I stress the word "small." It is one of the few airports in the country that lacked an FBO or any other type of public facility. What it had was privately owned hangars and a small one-room building owned and operated by a local flying club. The flying club owned several small planes and fuel tanks. I joined immediately.