1983 was a big year for me. I completed my graduate work in library and information science, was selected for an internship at the Library of Congress, and with Barbara moved to the suburbs of Washington.
1983 was also a big year for Tom Cruise. He had his breakthrough role in the hit movie “Risky Business.” If you have seen the film, you likely remember a scene with him sliding into the frame in his underwear and socks, then dancing around the house while lip-syncing to Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock and Roll.” That movie made him a bona fide star.
While Tom was becoming a star, Barbara and I were adapting to life in a one-bedroom “garden” apartment in Riverdale, Maryland. We were on the second floor, with a laundry room and shared storage space below and two apartments above. It was an okay place but was kind of noisy from all the goings-on around us. Except for in the kitchen, the floors were a nice smooth wooden parquet, sort of like the court at the Boston Garden where the Celtics played. A plus to living there was that I could catch a bus next to our building that took me straight right down to the nearby Metro station where I would transfer to an Orange Line train into the city. The primary reason that we were in the apartment, though, was that it was what we could afford.
That fall, a minor disaster struck. Arriving home from work one Friday afternoon, we entered our place and immediately sensed that something was wrong. The air felt humid and damp, then we saw water on the floor. Looking up, we saw water dripping out of the overhead light fixture.
I then made a big mistake by mindlessly flipping the switch to turn on the light. It will not surprise you to hear that the fixture did not illuminate. Rather, sparks went flying across the ceiling, and all power to our apartment shut down.
That night and subsequent weekend was a step-by-step sequence of trying to return some normalcy to our domicile. The first move was to alert building management so that they could find the source of the leak, which turned out to be a burst pipe in the apartment directly above us. Then we needed to mop, sop and dry whatever we could. We had hundreds of vinyl record albums that had gotten wet and needed to be air-dried. Everything else felt damp. Apartment management brought in a couple of industrial size fans that we ran constantly for a couple of days. Of course, an electrician had to take care of the wiring issues.
Over a number of days, our things dehydrated and the apartment dried out. There was some remaining damage to the wooden floor squares, but that was the landlord’s problem that they seemed in no hurry to address. No worries, though, they were really just a cosmetic issue.
Within a few weeks, this episode was just a bad memory. We had made it through the emergency and had mentally moved on. We even splurged on a night out at the movies. We went to see that new hit, “Risky Business,” and enjoyed it. Several nights later, I was still thinking about that scene with Cruise – not the dancing, but the sliding into the frame. That was such a cool way to start that segment. Then I imagined myself being able to slide across the floor in my socks.
I should have just chuckled to myself and dismissed the possibility as ludicrous. Something, however, told me that it was not preposterous. I could – and should – try to slide across the floor like Tom Cruise did.
(A note here. I was not inebriated when I made this decision, but I was obviously in an altered state of mind.)
I kept my pants on, but I did take off my shoes, exposing my socks-clad feet. I then stood in the area near the kitchen and pointed myself toward the living room.
“What are you doing?” Barbara asked.
“Just watch!” I exclaimed.
With Bob Seger belting out in my mind, “Just take those old records off the shelf…,” I launched with a couple of fast starting steps and attempted to slide across the floor.
I did not get far.
Those damaged parquet floor boards had not yet been replaced. Turns out that a pair of feet in socks trying to slide across damaged floor boards results in stubbed toes and splinters imbedded in the feet. It was painful. And I could not believe that I had done it to myself.
After she finished laughing, Barbara did help me to pull out the pieces of wood from my feet. Each one reminded me that I should think carefully before ever again trying to replicate what I see on a movie screen.