This entry is actually two stories. They both share a common aspect. They include Billy’s wonderful smile.
The first tale occurred during my AA stint at the Squad. A call for a wreck on Chevy Chase Circle came out. Two crashes there in the previous couple of days had been particularly gnarly calls. Since everything happens in threes, we expected this one to be the same.
Billy hopped into the driver’s seat of the first ambulance in the first bay, and I climbed into the back. Peering through the small square window at the road ahead, I watched wide eyed. We took off in the rocket sled, and Billy pushed the Horton to bullet train speeds, braking hard as necessary. It was a white knuckle ride. As we flew down Connecticut Avenue from Jones Mill Road, Billy turned to the copilot with an enormous grin, saying, “We lost our brakes.”
When we entered the circle, I swear we careened around it on two wheels, passing the crumpled cars at least twice before we finally came to a stop. The call itself was not much. In fact, I don’t remember anything about the patients. It was the response that still reminds me of Billy. His infectious smile was quintessentially his.
The second story took place at our first home on Pooks Hill Road. Bobby and I were throwing a party. All of us were drinking alcoholic beverages and playing badminton out back. Billy had two items, one in each hand: a racket and can of beer. After scoring a point, he raised his lager, grinning widely, saying, “This is the life. I have liquid gold and my dear wife.”
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