Day Dylan: The Acker Street Bounce [Episode: #1: Trouble at Bram’s]

Day Dylan: The Acker Street Bounce
[Episode: #1: Trouble at Bram’s]

[1971] He wasn’t what I’d call a big man, when I saw him at the Acker Street bar, in St. Paul, Minnesota, off Sycamore Street the first time; matter-of-fact, he was perhaps regular size, five foot eight inches tall, about 172 pounds, not the normal size for a bouncer.
I first met him, or rather saw him, when he came into the bar one evening, I was sitting on a stool drinking a tap beer (Bram’s Bar). He had stopped in, it wasn’t even his day to work, a Thursday, he usually worked only on the weekends, they didn’t bother with a bouncer on weekdays, so he felt he’d not have to work. As I was saying, he came in not sure what for, to speak to someone about something I suppose, I never got around to asking him, when Paul asked him to work the night, it was Monday Night Football and things were a bit rowdy. Ah, he didn’t want to work, I could tell by his facial expressions, but I guess he agreed to, because he sat on a stood, tied his shoes tight, and I heard he was a karate expert, and that was his calling card, tight shows, tight fists, and a straight face you could not read, and he was mentally preparing for the night.
So he tied his shoes, and no sooner had he let his fingers off the strings of the shoes, a tall man, perhaps six foot three came in, broad shoulders, a big head, about 220-pounds, an elder man, perhaps 40ish, Day was, I heard, back from Vietnam, twenty-four years old, rock iron face, and arms and chest, an Irish redhead. The big man looked at Day Dylan, and that look turned into a stern squinting of the eyes, and the big man grabbed Day by the shoulders as if to turn him upside down, and whip his ass, but quicker than a snake bite, Day pulled back with his head, grabbed the man by his shirt, and pulled him in to an inch of his face and crashed his forehead into his nose—rock hard was his forehead, you could hear the crunch of bones in his nose, and the man’s head bobbed backwards, his arms releasing Day.
“A lucky twist,” said the big man, and he took his long legs and went to kick Day in his head, it was a high kick, a powerful one, and Day stood his ground, just moved his chest to the side, pivoted a ting, and grabbed his leg high. The man now limped like a camel with three legs. I looked about, the whole bar started to laugh, and the man, the big brusher got madder. As I was saying, here is Day holding this big man’s leg with one hand under his foot, high, his groin area wide open, and the big man trying to reach to Day but losing his balance in the processes. Thus, Day did what I think we all expected, he took the curved part of his foot—his shoe, and swiftly drove it up between his thighs, like a slug hammer and into his item, his groin area, you could hear the thrust of his pants as it whipped its way in and out of the area, and the man bolted back and front wards: tears of agony came to his eyes, as Day let go of his foot bringing it back to a stance area, the man fell to his needs gasping for air from the throbbing, he was as if he was melting into the woodwork of the floor, he put one hand onto the floor to catch his breath, but Day was not through with him.
A swift kick went into the big man’s ribs, drove his whole body upwards, then the man collapsed onto the floor. Less than a moment passed, and the man tried to get up on his feet, still in pain, hesitantly tried I should say, and a second kick went into his chest area, and as he dropped for the second time, an elbow in the back part of his upper spine, just below the neck, which made the man see everything in a fog.
“I’ve had enough,” the man said, as Day was preparing for another kick I do believe; “Call the police the man said,” and everyone just stood stone-still, and Day let the man rise slowly. Then as Day turned about, the man made a movement as if to grab a chair, but instead he pulled out a 38 Special revolver and aimed it at Day (and a bullet was released from its chamber), at the same time Day was turning about, his right leg flew in the air, hit the man’s wrist, and Day quickly pivoted his chest to its side, as the bullet left the gun, and the gun flew out of his hands. The bullet had missed Day by two inches of his chest, as the big fellow ran out of the bar.

Everyone tried to catch their breath in the bar as this moment soaked into their intoxicated brains, and Day simply said, “I’m going, not sure where, just going, I’m not working tonight.” And he left. He walked across the street, another bar was there, and Day got second thoughts (I could see him from the window of Bram’s): why not have some beers. Three guys were standing by the door, “What’s all the commotion over there,’ asked one of them, Day knew the fellow, and gave a smiled, “I need a beer,” he said as he nodded his head and shoulders as if nothing worth talking about, and walked into the bar.

7/13/06