By John ‘Butch’ Dale
Guest Columnist

John ‘Butch’ Dale

We can never predict what will happen in our lives. During the summer of 1966, I started working at the Allison’s division of GM in Indy. I had graduated from high school in May and was fortunate to have received a scholarship to attend General Motors Institute that fall. My goal was to become an electrical engineer, and I was told that a high paying lifetime position with GM was guaranteed when I completed my four year degree.

One hot day in July, after I had returned home from Indy, I drove our old station wagon to Darlington to buy a bottle of Choc-Ola at Timmon’s DX service station. Sitting on the bench out front was a friend, a former teammate of mine on the basketball team. He had a bottle of Coke and a bag of peanuts, just relaxing and watching the cars drive by. He had graduated a year ahead of me and had just served six months duty in the local National Guard unit. He told me that he was working temporarily for an equipment company on a nearby construction project. The job paid well, but it was not a job he wanted to do full time.

I told my buddy that I was starting to have doubts about my plans for the future. I had watched the engineers at Allison’s sit at their desks all day, drawing engine parts. I had also found out that I would likely have to move to a large city when I joined their company. I loved Montgomery County and really didn’t want to live anywhere else. My Dad farmed and also had other part-time jobs — driving a school bus, measuring government ground, and selling seed corn. He seemed to be very happy doing several jobs at once. Dad had also told me that before I decided what I wanted to do in life, that I should decide where I wanted to live. That made a lot of sense to me.

My friend nodded his approval, and he mentioned that several people had suggested to him that he should get hired at R.R. Donnellys, as it was a good company. He could work there all of his life, make a good wage, and have great benefits. But he just couldn’t see that happening, thinking he would likely get bored working for the same company for 40-50 years. After a few seconds, he suggested that we both make a pact: We would not work at the same job all of our lives, and we would only take jobs that we enjoyed, not jobs based on pay or benefits.

As I drove home that evening, I felt certain that I could find another occupation that would better fit my personality and interests. I didn’t want to tell my parents, as they might be disappointed. I had to somehow break the news that I might not attend GM Institute after all.

The next day after I had arrived home from work, my Dad told me that a terrible tragedy had occurred. Two boys had died in a construction accident at the new Cherry Grove elevator that was being built on US 231 north of Crawfordsville. They had fallen 95 feet from a scaffold, which had collapsed at the top of a silo. One of the boys was Don Evans, a straight-A Wabash College student and exceptional athlete from Waveland, who I had played against in baseball and basketball. What a terrible loss of life!

Dad hesitated, and then told me the other boy was Joe Mahoy, my friend and former teammate, the boy I had shared the bench with at Timmon’s service station the preceding day. I just could not believe it. I was at a loss for words. I just sat there in stunned silence. I couldn’t sleep that night thinking about all of the good times that Joe and I had spent together in sports.

Three days later, I served as one of the pallbearers at Joe’s funeral in Thorntown. His parents, his brothers, the entire community, were still in shock over his death.

Sometimes in a person’s life, incidents happen that change one’s plans and outlook on life. I started college that fall, but changed my mind after attending school in Flint, Mich., for just two weeks. I came back home, married my longtime girlfriend, and enrolled at Purdue for the second semester. I eventually became a teacher, police officer, and librarian, all jobs that I have enjoyed. I stayed right here and raised a family in the community that I love.

The lives of Don Evans and Joe Mahoy had ended much too soon. I never could understand how God could allow such tragedies to occur to such good, decent human beings who had their entire lives ahead of them. Later in my life, as a police officer, I saw similar tragedies many times when investigating fatal accidents. I have no answers.

Joe was never able to attain the goal we had agreed upon that summer day in July, 1966. I was lucky. And I am grateful to God that I was able to keep my promise to my friend.