San Quentin Blues - Part 2

On the day that Leon was to be released from San Quentin, Mike and I drove his faded green Beetle to the prison’s front gate. Leon soon appeared with a huge smile on his face, and after giving Mike a quick hug, he placed himself confidently behind the wheel of the Volkswagen. Mike shot me a worried glance over the car’s rounded roof, then leaned down to speak through the open window.

“Hey, Leon, do you think driving is a good idea?” he asked.

“Oh sure, man. Toss me the keys—I’m taking you boys to lunch in San Francisco!”

Call me untrusting, but I had grave doubts about Leon’s possession of: (a) a valid driver’s license; or (b) the money to spring for lunch. Still, I followed Mike’s lead and got in the car. In moments, Leon had sped across the Golden Gate Bridge and pulled up in front of a seedy pizza joint. Once inside, Leon immediately ordered a large pitcher of beer and consumed its contents in approximately 18 seconds. Leon promptly ordered a second pitcher, but just before it was set on our table, he retired to the restroom to address needs created by pitcher #1. In his absence, Mike fixed me with a determined stare.

“We can’t let Leon have any more beer, bro. There’s no telling what he’ll do if he gets drunk.”

While I agreed with Mike’s assessment, I didn’t see how we could stop Leon from downing this second pitcher and said as much.

“We’re going to drink it,” Mike said with an eerie calm. “You and I are going to drink all this beer before Leon gets back.”

Well, this was a full-blown moral crisis. Golden Gate Seminary had a strict ban on the consumption of alcohol, so while Mike’s plan had a certain allure, how could I go along with it? My mind was racing, but Mike wasn’t finished.

“I have to drive home, so you’ll need to do most of the drinking.”

By the time Leon returned from relieving himself and chatting with a few other patrons, the pitcher was almost empty and my head was starting to spin. It was still spinning when we dropped Leon off at a friend’s apartment and drove back across the Golden Gate Bridge.

“You did the right thing, Steve,” Mike said as he eased the ancient Beetle onto the Seminary Drive off-ramp. “There was no other way once that second pitcher came out.”

I nodded, still unsure how to feel.

“But just the same,” Mike continued, “You’d better hit the mouthwash as soon as we get back to the dorm.”