STORY No. 55
JAMIE GABOURY
Age 51
Andover, MN
Duluth Ski Club
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| Jamie Gaboury with the coveted bib no. 1 atop Copper Peak in 1990. |
Some people can’t take a hint -
As I walked in my ski boots and jumpsuit to the train
station in Innsbruck, Austria, all I could think was – can’t I take a
hint? With my left arm wrapped neatly in
a sling, I was pleased that at least THIS time I was smart enough to remember
my wallet before I was whisked off in the ambulance.
The year was 1982, and my brother Mike, John Benzie and I
were in the 5th week of a 6 week junket to Europe. I had had a spectacular fall a couple days
earlier, but that story is for another time (let’s just say it began with a
multi-lingual yacking about the take-off being sticky, and ended with a long
walk from the hospital back to the hill….but I digress).
It was evening when my new skis finally arrived and I was
anxious to get them mounted to forerun in the World Cup training day at
Bergisel, and even more anxious to get back at the hill that ‘had me for lunch’
a couple of days earlier. After a
sleepless night of anticipation, it was everything I expected as I donned my
“official” numberless bib and climbed to the top of the hill. I got into the start and put on my shiny new
skies. But as I pulled down my 2nd
front throw and flexed my knees toward my skies, the screws pulled out of the
too-big holes and both front throws stood at attention. Damn!
As if something out of a bad horror movie I was not to be
denied (I was from Duluth for God’s sake).
I carried my skis back down the stairs and armed with a pocket knife, I
assaulted a tree to obtain some wood shavings to jam into the holes. I replaced the screws and was ready for the
second round. Back in the start, I was
relieved when the front throws stayed down and I aggressively pulled out the
instant the starter gave me the nod.
What I remember about the ride was being in great position as I pressed
in on the table. I “hit it” and out of
the bottom of my vision I saw my skies rise quickly, split and fly effortlessly
past my shoulders... I “over-rotated.” I
recall the sound of my shoulder dislocating as it was the first thing to land
and then the long spin/slide ending in 10,000+ spectators applauding as I
leaped to my feet. A doctor was on hand
and he attempted to re-set my shoulder while standing in the dip, but it was
not going to be that easy. Joined by a
couple of other helpers, the doctor brought me to a small building at the
bottom of the hill. They carefully
pulled down the top of my jump suit and had me lie down on this counter. The Doctor eased his foot out of his boot and
slid his foot into my armpit, while tightly gripping my wrist with both
hands. It was about at this time when I
felt someone pulling down the waist band of the back of my shorts – I looked
down in panic to see a syringe filled with 100cc of God-only-knows-what making
its way to my exposed rump. “What the
@#$%”(rhymes with Truck) I shouted. “Is
for the pain” was the sadistic looking guy’s retort. “’Truck’ the pain, just get the damn arm back
in the socket” I yelled. With a mighty
tug and with a loud “pop,” the doctor jerked my shoulder back into place. The
doctor said I must go to the hospital, to which I said … I need to get my
jacket which has my wallet in it.
After enduring snickers and ridicule from the hospital staff
that had seen me in there earlier in the week (it was all in German anyway, so
screw ‘em); and then a broken English diagnosis of ‘bone chip … blah blah blah
… operation … blah blah blah … never be the same’ I headed toward the train
station.
30 years goes by fast, but the memories of significant times
of our lives are burned in our brain –aren’t they? I’d like to think I’ve learned to take a hint
when things don’t work right the first time, maybe it’s just not supposed to
happen. Christmas blessings to all…
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