Music to Die for

My friend Bondy is the Englishman who managed to get kicked out of the exclusive Arroyo Hondo Country Club after only one day as a member (see blog of 17-Nov-12).

 

He remembered another bit of foolishness during our early days in the Dominican Republic and wanted to relate it, so I’m giving him the floor.

Bondy’s Tale:

Bondy back then

I had been transferred by Shell Oil—my employer at the time—to the Dominican Republic and this is where I met Peter Lawson in the early seventies. Despite the fact that he was Australian and a bit rough around the edges, we hung out together as there were few expats living there.

Another Brit, Alan Williams, was doing design work for an expanded airport and had rented a magnificent house overlooking the ocean on the south coast. Every weekend became a two-day party at his place.

In aid of these weekly events I flew up to Miami to buy long-playing records of the then current singing stars—the Stones, Neil Young, Van Morrison, etc. We discovered that ‘Astral Weeks’ by Van Morrison was massively popular with the Dominican ladies. Needless to say, it was played frequently.

Some weeks after my return from Miami, one of our bashes was in full swing when in walked a Five Star General who was also high up in the civilian government. He’d heard of us and the parties we threw. He had brought with him his entourage, all wearing pistols on their belts.

Now a couple of days earlier this same general had visited the most fashionable restaurant in Santo Domingo and had shot dead at his table someone he disliked and who had apparently shown a lack of respect. He did it simply because he could—and walked away. No questions asked. Nothing more became of the matter.

So he walks uninvited into our party with his pistol on his belt, helps himself to our rum, chats to some of the girls and listens to our music. He then decides that ‘Astral Weeks’ should end and we would have Dominican music instead. Over he goes to the record player, lifts Van off in mid-song, puts on his own meringue record and returns to his seat. All of us were shocked at his presumption and rudeness.

Lawson, without missing a beat, marches over to the record player, lifts the General’s record from the machine and hurls it—Frisbee-like—across the room and out through the window. He then calmly replaces Van Morrison and walks back to what he was doing, which was enjoying some magnificent Dominican rum.

Me way back then

I thought, Bloody Hell, what’s going to happen now? Will guns be blazing? Are we all about to die? WHAT?


There was a moment of stunned silence then the General, although clearly displeased, managed to force something that might have passed for a smile onto his face. He stayed a little longer then left without a word of thanks to his host.

We all breathed a deep sigh of relief but refrained from any jubilation lest he hear it and return to round off the week with another shooting. He clearly felt, and possibly admired, Lawson’s temerity. I’ll never forget that night.

Bondy lends the story the perspective of a heroic stance of principal faced off against a bullying strongman. But it was not like that at all. So let me set the record straight.

There was nothing noble attached to the incident. It was no more than a dangerous combination

of rum, youth and naiveté.