This is the story of Otto and the Hole. The incident wasn't Otto's fault at all, but it is kind of humorous in retrospect.
One afternoon in October, Otto and I were walking home from Bettendorf High School, (a 2 mile walk) and making pretty good time. We had walked this route lots of times, and knew almost every crack and bump in the sidewalk. About 2/3 of the way home, we were walking along the sidewalk on 18th Street, (a fairly busy street in Bettendorf), when Otto stopped in his tracks. Now, it was too early for him to stop for the curb, because I knew that we weren't to the curb yet. So, I did what I was supposed to do. I stuck my right foot forward to see what Otto had stopped for. There was nothing there but sidewalk. Finding nothing with my foot, the next step is to put my hand out and try to find something that isn't on the ground. Right away I found what Otto had stopped for. It was a "road giraffe," one of those sawhorse barricades with a blinky yellow light on it. I figured someone had put down new sidewalk and put the barricades up around the wet concrete. So, I told Otto to go off to the left and then back to the sidewalk. He did that, and stopped short almost right away. I guessed, (incorrectly) that he had stopped for the giraffe on the other side of the new sidewalk, but I still went through the standard drill. I stuck my foot out to check for an obstruction. What I found was empty air. I also found myself falling into a 6 foot hole in the ground where the city was laying new sewer pipe. I landed with both feet on the top of the
pipe, (fortunately), and with Otto's harness still in my hand. He was still above me, trying his best not to get dragged into the hole with me. Being the quick-thinking human even back then, I let the harness go, but still held Otto's leash.
So, here I am, 6 feet down in a hole, holding my dog's leash. There are no workmen around, and I can hear traffic going by above me. Otto is looking down at me, thinking, "Boy you're stupid. I told you there was a hole there!" (He's always so helpful after the fact.) I am more or less undamaged, I'm not bleeding, and nothing is broken. This is a good thing. Next, I decide that I would not like to spend anymore time in this hole.
I've gotten pretty much everything out of the whole falling experience, and it's time to go home. So, with Otto as an anchor, I manage to climb out of the hole, go around it, (why fall in twice?) and get back on track for home.
As I'm walking home, I notice that a number of cars driving by have honked their horns at me. I can't figure out why, except that even then Otto was popular. While I've been walking, I've been brushing the dirt off my coat and stuff, and I discover I have a bunch of dirt in my hair. I reach back to grab my comb out of my back left pocket, and I'm shocked to find that I don't have a back pocket anymore. What I do have is a rather large
hole in the back of my jeans, running from the top of where my pocket should be to the middle of my left leg. Now I knew why I was being honked at. I decided to take a "less" conspicuous route home.
When I got home, my mom was sitting in her normal chair, reading the afternoon paper. She took one look at me and asked what happen. After telling her, she didn't stop laughing for about a half hour.
As a post script to this story, I should mention that the gods didn't think my embarrassment was quite complete. One of my friends who was the morning disc jocky at one of the local radio stations heard this story (OK, from me) and decided it was funny enough for air time. While I was talking to him on the phone, he says "Hold on!" and I knew then I was doomed. I told this story on the air, probably at the risk of causing accidents all over the Quad Cities, but certainly at my expense. As if that wasn't enough, a local newspaper columnist, Bill Wundram, heard the
story from his son Pete, (one of my friends) and ran a condensed version of the tale in his column later that week.