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How I Became Bob Nunley

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Last Friday, I was driving to a U.S. Post Office down the road from my company to drop off some business mail. The road I was on went right through the Robert Trent Jones Golf Course here in Birmingham. Several cars ahead of me I watched a car, driving at a high rate of speed, swerve off the road and up an embankment then flip 360 degrees and land back in the road, right side up. Me, several golfers and a few of the other cars stopped to see if he was all right. As he got out of his car I saw him throw a large plastic cup up into the woods alongside the golf course. I immediately knew what was going on, he was juiced out of his mind. His car was so demolished, I figured he was through driving for the day so I continued on to the post office.

Coming back from the post office I came to where this guy had wrecked and, to my surprise, he was attempting to get a bent fender off his tire so he could drive the car. I drove on past him for about 3/4 of a mile looking for a place to stop and call the police and ended up pulling off the road in front of a home. I called 911 and told them what was happening and they informed me that an officer was already on the way.

As I was putting my cell phone down, I looked into my rear view mirror and saw THE car coming down the road in my direction. Smoke and steam was billowing out, the front bumper, dragging the pavement in front of the car like a “cow catcher”, was barely attached. When THE car was about 30 yards behind me, traveling about 50-60 mph, I watched in absolute horror as he again swerved off the highway and headed right toward me. Curse words began spewing from my mouth so fast, I can’t even remember all the ones I said versus those that I just thought about. I reached down and grabbed the gearshift, pulled it down to drive and stomped the gas. I was just starting to move when I felt the impact. It jerked me hard back against the seat, spun me across the people’s front yard, broke the gearshift off in my hand, and finally came to a stop in a side street, still cursing the whole time.

I got my cell phone, dialed 911 again, and when the operator answered, I yelled, “Get a police officer out here right away, this son-of-a-????? is crazy!!!!” About that time I heard the sirens of approaching police and medical vehicles. Shaken, I got out of my Jeep Cherokee and stood up. It was a mess. The rear end of my car, the deep ruts I made skidding across the gentleman’s front yard, the drunk staggering around, pieces of his car strewn about and the smoke and steam was still billowing out from under the demolished hood.

Then I heard a voice, “Sir, are you OK”. I looked up and it was the police officer, a big muscular black guy, built like Mike Tyson, with a very concerned look on his face. I said, “Yea, I think I’m OK”. Then, with his pad and pencil ready he asked, “Could I have your name sir”. “CAN’T YOU TELL!!”, I responded, gesturing with my hands at  the horrific mess all around us, “I MUST BE Bob Nunley!!”. (Only joking here Bob). As he was writing down the information, I informed him that I was pretty sure this guy was juiced and I told him about the previous wreck that had just occurred.

The officer then approached this guy and asked him about the previous accident and he denied it. The officer then asked him if he was drinking. “No Sir”, the guy replied. It was apparent that the officer was starting to get upset with this fellow. The officer pointed his finger up at the guy’s face and said very firmly, “OK, I’m taking you downtown and if you are lying to me, you are going to jail for DUI, do you understand me”, “Yes sir”, the fellow replied. The officer then instructed him to stand to one side until he was finished with the accident report.

Several minutes had passed when I heard a bystander yell, “Hey, he’s in your car”. Then I heard a police siren turn on. I looked over at the parked police squad car, with its siren and lights blazing away and behind the wheel, you guessed it, was the drunk. He pressed the accelerator (all the way to the floor apparently) and in a violent cloud of dust and gravel, he was gone. The officer looked at us and began running down the road screaming into his radio, “HE’S GOT MY CAR, HE’S GOT MY CAR, YEA CAR #320, HE’S GOT IT!!!!” The bystander, who alerted the officer, had by now started his truck and picked the officer up down the road and they both drove away chasing the stolen patrol car.

There I stood all by myself. The sound of the siren was becoming more and more distant. I walked over to my car trembling and feeling like this was all a very bad dream. I sat down in my car with my door open, feet on the ground and lit a cigarette. Then I heard a faint purring sound. I looked up and it was an elderly fellow who lived in the house. He was coming toward me in a small motorized wheel chair. When he got to me he asked, “What the HELL is going on here?”. I extended my hand and said, “HI, I’M BOB NUNLEY, WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”

All of the above is absolutely the truth as written. By the way, I would like to extend a very sincere thanks to Bob Nunley, Harry Boyd, and Doc Shaffer for all of their help and time. I am trying to finish my first rod, but work matters have been getting in the way lately. These guys have been just great. You will never find anyone who enjoys helping others more than they do. Also, for anyone who has not purchased Bob Nunley’s book “Extreme Flyfishing”, BUY IT NOW. Great book Mr. Nunley.  (Dave Alexander)

    I KNOW Bob Nunley, and you, sir, are no Bob Nunley!

    If you weren't bleeding from a gash in your head, suffering from a concussion with little stars dancing around your head, trying to put your shin bone back through the skin, or something like, you ain't him.

    Now, did you get a look at the other driver?  Was he a really big, balding guy in shorts and smelled of Budweiser?  THAT would have been Bob Nunley!  (Brian Creek)

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