By John Gavin
I WAS AT THE MOVIES THE OTHER NIGHT to see the new release “Prometheus” — it’s an “Alien” prequel that I’d been looking forward to seeing — and among the trailers before the feature was one for a new picture called “Flight.”
In the trailer — which actually looked pretty good — I saw an actor on screen I’d seen many times before. In fact to call him just a lead actor doesn’t do him justice, as he’s a major personality and a huge draw that I’ve seen in many, many movies. And I knew that I knew his name.
I just couldn’t remember it.
Not only could I not remember the name of this actor whose work I’ve enjoyed and who I’ve seen in many movies, but when I saw his face a different man’s name came to mind: Renaldo Nehemiah.
In case you don’t remember, Renaldo Nehemiah was a track star in the late 1970s and early ’80s. He’s notable not only for being the world record holder in some of his events, but also for having been drafted by the San Francisco 49ers to play pro football beginning in 1982.
That was the year I graduated high school and I remember being intrigued by the story. I’d played football and had run some track and was fascinated by the idea of a track star crossing over to the pro football ranks.
But what started as a story with a lot of promise ended up being a bit of a bust. While Renaldo had world class legs, he did not have world class hands — and he dropped most of the passes thrown his way. Many people attribute his lack of success in the NFL to this fact.
But if you ask Renaldo, he tells it a different way. In the 1983 season, he says, he came up against a defensive back who hit him hard — so hard it knocked him unconscious. He suggests that after that incident something important changed, and he never again had the full opportunity to be successful on the field.
After three years in the NFL, Renaldo was averaging just over one touchdown per year — and that’s not enough for a wide receiver to stay in the big leagues. He was released by the Niners in 1985.
It occurs to me now that I know rather a lot about Renaldo Nehemiah — much more than I recalled knowing — and here’s the interesting part: I’ll bet I haven’t thought of him in years. And yet, as I was sitting in a movie theater trying to recall the name of an actor whom I know that I know, whose name popped into my head but that of the track star who aspired to be a football star?
So here’s where I’ll share a little of my back story: About a month and a half ago I wrecked the tar out of a motorcycle. I was going at a pretty good rate of speed around a large curve in the road when I hit a patch of gravel and the back end slid out.
What came next, either my brain did not record, or, if it did, the footage was deleted — which I believe to be the brain’s way of saying, “Brother, this is one memory you are not going want to re-live.”
But I can sort of piece it together by adding up the evidence of that day still in my possession, things like the scuff marks on the jacket and helmet I was wearing that show what parts of my body impacted the pavement, and the damage to my bike that shows what direction I went down.
What I do know is this: When I hit the pavement, I hit it hard. Hard enough that it knocked me unconscious.
I woke up later that day in an emergency room to a guy running a needle in and out of my lip as he stitched it back together. The next time I woke up, I was in the Intensive Care Unit — which they had put me in because, among other reasons, I was bleeding in my brain.
Doesn’t that sound serious?
It does now to me — but at the time, when I woke up in the I.C.U. and asked the nurse why I was there and was told I was hemorrhaging in the right side of my brain, it really didn’t sound all that bad to me. Now, that may have been because, since I figured I was still processing thoughts pretty well, I felt mentally unscathed. Or, more likely, it could have been because of the professional-strength pain medication I’m sure was coursing through my veins.
Whatever the case, I remember wondering if there’d be any lasting side effects.
Such as memory loss.
As someone to whom memories are not only very important, but also play a big role in my life, the thought of not being able to recall a thought is particularly troubling.
And to then be sitting in a theater and have it actually happen was worrisome.
Since the accident, when I go to retrieve a memory and it doesn’t immediately come, I worry — just a tiny bit. But then the memory comes and I move on and forget my concern.
I have to say that after my three-day stay in the Intensive Care Unit, things seem to be going all right. I appear to be writing OK (unless my editor is waiting for the right time to break some news to me), and I seem to know the name of everyone whose name I used to know. I can still run pretty fast and climb pretty far and I still love to get lost in a good conversation. All in all I appear to be the same guy — no worse for wear really and, in some ways, maybe even a little better for the wear.
But every now and then I stop to take stock, to analyze how I analyze, to think about how I think, just to see if everything seems the same as it was before the accident. And here’s what I’ve decided:
Every now and then I forget something. But that was true of me before I dumped my bike. And while getting knocked unconscious can be a life- changing event, it can also not be a life-changing event.
Renaldo felt that getting his clock cleaned hampered him from being as successful as he might have been. I, on the other hand feel differently about that.
So Denzel Washington is not Renaldo Nehemiah — and apparently neither am I.
John Gavin lives and writes in Benicia. Email him at johnpatrickgavin@gmail.com.
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