The decision that eventually landed Tom Bingle and Jim King in the luggage rack atop a brightly colored, intricately patterned jingle bus, choking on sand dust for 24 hours on unpaved roads through the Baluchistan desert, was made the way many decisions are made by guys in their early twenties: too many beers and too little thought.
The beers were poured at Nickie’s, a sticky-floor college bar just steps from the off-campus house they shared with three friends they’d hung out with since freshman year at the University of Notre Dame. It was 1977 and they were nearing graduation. Their buddies already had post-graduation plans nailed down—law school for some, MBAs for others. They seemed confident, secure, and certain about their paths forward. Tom and Jim? Not so much.
“So. Binks,” Jim started, raising his glass.
“Ready for law school?”
Tom shrugged. He had been accepted to Loyola
School of Law in Chicago and the College of Law at the University of Toledo,
his hometown. He liked the idea of following in the footsteps of his older
Bill, aka Duck, but Jim detected some hesitation.
“Law school, I guess,” he said. He took a sip
of his beer. “We’ll see how it goes, you know? I just… I don’t know, Doc…”
Another, longer sip. “What about you?”
Jim had ruled out graduate school, citing a lack of funds but it was mostly a lack of interest. During a previous night of being over-served at Nickie’s, he admitted to a secret desire to become a writer, but also knew he’d need to earn a steady paycheck. Sales jobs were on his radar, and he’d been offered a position with a Midwest glass manufacturing company.
“I know I’ll sell tons when I tell potential customers I majored in American Studies,” he joked. "But..."
"But?"
Jim grinned. “You know my brother in the Air
Force? He’s stationed in England for the next year or so. I’m thinking of
working for the summer to earn enough for a trip over to see him and his
family, then backpack around Europe for a month or so.”
Tom froze
mid-sip, then slowly put his glass down. It wasn’t often you saw Tom Bingle at a loss
for words.
“Whaddya think?” Jim asked. “Interested?”
*
A trip
abroad might not be a big deal for grads these days. But in 1977, for
two broke, about-to-graduate young men who’d hardly been out of the Buckeye
State, it was a very big deal. No one they knew was putting off careers for
low-budget travel.
The
morning after that warm-beer night at Nickie’s, Tom wanted a reality
check. He called his oldest brother, Bill—“Duck,” as everyone called him—who'd been a sounding
board and mentor ever since their father passed. So he laid the question out:
law school and the “real world” or shoestring-budget travel?
“You
can always go to law school,” Duck said.
Decision
made.
For
Jim, the idea of traveling with a friend sealed the deal. He had no misgivings
about traveling with Tom, despite their contrasting personalities. Tom was
outgoing; Jim more reserved. Tom was a planner; Jim was more content to let
events unfold. What might have been a recipe for tension felt, to Jim, like
balance.
They
also shared a deeper connection that made their differences work. Both had
grown up in large families—Binks with four brothers; Jim with six brothers and
two sisters. Both had experienced loss early in life—Tom’s father, Jim’s mother--and
both struggled to pay for college tuition and room and board. Theirs was a
strong bond—one that would be tested once they hit the road.
The
more immediate test, though, was getting up the scratch to make the trip. They
decided that $1500 would be enough for airfare, a two-month Eurail pass, and
accommodations in the hostels they learned about through various budget-travel guides. They worked several jobs
in their respective hometowns--Toledo, Tom; Cleveland, Jim--from graduation
through the early fall. Finally, they made their first purchase for the trip:
one-way tickets from Cleveland to New York to London for the princely
sum of $170. And then, in late October—with new and overpacked backpacks—they
met at Cleveland’s Hopkins airport for the first leg of their journey: New York
City.
This
was before security checkpoints and jetways. Several family members accompanied
them to the gate to see them off. Tom’s mom, his brother Duck, and Jan and
Katie, two close family friends Tom considered as his sixth brother and only
sister. Jim’s father was there, along
with his sister, Patty, and second-oldest brother, Bob, who loaned Jim his
treasured 35mm Konica camera that, much later, would be stolen sometime between
1 and 3 a.m., as an exhausted Jim slept on the ground somewhere in the middle
of a Pakistani desert.
After
hugs and handshakes, they stepped out onto the tarmac, waving back from the mobile
stairs to American Air Flight 123. Just as they were about to board, a voice
called out:
“When
you come back, you will be entering the real world. So enjoy!”
Duck,
of course.
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And now for the NOW: Reflections on "The Decision"
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