QuantumFog

May 15, 2007

Positive traits, negative ambition

Michael Francis Wiley doesn't mind showing you how to approach life. He goes at it full bore, plows through the obstacles, been that way since he was born.

It's 1980; energetic thirteen year old Mike enjoys goofing around with his buddies at an abandoned train station. He runs along a catwalk some thirty feet in the air and slips. During the fall, he grabs a dangling wire, then tries to plant his feet on something solid. His foot touches metal and the circuit is complete. 12,000 volts throttle every nerve in his body.

He hits the ground barely alive. He remembers people cutting away his clothes, packing him in ice. Both arms and his left leg are covered with third degree burns. All three have to be amputated.

That doesn't slow him down. Shortly after he's given a prosthetic leg, Mike escapes from the hospital through a utility tunnel and goes home.

A year later, he gets an invitation to drive a car. His slack-jawed friend watches as Mike takes off the artificial arms, leans into the steering wheel and stomps on the gas pedal. It's on.

The freedom and challenge of driving become exhilarating. Four years later, Mike walks past a used car lot, notices a VW with the door open, engine running. He climbs in and speeds away.

He hauls past a sheriff's deputy who goes into pursuit. After Mike careens down a dirt road and sails into a tree, the deputies draw their guns and tell him to put his hands up. Mike gets out, does a series of one-legged hops, kicking into the air. Says he wants to kick their ass.

Money comes in through the railroad injury settlement; it pays living expenses along with a lump sum payment every five years. Mike uses it to buy a Chevy. He puts the key into the ignition with his mouth, turns it with his toes, shifts with his knee and puts his left arm stump into the steering wheel. He drives from Florida to California to Tennessee and back home. It proves to be a kind of therapy.

His steady supply of beer money ensures the wrong kind of friends, the kind who'll pop open his can and get one for themselves. He drinks with the can in his teeth. Somebody rolls him a joint.

Unfortunately, his driving gets worse. He gets tickets for speeding and careless driving, a lot of 'em. His license is suspended so many times that driving becomes a felony. Finally, the license is revoked for five years. Still, he drives and gets tickets.

An accident in 1996 lands him in the slammer. That still doesn't stop him. He's caught doing 120 mph in 1998. Out again in 2006, he gets arrested for habitual traffic violations and possession of cocaine and marijuana. They extend his license revocation to 2009.

In May of 2007, Wiley speeds off again when police come too close. Today, he's being held on a half million dollar bond and faces a five year sentence for traffic and drug charges.

I admire his fortitude, his courage and single minded effort. Somebody needs to shoot him when he goes by.

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