How to catch an arrow – Part VI

In my last post, I mentioned appearing my first time on ABC’s That’s Incredible! with Tiger Woods and the Dangerous Sports Club, who I’ll refer to as DSC for brevity. The following is a Wikipedia article on the group:

“The Dangerous Sports Club was founded by David Kirke, Chris Baker, Ed Hulton and Alan Weston. They first came to wide public attention by inventing modern day bungee jumping, by making the first modern jumps on 1 April 1979, from the Clifton Suspension Bridge, Bristol, England. They followed the Clifton Bridge effort with a jump from the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, California (including the first female bungee jump by Jane Wilmot), and with a televised leap from the Royal Gorge Suspension Bridge in Colorado, sponsored by and televised on the popular American television program That's Incredible! Bungee jumping was treated as a novelty for a few years, then became a craze for young people, and is now an established industry for thrill seekers.”

I think all of the DSC members were students at Oxford at the time I met them. David Kirke was the oldest and designated leader of the group. He was also the only Irishman and the only one, according to him, who didn’t come from an upper class family. Being older, more down-to-earth, and far more sober than the rest, I only remember David and one of the other members, Tim Hunt, who was the brother of then world formula I racing champion, James Hunt. 

The group appeared in top hats and tails, which is also how they generally dressed when bungee jumping. They also got rip, roaring drunk before they jumped. So, among other things, they were all masters of over-indulgence.

After the show, they came over and introduced themselves. They told me that they were impressed with what I had done. I told them what I did was nothing compared to what they had done, tying an elastic cord to themselves and jumping off a bridge, which seemed like madness at the time. They told me what I did took actual skill. All they needed was enough alcohol, a sufficient number of dead brain cells, and a bridge. We all laughed.

They invited my archer and I to join them for a visit to what they described as the top private club in Beverly Hills. We said sure. Everyone, except for David Kirke, were already well into their cup, as they say.

We followed them in our car from the studio. In Beverly Hills, they turned onto Rodeo Drive and began looking for the club. In the middle of one of the blocks, they swung a U-turn and parked at the curb. Knowing it was illegal to “swing a U-ie”, as we used to call it, we parked at the curb, across the street. As we waited for cross-traffic to clear so we could cross, we saw a police car heading towards our friends, who had piled out of their rental car. Several of them lined up along the side of the building and were “taking a leak” as the cop car reached them. We figured they were busted. But the officers just shook their heads and kept going.

We followed Tim Hunt into the club. One of his friends had left a message to let us in, which they did. They showed us to our own table near the center of the large room and immediately began to bring what would become bottle after bottle of Champagne, the DSC drink of choice. I’m not much of a drinker so I kind of nursed one drink all night. But the DSC guys proceeded to get even drunker.

It was soon after the collapse of the Shah of Iran’s rule and many very wealthy Iranians had moved to Hollywood. There were also a large influx of very wealthy Arab royalty. A big news story at the time was about a Saudi prince, I think, who bought a large Beverly Hills estate and painted black pubic hair on all the large Greek statues on the property. His neighbors weren’t amused.

As our hosts got drunker and drunker, a group of young middle eastern gentlemen partying at the next table with a number of beautiful, blond women got rowdier and rowdier. One of the DSC guys finally yelled, “Why don’t you shut your mouths, you bloody wogs!” Someone at the other table responded with something about “filfthy English pigs”. Both sides got to their feet, ready to rumble. Club bouncers descended on our table and told us we had to leave, which we did, but not without several of the Oxford guys getting a few choice parting words.

They climbed into their car and invited us to go with them to an all-night party, somewhere in the Hollywood hills. My archer accepted. I passed. I had had enough excitement for one day. Plus, my right hand was still bleeding and possibly broken, not the state I wanted it during an evening that would surely end in at least one fight.

So everyone went their way. I don’t remember how the rest of the evening went for them. Mine was thankfully uneventful.

Here is the link to a clip produced by the photographer who filmed the DSC Golden Gate Bridge jump, which got them worldwide publicity. http://current.com/entertainment/wtf/76299982_dangerous-sports-club.htm

Next time I talk about the photograph that gave me an idea for something new to do with arrows and led to me being invited to appear a second time on That’s Incredible!