The first one I remember was in 1967, we lived next to the Southern Pacific Railroad tracks in East Menlo Park. I was goofing around on the tracks that shift next to the Bay about a half mile north of the old Dumbarten Bridge and an approaching train caused the tracks to move and pinned my foot. As the train bore down on me I thought I was a goner. As the train engineer jammed on the brakes I was hysterical . At the last second I pulled my foot out of the shoe and fell back onto the rocks. Needless to say, I never did that again.
In 1969 a friend of my dad who had a fishing boat had invited us to go fishing with him that Saturday off the San Francisco coast. The day before my mother had a bad feeling about it and backed out. Late the next day, word reached us that his boat had capsized and his body and another companion washed ashore.
Many more close calls over the past 35 years, I try to forget them.
Allen
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