An Unlucky Remembrance

Many people think they have terrible luck.  

Maybe you get pinkeye. Pink eye, you think to yourself, who the hell gets pink eye past elementary school. Of course it’s me. And sure, all credit to you, that's unlucky. But that is nothing – and I mean nothing compared to Mike Platz.  

Mike Platz was the unluckiest man in the world. You might think stubbing your toe is unlucky. Well, Platz (as his friends liked to call him) considered that a blessing. He had been pooped on by birds more times than he could count and had been stung by more bees than are left in the world (I heard they’re endangered now or something). To put it bluntly, he was super unlucky. 

He had actually broken nine out of his ten toes, and some of them twice. All but the pinky on his left foot. Platz called it his lucky toe. I remember wondering how long that would last him. He broke his toes in various ways. A few of them broke just from running. I can’t imagine how he managed to do that. He snapped a big toe trying to help an elderly woman take her husband’s bowling bag inside. Platz realized that the husband had forgotten to zip the bag just a second too late, as a twelve-pounder slipped out and squished his big toe. How that old fella was bowling with a twelve-pounder still boggles my mind.

Somehow, he got one of his middle toes caught in a mouse trap. He blamed it on the mice, joking that they had decided to fight back. Turned out his roommate, who sleepwalks, planted the trap in his kitchen by accident. He had been having bad dreams about mice. 

Okay, okay, okay, maybe one could argue that broken toes aren’t that bad. Just slap a splint on that bad boy, give it a few weeks, and presto – good as new.  

Try this one on for size. 

Platz had become an accomplice, unsuspectingly, in two different robbery plans. The first time he was waiting outside the bank for his friend, Anthony Markuck, who is here with us today. Say hi Ant. Platz wasn’t inside, which makes getting caught up in the robbery even more unlucky. When the thieves burst out though the doors, right in front of Platz, he didn’t know what was happening. He was frozen in a mix of confusion and instinctual fear. Of course, with his luck, they hopped right into his car.  

Drive, one of them growled, placing his pistol against the side of Platz’s head with a soft clink. And so Platz drove, and drove, until the police eventually pit maneuvered and flipped his car. The charges against him were dropped, of course. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, his lawyer would argue. Just a case of bad luck. 

Platz actually worked at a bank. So, naturally, he was working when the second robbery happened. He was just a bank teller at a small branch of a very large bank. Platz was always a skittish guy, and when three men wearing teletubbies masks kicked through the door yelling and screaming and firing their guns into the air, Platz dropped to the ground, crawled over to what he thought was the silent alarm, and pressed it.

Of course, in his panic, he pressed the not-so-silent alarm, setting off an ear piercing ringing throughout the bank. The robbers ran over, grabbed Platz by his collar, and dragged him to the vault, and held him hostage until the manager revealed the lock code. 

Now get this, two of the masked teletubbies went inside leaving Platz sitting on the ground outside. The third ran back outside, retrieving a fourth brightly colored, oddly creepy teletubbies mask, and forced it over Platz’s head. 

The robbers were practiced, in and out in mere minutes, long before the police arrived. When they did, however, they immediately arrested Platz, failing to hear him yelling from inside the bulbous decapitated teletubby that sat on his head.

Yet again, Platz was acquitted of all charges, but lost his job at the bank. It makes for a great story though, he answered when asked how he was doing after the experience. At least he always stayed optimistic.  

And that brings me to how we lost him. Platz had always loved airplanes. For as long as I knew him, he always talked about how awesome the Airbus A220 and the Boeing 787 Dreamliner are. One of Platz’s favorite activities was parking his car just outside the airport fence and watching these great iron birds take off and land. Well, for his last birthday Jimmy and I– you all know Jimmy Conners, he’s right up here in the front, hi Jim. Anyways, the three of us agreed to come watch the planes with Platz. We hadn’t gone before because, well face it, it’s boring. But it wasn’t boring for Platz. Jim and I decided to go into the airport to get some concession food. Platz was hungry too, but didn’t want to miss the Bombardier C1000 take off, so we offered to grab it for him. It was on us; it was his birthday of course.

But it was just Platz’s luck that when we were standing in line waiting for our food, there was a crash on takeoff. The Bombardier C1000 had a gear failure, causing one of its back wheels to rise back up into the plane - at around two-hundred miles per hour. The plane skidded and flipped, rolling over and over, launching bits and pieces over the protective fence. One of its great big wheels flew right towards the car and – and – landed right on Platz. Nobody else was killed or injured, just Platz. 

I like to think that Platz’s bad luck saved some people that day. That his black hole of luck had sucked the danger towards him, sparing the family sitting in seats F7, F8, and F9. I like to think of Platz as a hero.  

He was a hero not only for this, but for his attitude, his optimism, and the happiness he spread to everyone around him. Platz, buddy, we’ll miss you. 

Rest easy, old pal.