Fate, the toss of a coin and why we are not just statistics

I wrote about my friend 'Luke' nine years ago and feel it's timely to retell his story this week. Luke isn't his real name: I've changed it for privacy reasons. His friends will know who I'm writing about.


Fate has a habit of arriving when you least expect it.
It leaped out at me 19 years ago on the way home from a workmate's wedding. It stole up on Luke with the toss of a coin two years later.
Luke spent a disproportionate amount of his early 20s playing draughts with Fate whenever he turned up for work. The
city centre branch of the financial institution that employed him held the record for most armed robberies back in the '80s.
Fortunately, the robbers who preyed on his workplace were not always top notch and sometimes succeeded only in terrifying the staff before legging it empty-handed.
Legend has it that at the end of one abortive raid Luke's shocked colleagues discovered he had gone missing in action. Fearing for his safety, a search party was assembled.
Cool Hand Luke was eventually found safe (literally) locked in the strongroom. He was, understandably, handled with gloves of the finest kid leather after his terrible ordeal.
Later, the video footage of him with his feet up, eating a packet of crisps, happily unaware of the commotion outside, did a lot to kill the initial sympathy.
Local lore also has it that on a notable Thursday, Luke and a colleague decided they'd start the weekend early. Luke came up with the idea of setting the clock forward by 10 minutes.
After the last customer had been shunted out the door the boys locked up and got ready to leave. At exactly (what should have been) 5.30pm there was a loud banging at the shutters and a gang of thwarted villains cursed their misfortune at arriving late (by Luke Time) to rob the place. Luke, typically, took it in his stride.
Two decades on, it's hard to recall if I told Luke about the night when Fate set in motion its plan for us.
As I said earlier, it leaped out on the way home from a colleague's wedding. Some of the other revellers in the minibus, who were singing merrily, didn't notice the fireball on the other side of the Naas dual carriageway. I did, and to my shame, was too jarred to question it. It looked like the work of vandals. The taximan kept driving.
The next day I read that a couple had stopped their car to eat chips in the lay-by when a drunk ploughed into them. They must still have been trapped inside when we passed by. Disgusted with myself, I swore to always stop and investigate in future.
Luke's moment with Fate came on a Friday night when he tossed a coin to decide which nightclub to go to: in quiet Killiney or busy Dun Laoghaire. So as not to hurt the feelings of one group of friends he 'cheated' and came to join us in Dun Laoghaire. We had a brilliant night.
But that was to be expected. Luke was the kind of man you had to have a good time with. His roguishness, his humour, his kindness, his spontaneity, frequently charmed the birds out of the trees.
Later my taxi passed by a road accident. Remembering Naas two years previously I insisted the driver pull over.
An injured man was lying face down by the side of the road. He had been hit by a speeding car.
Luke was dying. He had left the nightclub early and met Fate while walking home. He was gone a few hours later.
Nineteen years on his friends still swap stories about him. He's still vivid.
Last Monday Betty Cawley, who was the TV face of
families bereaved by road deaths, finally succumbed to injuries she suffered in a crash which claimed her daughter Errin in 2004.
To those who remember them, Luke, Betty and Errin aren't just statistics, like those which will be released shortly to tally up 2008's fatalities.
Please take care on the road this Christmas and have a happy and peaceful break.

dkenny@tribune.ie



December 21, 2008