Title: Recovery - Prologue
Featuring: Bryan Dawkins
Date: March 20, 2011
Location: ReV 242 vs. Lance Marshall

“Dammit pick up!”

Bryan screamed into his cell phone as his Honda Civic sped along HI-19 northbound near Kolekole Park. After receiving the emergency text from his mother regarding his father, Bryan went into overdrive, with his heart thumping, adrenaline pumping, and to be completely honest, not thinking straight.

His speedometer was being clocked around 90 miles per hour, and the needle was creeping more toward the century mark with every second that passed by. Had any law enforcement been camped out alongside the highway, Dawkins would have been looking at some serious fines and in all likelihood, the loss of his drivers’ license. Luckily, none were along that stretch of highway.

Bryan frantically re-dialed his mother’s digits and pressed the phone to his ear, his free arm attempting to keep the vehicle from tumbling out of control. With each ring of the phone, his heart raced faster, until his mother’s voicemail greeting stonewalled him yet again.

“DAMMIT!”

Four calls, four voicemail greetings.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”

The once Flyin’ Hawaiian couldn’t catch a break today. Ten minutes earlier, he was “enjoying” the joys of physical therapy on his injury-riddled body, specifically his neck, which was still giving him issues thanks to Devin Shakur. Mid-therapy, he got the text reading “Found dad having trouble breathing in bed. Going to the ER. Please come.” Probably the worst text message you could receive, barring the declaration of a death.

He hastily made his exit from his therapy session, frantically trying to get ahold of his mother, to no avail. The only hint he got was the last text from his mother, simply reading “NHCH,” which Bryan knew was the acronym for the North Hawaii Community Hospital, which prompted his journey to Waimea, located on the northernmost tip of the island.

Another dial tone, another voicemail greeting.

The speedometer inched ever so close to triple digits and Dawkins inched ever so close to Waimea.

* * *

“Ken, would you like me to fix you somethin’ for breakfast?”

No response came from the bedroom, which was a common occurrence in the Dawkins household. Kenneth was aging at an accelerated rate, with his physical features beginning to deteriorate, followed not so slowly by his sensory skills. His years in the ring had really begun to take their toll on him, and the only response he had was to sleep for anywhere from 12 to 15 hours a day.

This day was no different, or at least that’s what Sarah Dawkins thought. But upon her entering into the bedroom that April afternoon, she found her husband struggling mightily to catch his breath, laboring heavily with each inhale and exhale. While Kenneth was having his issues, breathing difficulties were not one of them.

She quickly rushed to the bedside, checking her husband’s vital signs while simultaneously grabbing the phone from the nightstand. With one hand on Kenneth’s neck checking his pulse, the other quickly punched those three digits that everyone knows. Within moments, she was on the line with the dispatcher.

“Yes, my husband is having a lot of trouble breathing and his heart rate is really fast.”

Her own breathing became heavy with each second that passed, but tried to listen to the dispatcher on the other end of the line so she could get her husband some care as quickly as possible. After relaying some clerical information, she was given instructions to keep a close eye on her husband until the paramedics arrived.

“Yes, I can do that. Thank you so much!”

Within five minutes, an ambulance was parked in front of the Dawkins household and EMT’s were at Kenneth’s bedside, checking vitals and scribbling notes down with each moment that passed.

“Mrs. Dawkins, we’re going to have to take him to North Hawaii Community Hospital for further testing and evaluation. Would you like to ride with him or follow him with your own car?”

“I’ll go with you. I need to let my son know what’s going on first though.”

* * *

As the speedometer continued to climb, the mile markers began to slowly shrink down with the Civic speeding ever so closer to the town of Waimea, located on the northernmost tip of the big island. Bryan had kept dialing his mother’s digits, but continued to be greeted by her dreadful voicemail greeting.

“Come onnnnnnnn.”

With each voicemail greeting, Dawkins tensed up a little bit more, putting a little bit more pressure on the gas pedal with each failed phone call. This would prove to be a problem as he approached the exit for Honokaa, around 13 miles from Bryan’s destination. He didn’t see the Hawaii State Patrol vehicle hidden behind some shrubbery to the side of the road.

That particular patrol vehicle clocked Bryan’s Civic at 112 miles per hour, just under double the posted speed limit of 65 miles per hour. Without hesitation, the patrol car shifted into gear and sped off after the perpetrator, with red and blue lights a-blazin’.

At first, Dawkins was going so fast that he didn’t even get a chance to see the vehicle pull out from the brush, and that probably would’ve been the last thought in his mind at the time anyway. His focus was on getting to his father’s side as quickly as possible, no matter the consequence. Little did he know that he was about to hit a major speed bump in getting there.

As the State Trooper approached the century mark on his own vehicle’s speedometer, the realization began to set in that this may become dangerous at any time. He calmly used his radio to reach out for any available help from his fellow troopers.

“Yeah this is Kowahe. I’m northbound on HI-19, currently in what seems to be developing into a high speed chase with a black Honda Civic. I clocked him at 112, and right now I’m going around 100 and haven’t come close to catching him yet. I’m about a mile northbound from Honokaa, so any help would be great.”

He calmly set down his radio and instantly became focused again on catching the target. After a few moments, the black Civic became a blip on his radar and he put more pressure on the gas pedal, inducing the accelerator to go into overdrive. As the trooper inched closer and closer to Bryan’s car, he put on the siren to alert Bryan of his presence.

At this point, Dawkins was now aware of the state trooper behind him, but he had already subconsciously decided that stopping to obey the law was simply not in the cards for that day. His mind was obviously elsewhere, and for all he cared, the trooper could follow him to the hospital and deal with his business there. The bottom line was that his number one priority was his father, and everything else came second, including the law.

Just as Dawkins and the trooper passed the 3 miles until Waimea sign, Bryan caught a glimpse of his worst nightmare: a police blockade. Ultimately the jig was up. Dawkins slowed down onto the outer median and accepted the reality that big trouble was in his future.

To be continued…
View Bryan Dawkins's Biography
Back