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In August of 1984, I was returning to Baton Rouge with three other rescue instructors. We had been judging a rescue competition in Cherry Hill, NJ., and Knoxville seemed to be a good overnight stopping point so we found a cheap hotel and checked in. As we were walking across the parking lot my eagle eyes spotted a gentleman's club just a couple blocks away.

"I see where I'll be spending some time tonight," I said with a grin on my face. "Who's coming with me?" I was amazed at the wishy-washy excuses from my fellow instructors. "We're tired, we've been driving all day, we're hungry, we just want to relax in our rooms." "I've been driving just as much as y'all have and I'm going to do my relaxing at the club." Stan finally spoke up, "If you find anything good at the club, come back and get me." "Yeah, right" I laughed, "You had your chance. If I find something good I'll be keeping it all to myself."

I took my bag into the room and took a look around. The room was equipped with a bathroom, a love seat, a TV and a bed. Judging from the noise, the walls were thin and the towels in the bathroom were even thinner. Oh well, I thought, I didn't plan to spend much time here anyway. I shaved, took a shower and got dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a western style shirt with pearl snaps instead of buttons. I hopped in the car and headed up the hill to the club. As I pulled into the parking lot I could finally make out the name...The Catch One Club. That's exactly what I hope to do, thinking to myself as I walked up to ...

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