An Introduction To A God

by

David Bowlin

I want to be truthful here, so bear with me. I realize that’s saying quite a bit, and asking
even more, but, well, it’s true.

As some of you know, I am a very big fan of Douglas Adams. When he passed away, my
hero, for there are such things as heroes, even in times such as these, I ached deeply. It
wasn’t an ache such as losing a friend to the dark clutches of death; it was an ache about
losing so much and leaving so much behind.

I’ve used the nickname “FordPref” for quite a number of years now, and I’d like to tell
you how I got that name. I’ve never told anyone about this before, and so, I think, it’s
probably time that I did just that.

The year was 1995; the location was a condemned dormitory on a closed military base in
Italy, on the coast of the Adriatic Sea. Now, if you’ve ever been to this location you’ll
understand the next paragraph rather well; if not, believe me when I say there was a
reason for what I was doing.

I was blindingly drunk.

Italy is an almost overpoweringly beautiful place. It’s one of those places you go to and
wonder why you haven’t been there before now, and long before you leave, you’re
planning on how you can get back to it. The Leaning Tower Of Piza and the Coliseum
are just two examples of the stunning wonders of this little country. Don’t even get me
started on Venice… The cathedrals are unlike any I’ve ever seen anywhere else in the
world. Believe me, that’s saying a lot, because I’ve been around this little blue-green
planet more times than I care to count.

The reason I was drunk is simple: I was stuck on a military base.

***

A friend of mine, who has since moved to Philadelphia for reasons that I can’t remember,
was trying to have a conversation with me. We’d spent most of the night in another dorm
room that had been converted to a bar. We had gotten off work about ten that night, and
had gone straight to the bar. Actually, I went straight to the bar, and he, being more in
tune with how things are suppose to be, changed clothes first. “Screw that,” I thought to
myself. “That’s wasting time.” I’m sure you’ll agree if you think about it, and especially
if you know anything about the military base in question.
So, I spent most of the night in the bar doing the two things that this usually causes:
drinking a lot of alcohol, and picking myself up off the floor.

Anyway, my friend, whose name was Daniel, by the way, and I talked about various
things throughout the night, which are mostly hazy memories at the moment. There was
a good bit about tattoos though; I do remember that. I don’t have any idea why, but we
discussed tattoos religiously. And probably religions as well, come to think of it, but I
can’t remember, to be honest. Eventually the bar wanted to close, and seeing that it was
daylight outside, and seeing that we had to go back to work at seven that night, that was
probably a good idea.

We left the bar, but not because we wanted to. There’s something horrible about leaving
a bar when you’re right in the middle of an enormously important conversation that just
makes me nuts, even if I can’t remember what the enormously important conversation is
about. It’s the principle of the thing. Now, don’t ask me how because I don’t know, but
we ended up in my room, toasting each other’s brilliance in some conversation or other
we’d had which neither of us could quite remember at the moment. One minute I was
arguing with the bartender about “just one more round” and the next I’m toasting a very
witty comment made by my friend hours earlier, in my room, with no memory of actually
walking there. Talk about screwing with a guy’s mind.

I’m getting long-winded here, so let me just get to the point.

After I’d had a few more whatever it was we were having, Daniel said to me: “Dave,
what do you want more than anything in the world?”

My answer came without a moment’s hesitation, and I remember it very, very clearly.
“Off of it,” I said. I really believe this was the clearest moment I had on that whole trip.
I’ll never forget that, probably because I had thought it myself a couple million times in
my life before anyone had ever asked.

Daniel spills his drink all over the floor, and then pours some at my glass. Not actually in
the glass, mind you. At the glass.

“You know,” he said, “that’s about the most sincere thing I’ve ever heard you say. At
least, when you weren’t discussing alcohol.”

I just shrugged and downed another one. “It’s the truth. All I want from it is to get off of
it. Wonder where the nearest bar is?”

“We just left the nearest bar, Dave.”

I had to think about that for a minute. “Oh, yeah. How did we get up here, anyway?”

Daniel just shrugged, poured a few more, and then came the moment of history.
“Dave,” he said, “do you know who you remind me of?”

I said I hadn’t the faintest clue who I reminded him of, but I’d be more than happy to
remind him to refill my glass. He did, and continued.

“Ford Prefect. You remind me of Ford Prefect.”

“Yeah? Who the hell is Ford Prefect, and what kind of name is that? Must be one ugly
dude.”

Dan dropped his drink at this point, looked at the shattered splinters on the floor, and just
reverted to the bottle. Screw the glasses, then. I tossed mine aside and grabbed another
bottle, though it took several tries to get the real one.

“Ford Prefect, Dave. You know, the alien from Betelguise. Got stuck on Earth for fifteen
years, almost went berserk trying to find a way off of it. Loved to drink.”

I finally found the real Dan among all the fake ones currently wandering around the
room. “Sounds like a hell of a guy to me. Never heard of him before. You should
introduce us. I’ll buy him a drink.”

Dan started laughing, but I couldn’t figure out why, so I just kept on guzzling the poison.

“Dave, where’ve you been, man?” Dan asked when he’d finished laughing at me.

“In the bar. You were there. I think.” It’s easy to get confused when you’re in that state
of mind.

Another fit of laughing, and then he carried on. “No, I mean haven’t you ever read The
Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy?”

This was completely new to me, and I said as much.

“It’s a book, Dave. Science fiction. Look it up when we get back to the States. You
remind me of Ford Prefect.”

At this point I tried to say something about meeting this guy named Ford Prefect, but all I
managed to mumble was: “Nice to meet you. Buy me a bloody drink and get me the hell
off this planet, Ford Pref…” I passed out.

I woke up sometime later that evening and wished I hadn’t. The name stuck.

***

I came back to the States some weeks later and arrived without any alcohol in my body. I
did indeed look up these books starring “Ford Prefect” and fell in love with them. I’ve
never stopped reading them, and probably never will. When Mr. Adams passed away, I
felt bad about never having told him this story. Although he’d probably have looked
away rather quickly and ran for cover, I just wish he could have known how much
enjoyment I’ve had in relation to his characters and books.

Daniel finished his term in the military, and moved away. With him went the memory of
my first introduction to a book that has revolutionized the very way I look at literature.
So, in this small way, I’d like to thank Daniel Cook and Douglas Adams for giving me
the most wholly remarkable book I’ve ever read. Although it hasn’t changed the world, it
has certainly made it more tolerable.

Here’s to you, Daniel and Douglas.

[ end ]

David Bowlin
July 16, 2001
8:04 p.m.