Joke Made Even Victim Laugh

Dirk Minatre’s so-called pals skewered him with a hoax as fiendishly clever as any “Mission Impossible” adventure.

It’s been weeks since Minatre endured the most humiliating moment of his life: scammed into picking up litter along a lonely stretch of highway in northwest Spokane.

Yet the three medical workers who engineered Minatre’s downfall still can’t pass each other in the halls at the Veterans Affairs Medical Center without erupting into uncontrollable hilarity.

“They spanked me like a dog,” says Minatre, half in wonder, half in shock. “I mean, I love the guys but they’re diabolical.”

Our story begins a year ago, after Bloomsday 1995.

Word somehow got back to Minatre’s buddies - Larry Treffry, Marc Schillios and Richard Rivers - that he started the race with the elite runners and not the slower herd in which he had been assigned.

Minatre, who works in the VA pharmacy, claims his mistake was an honest one. His pals didn’t give a hoot. They only saw an opportunity to pounce on their friend like half-starved hyenas after fresh road kill.

Treffry, Schillios and Rivers knew how sensitive Bloomsday officials are about improper starts. Runners are disqualified each year for breaking this rule.

So, like members of the Impossible Missions Force, the terrible trio met secretly to mastermind a practical joke masterpiece.

They created official-looking stationery that bore the logo of the fictitious Lilac Bloomsday Association Rules Committee. Registered letters mailed to Minatre told him he was under investigation and could be banned from future Bloomsdays.

A casual check at the real Bloomsday office would have unraveled the entire scheme, of course, but the convincing details made Minatre a believer.

The jokers rented a post office box in Mead to have a genuine return address.

One letter included a color photograph of Minatre crossing the finish line. An impressive touch, although such photos can be easily bought from the company that takes pictures of all finishers.

Schillios enlisted a neighbor, a retired Air Force lieutenant colonel, to telephone Minatre and pose as the imaginary Rules Committee Chairman Fred T. Mosier.

“How in the hell they get all these people to do these things I’ll never know,” says Minatre, who concedes he gobbled the bait “hook, line and sinker.”

Treffry and Co. whiled away fall and winter deciding a proper punishment for their pal. “Our goal was to have him clean toilets,” says Treffry, beginning to chortle. “But we figured that would be too hard to film.”

Hosing Minatre was no freak occurrence. These screwballs have been pulling gags on each other for years, but nothing as elaborate as this.

In March, Minatre received a letter with the Rules Committee verdict. Because his was a first-time offense, wrote the mythical Mosier, “we consider that three hours of community service would be an appropriate way to avoid sanctions for the ‘96 and future Bloomsdays.”

As directed in the letter, Minatre showed up at the Rutter Parkway to pick up trash on the afternoon of March 23. Treffry, Schillios and Rivers hid in the brush, giggling and snapping photographs of their hapless victim.

With friends like these, who needs the Unabomber?

Treffry got blue Solid Waste Management jumpsuits and orange traffic cones from a relative who works for the company. The three put up Bloomsday signs.

A crew foreman (another stooge) made Minatre sign a form on a clipboard and put on a jumpsuit. He joined two other supposed Bloomsday violators who were actually more stooges in on the joke.

There was plenty of trash to pick up. Schillios saw to that, scattering a load of garbage along the road the night before.

When the gagsters finally tired of watching Minatre sweat, Schillios hopped on his mountain bike and rode past like he was on a workout.

“Dirk, is that you?” yelled Schillios. “What are you doing here?”

The thoroughly mortified Minatre stammered an explanation. Schillios rode away.

Rivers pedaled by a few minutes later. “Hey, Dirk, I thought you had a soccer game,” hollered Rivers.

Minatre silently tallied the odds of having two of his best friends suddenly appear. He began to get queasy.

After Rivers exited, a VA security guard drove up and stepped out of his car in full uniform.

“What are you doing here?” asked Minatre, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“I’m here to protect Treffry, Schillios and Rivers when you find out this has all been a hoax.”

The ensuing eruption of Dirk Minatre made Mount St. Helens look like a pop gun.

He screamed. He threatened. He laughed. He cried. …

Fortunately for these loons, Bloomsday officials have a keen sense of humor. “It’s so good. So funny. I get tears in my eyes thinking about it,” says race coordinator Karen Heaps.

Picking up litter, she says, is a fine fate for rules violators. “Maybe I can get these guys as my punishment committee.”

If they’re still alive. Minatre has a word of dire warning for his so-called pals: Judgment Day is nigh.

“I have a couple of ideas that just make me sweat to think about,” vows Minatre. “They should sleep with one eye open.”

, DataTimes