Okinawa
Part Five
July-September 1966
Breaking News
“So what did you want to tell us?” Nat asked, once everyone had finally settled down.
“Well, actually I have two pieces of news. The first one I got from the Finance Office, and the second one I found in the mail room.” Everyone got suddenly very quiet. “So, which one do you guys want to hear about first?” For a few seconds, no one said anything. They just stared.
“Oh, I don’t give a shit, I’m just pissed at what fucking Smokey just did to your hair!” Roomie whined, turning and glaring at Smokey. “You’re a goddamned brute, Smokey!” He said, resentfully. “Here Frank, let me straighten that shit out.” He started to walk towards me.
“Roomie!” I said, forcefully. “Wait! This is way more important than my hair.” He stopped, and he looked absolutely crushed.
“Well, shit—OK!” He said, genuinely hurt. He backtracked and rejoined the group.
“OK, first: As you guys heard, I was royally reamed out by the shift sergeant, then the colonel, about not giving to the United Fund. Even though I do have a few dollars left from what you guys contributed to me, I wasn’t about to give that money away.”
“What money are we giving you?” Peewee asked, innocently. “What the fuck’s he talking about?” he pleaded, looking around, eyes all wide and arms spread out in front of him.
“Shut up, Peewee!” Nat said, forcefully. “Go on, Frank.”
“OK. So, I was threatened with everything from losing rank to a general court-martial—that is, until I told them I hadn’t been paid since November of last year. The colonel then tried to prove me a liar by threatening to call the Finance Department. After he asked me to leave his office, I guess he made some calls and found out that I was telling the truth. He called me back into his office, then asked me to go down to Finance and tell them he’d sent me. When I got there, I was given a hundred bucks in cash. And—come to find out, they were supposed to be paying me ten bucks every month for living expenses the whole time. I don’t know what happened, and I didn’t ask, but I suspect someone fucked up. Anyhow, I’ll start getting paid regular in a couple of months and ten dollars is going to be deducted out of my check until the hundred dollars they gave me is paid off.”
“OK, so you’re good now as far as your pay is concerned, right?” Ramie asked.
“Yes, but I don’t know how I would’ve survived without your help. I am genuinely grateful, and I intend to pay all of you back.”
“Well!” Roomie piped up. “You can start by handing over that hundred to cover all the expenses I went through trying to make you beautiful!” He stepped up and stuck his hand out.
“Roomie, I’m just about ready to kick your ass!” Smokey said angrily. “Get the fuck back here, you silly bitch!”
“Hey!!” Roomie said in an even higher whining tone. “Jesus Smokey, I was just kidding! Good God, you’re such a thick fuck!”
“OK, guys,” I interceded. “I know you’ll never admit to it, but you are the best friends anyone could ask for.”
“Stop it, Pancho. You’re gonna fucking make me cry.” Ramie said, rolling his eyes. “So, you’re back in clover, and that’s good, but what’s the other news you had.”
“Well, this is just a bit more serious and maybe just a little depressing. As I said earlier, I went to the mail room…and I found that I had received a letter from my wife—Sharon.” No one moved, nor did anyone make a sound. “And…well, the letter brought me some news that I just never expected.”
At this point, I paused. It was not for effect—mostly, I didn’t know how to start with what I had to tell them. “All right, this is going to be tough, but I need to know that no one in this room will ever say anything about this to anyone else.”
“What?” Nat asked. “Did she sue you for divorce?”
“No. That’s what I would’ve guessed, but what it was, was completely unexpected.”
“So, she’s got a boyfriend, right?” Ramie asked.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Hey, why don’t we just let him tell us, OK?” Smokey said irritably. “And Frank! You should know better than to think we’re going to go around blabbing about your business! Jesus!!”
“OK, sorry. Well guys, she wrote to tell me that she’s pregnant. Seven months pregnant!”
“Holy shit!” Peewee exclaimed. “And you’ve been here for how long?”
“Nine months.” I said, digging the letter out from my pocket. “Further, she claims she doesn’t know who the father is.”
“Fuck that!” Smokey spit out. “That’s complete bullshit! She’s not only a slut, but a fucking liar too!”
“I know that, and you know that.” I said, patiently. “But that’s what she wrote in the letter. I doubt that she would’ve put some guy’s name in a letter to her husband when she’s telling him she’s knocked up.” I said.
Roomie walked over to where I was sitting and sat on the edge of the bed next to me. “Well, what we’re all missing here,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders. “Is that Frank just got a letter that beats the hell out of all the “Dear John” letters ever written.” He tightened his grip around my shoulders. “Are you doing OK with this? I mean, you’re not going to go off the deep end, or anything like that, are you?”
“Thanks Roomie, but no. I’m OK. I really am.”
“So what’re you gonna do now?” Ramie asked softly.
“Nothing, for now. I met with the squadron commander about this and he offered a MARS phone call, which I declined. Then he said I could go home on emergency leave.”
“So, are you going to go home?” Roomie asked.
“No, not right away. I’d have to pay my own way if I opted to go home now, but if I wait until the squadron gets approval from the Wing, then they’ll pay for my flights and grant me ten days’ emergency leave. But the approval probably won’t come down for a couple of months. I told the colonel that that would probably be the best option.”
“So, that won’t be until September, right?” Nat asked.
“Yup. I think that’s right—probably early September.”
“So did you tell her already? I mean, that you’re not going home to see her for another two months?” Roomie asked.
“No, I haven’t had a chance to write back. Actually, I don’t really know what to say to her. You know?”
“Fuck! Tell her to go fuck herself! If that was my wife I’d be on the next plane on my way to kill her ass!” Smokey said forcefully. “Fuck that! Sleazy cunt!”
“Well, I guess I should be angrier than I actually am. But I’m just not. I guess her not writing to me for this long kinda numbed me and I was just about ready for anything.”
Nat stood up from the chair he’d been sitting in. “You do realize that if you wait for two months she’ll either already have given birth or be just about ready to pop?”
“Well, now that you mention it…” I said, realizing this for the first time. “I guess you’re right. But I’m not going home any sooner. So I guess we’ll just have to see what happens.”
“Did she say what she’s gonna do with the kid? And, for that matter, what’re your plans?” Peewee asked, hesitantly. “I mean, you should explore your options. At least make an appointment with a judge advocate here on the base.”
“I don’t know, I guess I should, but I just don’t know. She didn’t mention anything about the kid, or what she plans to do about it, so I guess I’ll just find out when I get home.”
For a few minutes no one said anything, and I sure didn’t have anything new to add. Finally, Smokey spoke up. “Well, shit! I could use a beer or two. Who’s up for that?” The consensus was unanimous.
“OK,” I said. “Since I happen to have a little cash on hand, I will buy—but I don’t want to go downtown. Let’s go to the Airmen’s Club.”
“Well it’s about fucking time you buy, you damned cheapskate!” Ramie said, breaking out one of his best winning smiles. “But, I may be only able to just stay for one. I have some business to take care of in Naminoue.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Figures!” Roomie said, disgustingly. “You are such a whore, Ramie. I wouldn’t be surprised if your dick just rotted off one of these days.”
“Hey,” Ramie countered. “At least I got one, Roomie!”
The room filled with whoops and cat-calls—and Roomie waited a few seconds until he could get his final repartee: “Whenever you want to check it out, Ramie! But when you do, you’ll never go back to your gook bitches!” Whoops and cheers greeted that one.
“OK guys,” I finally said, “time’s a-wasting. This is nickel beer night at the club, so let’s go belly-up to the bar and drink until they throw us out!”
***
Compared to the Airmen’s and Officer’s Clubs that I’d been to before, the club at Naha Air Base was gigantic and unique in many ways. I guess because it served all service members on the base, it had to be large. Easily well over twenty thousand square feet, it was probably once an old B-52 hangar now converted into a glamourous and well-appointed structure. One end of the building was sectioned off and served as a fine restaurant where the enlisted personnel, living on and off base, could bring their wives, husbands, or dates, and enjoy some of the finest and cheapest food on the island.
On the other side of the building was a huge double bar, tables, a large dance floor, and a concealed stage. When the stage was lowered onto the floor, a full orchestra pit was revealed by pulling aside a set of heavy blood-red ceiling-to-floor velvet curtains. During the week, an orchestra would play from eight in the evening until midnight—usually dinner music, and on weekends the curtains would be closed, the stage raised, and different rock and roll bands would perform. The bands, usually cover bands from the Philippines, would play all sorts of current rock music, usually impersonating (covering) popular bands of the day. Some of the best covers were of the Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Beach Boys, The Who, Pink Floyd, The Doors, and my personal favorite—The Animals.
The bands were fabulous, but physically looking at them—rather than just hearing them—could confuse the senses. They were, of course, Filipinos—mostly straight from Manila. The males were almost all skinny and most sported long stringy black hair, while the occasional female in the groups were extremely flashy in high spiked heels and tight mini-skirts. But closing one’s visual sense and just listening to their music would almost make you believe that you were listening to the real thing. Yes, they were that good. The bands had hokey names like, “The Busy Boys”, “The Family of One and Five”, “Jake and Them”, and so forth, but boy could they cover the bands and groups of the day.
Another oddity that I had only ever seen at this military club was the bevy of young Okinawan girls whose job it was to dance with the customers. About ten or twelve girls would be seated on either side of the sound stage waiting to be asked to dance. They did, however, reserve the right to refuse someone if they felt they were too drunk or too loud, or if during the dance they put their hands where they didn’t belong. And, there were always two beefy looking Marine bouncers on duty to remove and eject any customer who abused his privilege on the dance floor.
The girls were under strict instructions on how to conduct themselves while at the club. No dirty dancing, no suggestive rubbing, and certainly no alcoholic beverages. If the club management found out that they were dating any military man once they went off duty, they would quickly be fired; and since they were paid well above what they would’ve earned on the local economy they made sure to adhere to all the rules.
For the most part the girls were attractive and very trim, but most of them couldn’t speak very good English. Not that they needed to—all they really needed to do was to know how to dance.
The six of us arrived at the club early that evening, and before we went to the bar decided to go into the restaurant to eat. Oddly, the restaurant was divided into two sections: the family and the single person section. Of course, the single section was a bit more rowdy but we were able to have conversations that perhaps would not have been appreciated by families.
After consuming the best two-dollar T-bone steak this side of California, we walked into the bar. It was still a bit early for the rock group to be on stage, but the full-sized orchestra was playing some 1940’s Glenn Miller music that was all but putting everyone to sleep. No one seemed to know the orchestra’s real name, or the name of the conductor, so as military men will do, they tagged the group, “Gus and the Gooks”.
As promised, after finding some stools at one of the bars I ordered beers for all of us. For the rest of the night we never again spoke of the letter I had received or the news that it had contained. We just drank, told each other jokes, and enjoyed each other’s company. In spite of the jovial atmosphere and the camaraderie, I sensed a certain pall over our get-together that night. It was almost as if someone told us that soon our happy and tight-knit group would be broken up forever.
We ended our evening and walked all the way back to our barracks and headed for our respective rooms. As I settled in for the night, and before descending into a soft and slightly drunken slumber, my thoughts turned to Sharon. As much as I’d suffered in the last nine months, I thought about how she must’ve felt when she’d finally been convinced that she had to sit down and write me that letter. And I could only imagine the shame and humiliation she had to fight through when she was forced to face her own family with her embarrassing condition.
As my consciousness ebbed away I promised myself that, sooner rather than later, I would have to make plans for my trip back home. What would I find, and how would I deal with my wife’s pregnancy? Before I had a chance to look for answers to those questions I was fast asleep.
***
Six weeks short of a year after landing on Okinawa, I was again preparing to fly home to see my wife and children. I had no idea what I’d find when I got there; and not having received any pictures, I had no idea what my boys would look like now. However, having put a lot of thought into what needed to be done on my part, and after paying a visit to the base judge advocate, I had finally settled on a series of decisions that, once put into action, would significantly alter all of our lives for many years to come.
Reno
I received the orders for my emergency leave on Friday, September 2nd. They stated that I was authorized to travel via common air carrier from Naha Air Base, Okinawa to Reno, Nevada. Travel was to begin early on September 13th, and I had been granted two travel days outbound, and three travel days back. With ten days’ emergency leave, I was expected to report back to my base not later than October 4, 1966.
About two weeks after I received Sharon’s letter I wrote a short letter back. In it, I told her that I would be planning to travel back to Reno. I told her truthfully that I had no idea when that would be, but that my next letter would provide her with more details. I did not mention her pregnancy, nor my feelings about it.
So on the day after I received my travel orders I sat down and composed a final letter to her.
***
September 5, 1966
Sharon,
Just a short letter to advise you that I will should be arriving in Reno on the morning of September 14th. When I land at Travis Air Force Base in California, I will call you at the last number that I have for you to let you know what flight I will be arriving on and what time it will arrive in Reno.
Please do not meet me at the airport as I would prefer to take a cab to your house. I don’t really want to see you, and anything we may have to discuss can be done once I arrive at your house.
I plan to be in Reno for only a few days and I will probably be staying in a motel.
Frank
***
The day before I left, the guys wanted to throw me a little going away party down in Naminoue. I declined their kind offer for a lot of different reasons, but mostly because I was growing increasingly nervous and unsettled about my seeing Sharon again. I had no idea what I was going to say to her when I saw her again—considering that by this time she would be as big as a house.
Further, I had yet to devise a way to ask her why she had not had the decency to write me at least one letter for almost a year; and then of course, there was the dicey subject regarding what she’d done with the nine hundred dollars I’d sent. So, not wishing to hurt their feelings, I promised the guys that once I returned in October we’d all get together and throw a really good bash downtown.
The flight from Okinawa to Travis Air Force Base in California, was excruciatingly long and very uncomfortable. For almost the whole time, regardless of the altitude, we experienced thunderstorms and moderate to heavy turbulence. And because the flight had been rerouted excessively once we’d left Tokyo on our way to California, we were diverted to Seattle-Tacoma Airport in Washington to refuel. To add insult to injury, and because of our international flight status, we were prohibited from disembarking at this airport—and by this time we’d run out of food and snacks. We sat on the ground for well over an hour before we were allowed to depart.
I finally arrived at Travis and was able to immediately book a shuttle bus to the Oakland Airport to pick up a flight to Reno. My original connecting flight had long departed, but fortunately I was rebooked on a flight that went to Boise then on to Reno.
Landing at the Reno Airport three hours late, I was both relieved and very apprehensive as I entered the terminal and headed for the baggage claim area. I wondered if I should call Sharon as soon as I got my bag to tell her that I’d arrived, or if I should just take a cab to her house and arrive unannounced. As it turned ou, I never got to make that decision.
After retrieving my bags, I was headed for the taxi stand when I heard someone call my name. I turned to my right and saw two little boys running towards me—followed by a very pregnant woman in an ill-fitting red coat.
“FRANK, FRANK! Go boys! Your daddy’s home!” the round-faced woman said, trying to stay up with the two little guys, running clumsily while holding her belly with both hands.
I dropped my bags to the floor as I recognized Ricky—running with his little arms outstretched, long dark unkempt hair bouncing on his forehead and into his eyes. A few feet behind him, and not as enthusiastic as Ricky, came Beebe. Although he was also running, he didn’t appear to be on the same mission as his brother. Rather, he seemed more interested in looking at the people who were dodging them.
Squatting down, I caught Ricky as he all but dove into my arms. I hugged him tightly and realized that he’d lost all of his baby fat and grown more than a few inches. Beebe finally arrived, but he stopped a few feet short of us and stood there curiously observing me. I motioned him over but he instead stuck his right index finger up his nose and looked back to see where his mother was. In spite of the near freezing temperature in Reno, I noticed that both boys were dressed in loose-fitting corduroy pants, beat-up sneakers, and thin T-shirts.
I knew that eventually I had to look up and face Sharon but I wanted to delay the inevitable as long as possible.
“Hi honey!” I heard her say—the word stinging my ears and making me instantly angry. I looked up slowly and took a long look. I released my grip on Ricky and stood up.
“Hey.” I said, cautiously.
“Welcome home…” she said, now a bit more hesitantly.
“Yeah. I thought I told you I’d take a taxi home?”
“Oh…well, I thought it’d be nice to come and pick you up instead. I mean—after the long flight and all. Plus, when we got here we found out you were going to be delayed, but, we decided to wait for you instead of going home again. The boys…they were excited to see you—you know.”
“The boys…oh, I’m sure.” I reached down and pulled my bags off the floor. “OK, since you’re here. Where’s the car?”
As we walked to the airport terminal exit and in the direction of the public parking area, I tried to keep my eyes off her. The short glance I’d gotten of her when she first approached had left me in a bit of a shock. She looked much older, and tired. Her face was swollen and there were hints of lightly shaded shadows under both eyes. Her glasses, usually riding high on her perky nose, were disturbingly off-kilter. It was after we’d gotten into the car that I noticed she’d lost the screw to the right temple of her glasses and had secured it to the frame with a paper clip.
Dowdy. That was the word that popped into my mind.
“How was your flight?” she asked, as we pulled away from the lot.
“Fine.” The boys were rolling around in the back seat of the black 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air, which I’d never seen before.
“Oh…I know you said you probably wanted to stay in a motel, but you know, there’s plenty of room in the house. You’ll see. The bedroom is pretty big and the bed is a double. So I think you’ll be more comfortable there. Don’t you think?”
“Let’s discuss that once we get to your house. Where’d you get the car?”
“Oh, mom bought it for me. She got a great deal from a friend of hers that was leaving to go to California after a divorce. So…you know…since I didn’t have transportation and all…”
“Hmm.”
“You like it? It kinda reminds me of our old car.”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Where are the boys’ coats? They must be freezing.”
“Oh, no! They love the cold. Besides, we were mostly going to be in the car or in the airport terminal, so I thought they’d be fine.”
I wanted to yell at her! Cuss her out! Say all the words that had been boiling in my heart for the last two months! But instead, I just angled my body to the right and concentrated on the cold gray scenery as it zipped by.
“By the way,” she said, “I really like your hair. It looks so neat.”
I didn’t bother with an answer.
After about a fifteen-minute drive we pulled off a main avenue onto a small residential street. Hers was the second house on the left: a single-story wood-frame house, with a small porch in the front. Red brick pillars rose on either side of the stairs—rising to support the small roof extension covering the porch. A once white, and now mostly rusty metal two-person slider sat to the right of the screened front door; and the driveway, situated to the right of the house, consisted of two well-worn dirt ruts.
“Home sweet home!” Sharon said, trying to sound cheery. “Come on boys, time to help daddy with his bags.”
“I’ll get my own bags. Get the boys into the house and out of the cold.” I said, pushing my door open and heading for the trunk of the car. The boys raced from the car, up the rickety-looking stairs, and pushed open the unlocked door. Sharon stood by the driver’s side door waiting for me to close the trunk before walking slowly and painfully up the stairs. She paused on the porch to catch her breath before slipping through the open door.
The house was small and simple. Walking through the door, one was greeted by a large and mostly empty living room. There were two doors on the right wall in the main living area—one, guarding a small coat closet and the other, leading to the main bedroom. The two doors were separated by a brown two cushion sofa that I’d never seen before, and which had seen better days. The left wall was mostly bare, except for a calendar advertising a local market and drug store, thumb-tacked up next to a light green wall phone with a long extension cord hanging from the receiver.
At the end of the room was a small bar that separated the kitchen from the rest of the front room. Along the left kitchen wall was a burn-scarred Formica counter and a yellow-stained sink sitting under a small glass window. A greasy white four-burner gas stove sat against the back wall and next to the rear exit door. The cabinets, once painted white with small yellow daisy decorations around the edges, were hung over and on either side of the stove, and had faded to varying shades of gray and brown, their bottoms spotted with dark finger smudges.
On the right wall was a small closed door. At the time I assumed it was a pantry, but it turned out to be the only bathroom in the house.
A bare wooden four-chair dining table sat on the living room side of the bar, with only a small set of salt and pepper shakers set on its center.
“Where’s our furniture?” I asked Sharon, as I put my bags down on the scarred and worn linoleum floor.
“Oh, well I sold some pieces to my mom. But I kept the bed and night stands. Wanna see?”
“No thanks. Where do the boys sleep?”
“Their bedroom is right off mine. You have to go through my, or rather our, main bedroom to get to theirs.”
I could hear the boys’ voices, so I assumed they had retreated to their room. “You didn’t sell their beds too, did you?”
“Well yes…no, I actually traded their stuff for a set of bunk beds. Come see.”
Although I didn’t want to enter her bedroom, I found that I had no choice but to go through it to see where the boys slept.
The main bedroom was large—taking up at least two-thirds of the length of the right side of the house. There was a large window set onto one side, overlooking the porch, under which her bed was placed. Another window oversaw the driveway. No curtains were hung on either window, but dingy pull-shades hung half-way down each one. On the wall separating her bedroom from the boys’ was a large open walk-in closet whose double-doors were splayed wide open. I didn’t look too closely, but I could tell it was stuffed with clothes and shoes.
The door to the boys’ room was open, and I saw them playing on the bare wooden floor. The small room was windowless and smelled like old laundry and dirty socks. A set of bunk beds was stacked on the driveway side of the room, and a dresser, missing its mirror, was pushed up against the opposite wall. Most the drawers were hanging open—most of their pulls missing, and I could tell that the runners had long since been worn out.
The beds were unmade—sheets and thin blankets hanging willy-nilly off the edges of the thin mattresses.
“Who sleeps on the top bunk?” I asked.
“Ricky does! He heard somewhere that the top bunk was the best so that’s where he staked his claim.”
“How does he get up there? I don’t see any ladder.”
“You know—he’s like a monkey. He just swings up there on his own.”
I couldn’t see how he did it, but I took her word for it. Not wanting to see anymore, I turned around and walked back out to the main room.
Sharon took her coat off and threw it on her bed as she followed me out. It was then I saw just how pregnant she really was. Even though I’d seen her when she was pregnant with Ricky, I didn’t recall her being quite this big.
“Hey,” she said behind me, a little out of breath. “You want something to drink—or anything? I can warm up some soup if you’re hungry.”
“No, just some water will be fine.” As she headed to the kitchen, I looked around at where she and my boys had been living for the last year. It was disgusting and dirty. My anger rose and I wanted to say something—anything—but I successfully resisted the impulse. There’d be plenty of time to discuss this, and other things. Later.
“Here you go.” she said, handing me a glass of water. There was a chip on the drinking edge of the glass. “You must be tired. You wanna go take a nap?”
“Nope.”
“Oh…OK. Well then, do you mind if I go into the bedroom and get off my feet? I got up early and haven’t had a chance to rest.”
Whatever you want to do.”
“OK, you know as tired as I feel I’ll probably drift off, but I’ll be up in a little bit so I can cook you and the boys some dinner.”
“Don’t bother on my account.”
“Oh…all right. You sure? It’s no trouble.”
“Can I use your phone?”
“Uh…sure.”
“I want to call my folks. I’ll call collect, so don’t worry.”
“No! No problem! Say hi to them for me.”
“Sure thing…” I said, thinking that it would be a cold day in Hell before I mentioned her to them or anyone else. She closed the bedroom door, and then I heard her yelling at the boys, telling them that it was time for a nap. I thought about how they looked and how they were dressed. ‘Ragamuffins’ came to mind. The thought of what she’d done with the nine hundred dollars bubbled up into my brain.
I talked to my folks for a few minutes and made some plans. After hanging up I unbuttoned my shirt and loosened my belt. I was dog-tired, and I knew that if I stretched out on the couch I’d fall asleep immediately. I headed to the small door I’d seen in the kitchen and found that my instincts had been correct: it was a bathroom.
Coming back to the main room I rummaged through my bags and pulled out a fresh pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, a T-shirt and a clean pair of shorts and socks. I eased into the small bathroom and removed my travel-worn clothing. What I really wanted to do was to take a shower but I just couldn’t bring myself to step into the scummy and chipped porcelain tub. Instead, I took a “GI” bath: using a washcloth, water and soap to wipe myself clean the best I could. After brushing my teeth and spraying deodorant under my arms I felt almost human.
After changing into fresh clothing, I went out and sat down on the couch. In what was probably less than a minute I drifted off into a deep and delicious slumber.
“Hey!”
I jerked my head up and tried to focus.
“Hey you! I knew you were tired. Why didn’t you just come into the bedroom and lay down? I know it’s a small bed but I would’ve made room,” she said, almost jovially.
“Shit! What time is it?”
“Almost three. You hungry?”
“No,” I said, pulling myself up to my feet. “Hey, can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure, anything.”
“Well, are you planning to use the car for anything for the next few days?”
“Uh…no. I don’t think so. Why?”
“I wanna go down to Houston to see my folks. When I talked to my mom she said they wanted to see me while I was stateside, so I thought that if I could, I would drive your car down and back. Today’s Thursday, so I should be back by Tuesday. I only plan to stay a couple of days, or so.”
“Oh…”
“I know Ricky’s birthday is on the 27th, but I should be back by then.”
“Well, I had plans for a little birthday party for him on the following Saturday, and inviting some of his little friends in the neighborhood; and since you’re home now, I thought it’d be nice for all of us to be here together.”
“I told you, I plan to be back before then. Can I use your car or not?”
“Well, sure…I guess. But, I thought…you know…that we could spend some time….” Her voice trailed off.
“OK, thanks. Where’s the keys?”
“You’re leaving…now?”
“That’s the plan. The sooner I leave, I quicker I’ll be back. Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to talk…about…you know…”
“Oh…” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she quickly ducked her head and wiped her face. I noticed how loose her glasses fit on her head. “They’re over there on the counter.”
“I’ll get them.” I retrieved the keys and started to close my bags.
“Gosh, you just got home,” she whispered.
“Yeah, how about that.”
In just a few minutes I had my bags back in the trunk, and opened the driver’s door. She had come out and was standing on the porch—one hand resting on her swollen belly. “You have money for gas?”
“I’m fine. Is there anything I need to know about the car? Like burning oil or something like that?”
“No, it’s a good car.”
“Fine!” I said, turning the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. I closed the door and rolled the window halfway down. “Say bye to the boys when they wake up. Tell Ricky I’ll make sure I’m back for his birthday party.”
She said nothing—just standing on the porch looking miserable. As I put the car in reverse I looked up to see her wave while mouthing the words “I love you.”
Houston Bound
I was starving, so I started looking for some type of drive-in or burger place I could pull in and get something to go. A gas station went by and I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t even bothered to check the gauge to see how much gas was in the tank. Ah, just over half a tank. That meant I wouldn’t have to spend as much filling the tank before I got on the highway. Since gas was about 33 cents a gallon I figured I could get to Houston on less than forty dollars, and last time I checked I had a little over fifty bucks in my pocket.
I would probably have to ask my dad for some money to get back to Reno on, and I would make sure to pay him back once I got back to Okinawa. A few miles later, on the southern outskirts of Reno I spotted a “Big Boy” hamburger restaurant and I pulled in, anxious to bite into one of their best burgers.
As I got back on the road I looked for the signs to Highway 50, eastbound towards Winnemucca, until I could pick up Highway 95 just south of Fallon, then southbound to Las Vegas. According to the road map I’d picked up at the gas station where I filled up, it would be about a four-hundred and fifty-mile drive before I would spot the glittering outline of that infamous party city. Since it was close to 4 pm, I calculated that I’d arrive there around 11 pm. The thought of such a long drive began to wear on me since I’d had very little sleep since I’d left Okinawa so many hours ago.
Worse, these were the days before cars came equipped with cruise control, so in just a few hours I began to feel the strain on my right heel as it rested on the floorboard controlling the accelerator pedal. Occasionally, a small cramp would painfully shock my right calf muscle, causing me to jerk my leg up and off the pedal. I tried to use my left foot to push on the gas while I vigorously massaged my right calf, but inevitably my speed would become erratic and my steering less than accurate. After several episodes of leg cramps, I arrived at the conclusion that it was indeed going to be a very long drive.
At Hawthorne, not even a quarter of the way to Las Vegas, I decided that what I needed was coffee—lots of coffee. Several times I’d dozed off–the severe rumbling of the right wheels kicking up gravel was the only thing that brought me back to almost full consciousness. I also assumed that I was a little dehydrated, hence the leg cramps, so coffee would definitely serve me well.
I found a small gas station that had a small store attached to it, so I pulled in to order myself a large black coffee and visit the men’s room. A few minutes later I was back on the dark highway sipping the hot brew and hoping that I wouldn’t need to make any more stops until I’d reached Vegas. Unfortunately, that was not to be.
About an hour and a half after I’d consumed the last of the large coffee that I’d bought, I found that even though I’d emptied my bladder at the last stop, I needed to go again—urgently! At this pace, I wondered if I was ever going to get to Houston.
I drove through several small towns in which I had hoped to find a gas station with a restroom, but due to the late hour they were all closed. After I passed the last closed town on the highway I decided that my only hope was to try to hold on until I got to Tonopah—another forty minutes away. Alas, that was not to be, so finding a stretch of road that seemed more desolate than what I’d been driving on, I pulled off the side of the road. Stumbling in the dark, I relieved myself next to a very unfortunate outcropping of sage.
At twelve-forty-five in the morning, I finally began to see the city lights that I’d been looking for. Slowing down as I entered the city limits, I seriously wondered if I should just make a U-turn and make my way back to Reno. I was completely exhausted, could barely keep my eyes open, and my right leg was all but numb up to my knee.
I pushed on, delaying my decision to see how I felt by the time I reached the southern city limits. That’s when I saw my salvation.
As the city lights began to dim in my rear-view mirror, my headlights illuminated something strange on the side of the road. I moved my left foot over to the dimmer switch, located on the floorboard near the left side of the firewall, and pushed it hard to the floor to turn on my high beams. It was a sailor!
Dressed in his dark Navy blue uniform, the only thing that shone in the dark was his white Dixie cup hat and the white insignia rank on his left sleeve. His right arm was raised, and his hand was forming the familiar thumbs up—signifying his desire for a ride.
Overcoming my normal hesitation for picking up strangers on the road, I quickly made the decision to stop and pick up this sailor. Once in the car, I’d ask him to share in the driving and I could slide over to the passenger side of the front seat and get some much-needed sleep. I assumed he would drive until sunrise, when—completely refreshed, I would take over.
I came to a quick stop, just past where he was standing and reached over to roll the window down. He ran up, dragging his sea-bag, and stuck his head in the open window.
“How far you going?” he asked, a little out of breath.
“All the way to Houston. Where you headed?”
“Phoenix!”
“Oh great! I’m going right through Phoenix, so I can drop you off there.”
“Fantastic!” he said gleefully. He opened the back door and pushed his bag onto the back seat.
Settling into the passenger side of the front seat he immediately pulled off his shoes. “Man, I am so glad you came along. The thought of my having to stand in the dark, especially as cold as it is, gave me the willies. The last guy that gave me a ride dropped me off right inside the city limits. Said he was gonna strike it big on the slot machines.”
“Ha, fat chance!” I said. “So what’s your name?”
“Harvey, Harvey Thompson. You?”
“Frank. Where you from?”
“Well, I just left San Diego, but I was born and raised in Dubuque, Iowa. My folks sold their farm there a couple of years ago and retired in Phoenix.”
“So, you’re a farm boy, huh?”
“Yeah. How about you?”
“Houston. Born and raised.”
“Cool. Anyway, thanks for stopping to pick me up. I am exhausted.”
“Yeah, me too. I thought we’d share the driving on the way to Phoenix. I’ve been fighting to stay awake for the last couple of hours. So, if you don’t mind let’s switch off at the next town so I can get a couple of hours sleep. That OK?”
“Oh…” he said, tentatively. “See…I’d like to help you out…but the deal is that I don’t know how to drive.”
“You what?”
“Yeah, see. I was raised on my folks’ farm and all I ever learned to drive was tractors. Never had any need to learn to drive the car. Only had one, so my dad did all the driving. None of us, the kids I mean, ever learned how to drive. Sorry.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What are the odds? Of all the hitch-hikers on the road, and I gotta find the one that doesn’t know how to drive.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I gotta get some shut-eye. My folks got a long day planned for me tomorrow. It being my first furlough, and all.”
“Great.”
He curled up, pulling his socked feet up under him on, and burying his head in the space between the back of the seat and the door.
“G’night.” he mumbled. Within a couple of minutes he was snoring loudly. I quickly discovered that driving and trying to stay awake with someone snoring next to you was a thousand times worse than having to drive alone.
About an hour and a half later, and after almost driving off the side of the dark road several times, jerking myself awake at the last moment, I finally gave up as we pulled in to Kingman. For the exception of some twenty-four-hour gas stations on the outskirts of town, everything appeared to be closed. I saw what appeared to be a small restaurant whose parking lot was empty, and I pulled in and shut the engine off.
Harvey immediately jumped up in his seat. “Wha…what’s going on? Why’d you stop?”
He was looking at me with a frightened expression—his eyes wide and his mouth open.
“Take it easy, Harvey. Since you can’t fucking help me drive I thought I should just stop here and sleep a few hours. I almost killed us several times back there, so settle back down and go back to sleep.”
“Uh, OK…” he said, hesitantly.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you get into the back seat and stretch out so I can sleep up here?” That seemed to take the edge off his sudden anxiety.
“Sure! That’s cool.” And he jumped out onto the concrete drive in his socks.
“Get your shoes!” I yelled.
“Oh yeah! Thanks.” And he reached in, keeping both eyes squarely on me.
“Jesus…” I mumbled. As soon as he closed the door and got himself comfortable in the back, I got out and retrieved a towel from one of my bags in the trunk and rolled it up to use as a pillow. Laying across the seat with my head under the steering wheel, knees drawn up, and my feet up on the passenger door armrest was very uncomfortable. Even so, I drifted off in record time.
***
A painful brightness shone through my eyelids, lifting my awareness up to a drowsy and painful state of slumber. Try as I might, I couldn’t shut the brilliance out of my eyes. I attempted to raise my right arm to shield the glare but I found that it wouldn’t move. I turned my head and a sharp pain shot up from the back of my neck up to the top of my head. I was forced to open my eyes.
My right arm was asleep and I had a hell of a crick in my neck. Worse, I discovered that I needed to pee more than I’d ever needed to do so in my entire life. I pushed my legs out, but found that the door wouldn’t let me stretch them all the way out. I groaned.
Slowly, my consciousness began to seep back into my brain and I began to remember who I was and what I was doing. I pushed myself up on the seat with my left arm and immediately my right arm began to tingle with a million pin pricks.
I smelled bacon! And hash-browns! And, as I sat up in the car seat I saw that we were surrounded by cars in the parking lot. We must’ve been facing east because the sun was blazing agonizingly through the windshield. I could barely open my eyes.
“Ugh…” the sound coming from the back seat. Then I remembered Harvey.
“Hey!” I said, scratching my head. “Get up. We need to get back on the road.”
“Ugh…ugh.” Harvey answered.
I stretched, and a tremor rippled from the top of my head right down to my feet. “Shit! I gotta piss…” I said, to no one in particular. I looked through the windshield, my left hand shielding my eyes and saw through the restaurant’s plate glass window that the restaurant we’d parked at last night was open and full of customers. I could see that there were quite a few people sitting and walking around inside. I re-focused and read, “The Rooster’s Crow!” painted in bright red block lettering on the glass.
“Man! I sure am hungry!” I heard Harvey finally say from the back seat. “That smells good.”
“Well, I gotta go take a piss before I do anything else. Then I’ll get a cup of coffee to go.”
“Oh, can’t we eat before we go?”
“Look, I don’t have that kind of money on me. Plus, I need to get back on the road because I’m on a tight schedule. So after I piss I’m gonna buy some coffee and start driving. That is, unless you spring for breakfast.”
“No sorry, I can’t” He said, dejectedly.
“Fine!” I opened the door and put my shoes back on. I found that my legs, although a little weak, held me up just fine, and my right arm was almost back to normal. I slammed the door behind me and headed for the restaurant door.
I walked through the restaurant’s dining room and spied the sign that directed me to the “Men’s” room. More than a few of the customers gave me a less than casual look, so I assumed they must’ve seen Harvey and me snoozing in the car as they passed us on the way into the café.
After some much needed relief, I splashed my face with cold water and rinsed my mouth out. I wanted to brush my teeth but I wasn’t about to go back out to the car to retrieve my shaving kit. Giving myself a once-over in the mirror I decided that I looked halfway decent, despite having a sleep wrinkle adorning my left cheek and forehead.
Walking out of the men’s room I headed for the counter to ask for a large black coffee to go. The waitress behind the green-speckled countertop hurried over.
“What’cha need, hon?”
“Just a large black coffee to go, please.”
“How ‘bout a nice piece of apple pie to go with that?”
“No, thank you. Just the coffee will be fine.”
“OK, that’ll be twenty-five cents. You can pay me when I bring your coffee.”
Coffee in hand, I headed back to the car to resume my trip south. I climbed in and was surprised to see that Harvey was not in the car. I hadn’t seen him on my way in or out of the men’s room, so I assumed he’d gone in while I was ordering my coffee.
I sipped my coffee for a few minutes, getting a bit inpatient when Harvey didn’t show up right away. Suddenly, I looked up and spotted him sitting at the counter in the restaurant. Setting my coffee on the dash, I stepped out and re-entered the restaurant. As I approached him I saw that he had a plate of eggs, sausage, hash brown potatoes and toast in front of him. He was eagerly wolfing down the eggs as I walked up to him.
“What the fuck? What’re you doing?” I asked angrily.
“Huh? Oh, I’m eating. You said you didn’t want any so I thought I’d just get me some breakfast. I’m hungry!”
I sat on an empty stool next to him, and holding my temper back as best as I could, whispered irritably, “Oh, you’re hungry? Well I’ll tell you what. I’m going back to the car and dumping your shit out on the driveway. You can finish your breakfast then try to hitch a ride to Phoenix from some other schmuck.”
“Wha…? No, wait!”
I turned away and headed back out to the car. I noticed some amused smiles on the faces of a couple of customers. I opened the right rear passenger door and started to pull his sea bag out.
“Wait!” I heard from behind me. “The waitress is putting my breakfast in a ‘to-go’ container. I can eat it while we drive. Wait just a couple of minutes, please.” He pleaded.
“Well, hurry the fuck up! I don’t have time for your bullshit.” He ran back into the restaurant and in a couple of minutes came back out carrying a bright red cardboard box and piled into the car.
“Gee, I’m sorry. I didn’t think a couple of minutes would make that much difference.”
“Hurry up and eat your breakfast—because when you’re done you’re gonna drive this fucking car! It’s a goddamn automatic transmission so all you have to do is push on the gas and the brake, and steer the damn thing. Make believe you’re out on the fucking farm!”
About ten miles south of Kingman Harvey had finally finished his breakfast and I pulled the car off the highway and on to the gravel shoulder. Harvey reluctantly got out and walked around the front of the car while I slid over to the passenger side of the front seat.
“OK, you do know that the stick on the right side of the steering wheel is the gear selector, right?” I asked.
“Uh, yeah I think so.”
“So the ‘D’ means ‘Drive’; that’s where you want to pull the stick down to in order to get the car in gear to go forward.”
“OK.”
“Once you do that, make sure your foot is on the brake, the big fat pedal to the left of the left of the flat one, check your side view mirror to make sure no one is coming, and then take your foot off the brake and push gently down on the gas. Once you’re in the lane, accelerate to about sixty miles an hour and keep it there. I don’t want to get a speeding ticket because I don’t have the money to pay for it. Got it?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
It was a complete disaster. Harvey had absolutely no clue as to what he was doing; after about five miles of crossing over to the oncoming lane on the narrow two-lane highway several times, driving off onto the shoulder, slowing to about thirty miles an hour and then speeding up to over eighty, I finally got tired of yelling at him and told him to pull over.
For the rest of the trip to Phoenix, we avoided talking to or even looking at each other. I continued to fight off my heavy fatigue and overwhelming drowsiness until I pulled up in front of Harvey’s parents’ house.
He mumbled a curt ‘thanks’, and got out. As soon as I heard the trunk close I accelerated away without even a glance back. As I found myself back on Highway 70 East, I made a vow never again to pick up hitchhikers—a vow I’ve kept to this very day.
I settled in for the remaining drive to Houston hoping that the rest of the trip would be uneventful. Three hours later, as I scanned for traffic in my rearview mirror, I noticed that the back window was clouded over with some unknown substance. I pulled over to investigate and found that the window was coated with a fine coat of what appeared to be oil. I stood there wondering where oil would have to come from to mist over my back window.
Restarting the engine, I checked the oil pressure gauge and found it to be well within its normal operating range. Shutting the engine down again, I popped opened the hood and visually checked the oil dipstick. Again, I found nothing out of the ordinary. A little mystified, I resumed driving—hoping that maybe whatever was causing this weird problem would eventually go away.
Ten miles west of the small town of Duncan, Arizona that early Sunday morning of September 18th, I began to hear an odd sound coming from the lower rear end of the car. Regardless of how fast or slow I drove, the sound—like metal rubbing on metal—kept getting louder. Worse, I began to feel a slight resistance coming from the rear end—like I was pulling a trailer or something. I began to panic.
“Oh Lord, what now?” I prayed out loud, as I passed the Duncan, Arizona, city limits sign.
To be continued…