Roxanne teared up. “I had friends in that theater. I’ll never hear the end of it.” Then she turned around and addressed the stunned passenger in the back seat. “Charles, I am so sorry. This has to be the worst date ever.”
“Mrs. Smitherman, I had no idea that your daughter was fifteen. I should have asked. Please forgive me. If you will kindly just drop me off at a bus stop, we can spare all of us any further embarrassment.”
Roxanne turned back around in her seat, lowered her head, and had nothing more to say.
“This is it,” said Mrs. Smitherman, who then turned into the driveway to their ranch style home. “Let’s just go inside and try to redeem what’s left of the evening. Is that OK?”
“Yes, mam,” said Buddy.
“How about it, Roxie?” asked her mother.
Roxanne’s reaction was delayed and blushingly stated. “Suppose so. If it’s OK with Charles, it’s OK by me.”
Once inside, Roxanne turned on the TV and then joined Buddy on the sofa while her mother went to the kitchen to prepare a snack. Soon after, the front door opened and a man wearing a baseball uniform walked through the front door.
“Hi, Daddy,” said a subdued Roxanne. “Did you win?”
“Yep. Shutout. Three to zip.”
Buddy stood for the introduction to her father who looked surprisingly familiar.
“Daddy, this is Charles. Charles, this is my dad, Captain Eddie Smitherman.”
Just when Buddy thought that nothing else could possibly go wrong, he suddenly recognized Roxanne’s father. How should or how could he address the officer with whom he had an encounter earlier in the week? Should he stand at attention, salute, run for his life? What should he say? “Good to see you again, sir.”
“Virginia, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Roxanne was shocked. “You know each other?”
Buddy was horrified. Didn’t know what to say.
Captain Smitherman sensed Buddy’s uneasiness and smiled. “The two of us had a little meeting a few days ago. I was admiring a gift his mother gave him.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Roxanne.
“They’ll sew that pocket back on for you at the base laundry.”
Roxanne looked puzzled and waited for Buddy’s response to enlighten her.
“Already taken care of, sir. Pick it up on Monday.”
Mrs. Smitherman returned from the kitchen carrying a platter of sandwiches and chips and for the next hour, they talked, joked, and got to know one another. At about 11:00, when Mrs. Smitherman announced that it was getting late and that she would take Buddy back to the base, Captain Smitherman intervened.
“You don’t need to be driving this late at night. I’ll take him.”
The Captain was apparently feeling comfortable with Roxanne’s choice of Marines. He let them sit together in the back seat and just before Buddy got out of the car, he gave a simple instruction.
“Charles, if we cross paths on the base, you and I will have a proper officer and enlisted man relationship. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
“However, off base, we can be friends. But I do prefer to be called Captain. Are you good with that?”
“Yes, sir. And thank you for your kindness.”
“I suppose the two of you will want to see one another again.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” said Roxanne and then she waited for Buddy’s response.
“Uh, yeah. Why not?” said Buddy, trying to subtly avoid committing to a second date.
“Call me,” replied Roxanne.
One of the hazards of living on a military air base is that conversations are often eclipsed by the sound of aircraft taking off and landing. Such was the case when Buddy got out of the car. If he said anything, she didn’t hear it. Actually, calling her again never crossed his mind. Therefore, he said nothing.
Roxanne was hoping for a goodnight kiss. She even rolled down the window when he walked to her side of the vehicle. As far as he was concerned, a kiss was out of the question. Even though she looked to be near his age, she was still only fifteen. And if that wasn’t enough to hold him back, Captain Smitherman was less than five feet away.
“I’ll write you,” she yelled.
I’ll bet you will, he thought. Buddy smiled, turned, and headed for the bus stop. He watched as the black Crysler disappeared in the distance and then he sat on a bench and waited for the transportation that would take him back to a place of sanity. Once again his mother’s words haunted him. If something is too good to be true, it usually is…just that.
Chapter IV – Shipping Out
On the Home Front – September to December 1954
Buddy received lots of letters from friends and family. Most often, he responded, but not always promptly. Very seldom was there a phone call employed, unless there was a problem or an emergency, which is what happened on the first day of September. The cause for alarm was a letter from old friend and neighbor, Buster Jones. In it, Buster said that there was a rift between Buddy’s sister, Helen, and her parents. His concern was triggered by the statement, “Helen has not been home in months.” Normally, her visits were frequent, at least, three or four times per week. Even now, after the move to Middletown, the drive to Strasburg was little more than ten minutes.
From a base payphone, Buddy called his mother to find out what was going on. Since they seldom communicated by telephone, Mable immediately jumped to the conclusion that Buddy was in trouble.
“Everything is OK, here,” said Buddy. “I got a letter from Buster who said that Helen hasn’t been home for a while. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. She just says she’s been busy.”
“Doing what? She doesn’t work.”
“Only saw Dickie a couple of times this summer when she and Woody wanted to go somewhere.”
“That’s not right.”
“Nothing I can do about it. Been pretty much this way since they moved to Middletown.”
“I’ll call her.”
“Don’t be botherin’ yourself with that.”
“She listens to me.”
“You’re the only one. Your daddy has about had it with her.”
Of greater concern to his mother was the status of his next duty assignment for which he still didn’t have an answer. He withheld the widespread rumor that he would likely be sent to South Korea. Mable worried that Buddy would be shipped overseas. In her world, the next town was a long way away. Taking up residence outside the USA was unthinkable.
Before concluding the call, she reminded her son of the cookies that she had sent. “They should be arriving any day. There’s plenty for all your friends.”
Immediately following his conversation with his mother, Buddy called his sister. Helen was thrilled to hear from her brother until he pressed her on the reason for her avoidance of her parents. She insisted that there wasn’t a problem, that she and Woody had just been busy.
Buddy wasn’t buying her excuse and pointed out that she had really hurt their feelings. “Promise me you’ll do better,” he said, to which she agreed. Helen was notorious for what she called, ‘little white lies,’ so he repeated his request. “You can make it over there at least once a week. I’ll be checking up on you.”
“Speaking of visiting, when are you coming home?” Helen was already thinking ahead to the holidays. “Will you be home for Christmas?”
“I seriously doubt it. Don’t tell mom, but it sounds like I’m going to be transferred overseas. Word has it, sometime early next year. That would mean an extended leave just before we ship out.”
“You’re going to have Christmas…even if we have to wait ‘til Easter.”
With the conversation ended, Helen was immediately confronted by an alarmed 6-year-old. “We have to wait until Easter for Christmas?”
True to form, she told Dickie what he wanted to hear. “You’re going to have another big Christmas this year, just like always.”
/> “Christmas at Christmas and not on Easter?”
“Right,” she said while pulling a 1955 drugstore calendar from a table drawer. Then, with a fountain pen, she circled April 10, 1955, Easter Sunday. Now it was time to get the input of her gossip partner and best friend, Jane Hudson.
Since the move to Middletown, Helen felt liberated. She loved the freedom from what she believed was excessive parental meddling. Unlike her brother, her mother’s voice of rules and reason did not monitor her behavior. She tuned it out long ago, and now she had a new friend who exhibited the worldly lifestyle to which she aspired.
Jane and Oliver Hudson rented the house next door, albeit in the country, where next door was about a hundred yards away. They had two children, Lilly, who was Dickie’s age, and a little 4-year-old terror named Timothy.
To Helen, the Hudsons were the perfect family, except for one major flaw. Oliver abused his wife. Fortunately, he was a truck driver and gone for long periods of time which gave the two women ample opportunity to cook up schemes which did, in fact, keep Helen busy. During the summer, they loaded corn from their adjacent gardens in the bed of the Hudson’s pickup truck and stationed themselves outside the American Viscose Plant to sell produce to those getting off the afternoon shift. Jane taught Helen how to use flirting as a valuable sales technique which resulted in sufficient revenue to purchase an impressive collection of Tupperware. A less successful venture was when they decided to make homemade ketchup, bottle it, and then sell it outside that same Viscose entrance. Sadly, no amount of flirting could sell their nasty tomato based concoction but it did give them cause for a lot of laughs.
For Easter gifts for their children in 1954, Helen and Jane invested in a bunch of colored baby chicks that they bought from a Five and Dime storefront window in Winchester. As the chickens rapidly grew, a chicken coop was installed near the Hudson’s house to contain them, and again the women hatched a plan to make good use of their purchase. A sign was placed near the road that advertised fresh eggs for sale which did produce a modicum of revenue. However, Oliver hated the mess, the noise, the smell, and just about everything else that had to do with chickens so he demanded that the women get rid of them.
Still wanting to make good on their investment, Jane recommended slaughtering the birds and storing them in her freezer. With the help of Dickie and Lilly, whose job it was to catch the fast running fowl, it took the better part of a day to complete the grotesque task. Helen was so upset by what she saw that day that she refused to ever cook chicken again.
Those Middletown adventures were great fun for both women and with Jane’s help, Helen had become more adept at cursing, smoking, and drinking beer than ever before. Together, aided by an active party line that made it possible to listen in on their neighbors’ telephone conversations, they took gossip to a new level.
Just as the women formed a tight bond, so did the kids. Dickie and Lilly were best friends and Timothy, well, he was more of a nuisance than a playmate. Mable made stick horses for them which were made of broom handles, stuffed socks, and buttons for eyes. The only missing ingredient was childhood imagination, of which there was a plentiful supply, enough so to turn those primitive objects into Trigger and Buttermilk, the legendary horses associated with Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. Of course, Dickie was Roy and Lilly was Dale. Whenever Timothy tagged along, he became their sidekick, Pat Brady, who rode a pedal driven jeep, called Nellybelle. Usually, the make-believe, Pat Brady, spoiled the fun by doing something disgusting, like the day he wiped a booger on Roy Rogers’ shirt.
On Monday, September 6, 1954, Dickie and Lilly started school at Middletown Elementary. They walked hand and hand to their first-grade classroom as their teary-eyed mothers watched. But sadness, was only temporary. While Woody worked at the Viscose and Dickie learned to read and write, Helen played.
For Helen to have a break from the stress of motherhood was not a bad thing. In fact, much of her irritable and controlling disposition could be attributed to the difficult trials of her life. A year after her marriage to Woody, she gave birth to twins, Bonnie, and Barbara. Barbara died two days later and Bonnie survived a week. Three years later, on October 15, 1943, Charlotte was born. She died on the 17th. Soon after, she and Woody decided to adopt a child, and in the spring of ’44, they brought home a healthy baby boy who they gave the name Gary.
Helen’s heartaches didn’t end with the addition of Gary to the family. Two years later he contracted polio and survived until his fifth year when he died on the anniversary of Charlotte’s death. On October 15, 1948.
There was a surprise addition to the Weirich family in November of ’47. In fact, doctors had told Helen that she would never be able to give birth to a healthy child due to a double womb. She was convinced that God gave her a miracle because Dickie was born healthy and whole.
Gary had been gone for six years, but Helen still had not gotten over the trauma of his losing battle with polio. An 8x10 photo of Gary, taken before he was stricken with the disease was prominently displayed on the living room wall. She still talked about him often and there wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t think about him. That’s why she was particularly interested in a note from Dickie’s teacher. His class was to participate in an immunization test of the Salk vaccine and the teacher needed chaperones for the bus trip to Winchester. Helen responded immediately to the request and solicited the help of her friend, Jane, whose daughter was also involved in the test project.
On the cold and rainy Tuesday morning of October 5th, 1954, Helen, Jane and three other mothers assisted as thirty Middletown first graders were inoculated against the crippling disease. Undoubtedly, the kids weren’t happy about getting shots. Many of them cried and a few even tried to run off. Through it all, Helen assured children and mothers alike, that this was a small price to pay to avoid the horrors of polio. When it came to Dickie’s turn to be inoculated, Helen stopped him. “Be brave for Gary.”
Previously, when Buddy called his sister, he vowed to call back soon. On Wednesday evening, November 17, 1954, Buddy made good on that promise. The occasion was Dickie’s seventh birthday.
“But my birthday’s not ‘til tomorrow,” said Dickie, thrilled to hear from his Uncle.
“Wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday,” said Buddy.
“Thanks.”
“Makin’ all A’s?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. When I come home, we’ll go shopping and you can pick out whatever you want.”
“Can I get a toy?”
“Whatever you want?”
To Dickie, Uncle Buddy was a superhero. In fact, to the whole family he had become larger than life. The longer he was away, the more they talked about him. Mable Polk led the way, touting his every positive trait from the day he was conceived to the present. Everybody who visited the Polk residence saw the picture of the smiling Marine in his dress blues. The only thing that was missing was a movie star-like autograph. A call from Roy Rogers or Gene Autry would not have meant more to Dickie than this.
“Let me talk to your mom.”
Before he could ask, Helen reported that she had been visiting once per week, just like he requested, every Sunday after church. Woody was particularly fond of the Sunday gatherings since Mable’s cooking was involved. Helen did not get the Betty Crocker gene.
“Is Daddy behaving?”
To Helen’s knowledge, Charlie was confining his beer drinking to the house. She wasn’t aware of any related problems.
Then Buddy got around to the news that the family had hoped not to hear. “Sis, I got my orders.”
“I’m afraid to ask. Where to?”
“The Marine Corps Air Station at El Toro, California. They’ll hold us there until March, then I’ll get two weeks leave, and then it’s on to Korea.”
Helen paused for a moment to process the information.
“Please don’t tell mom. We’ll just let the transfer to California sink in first.”
“Correct. Won’t get home ‘til the middle of March. Looks like I’ll miss Easter, too.”
“Then we’ll celebrate Christmas and Easter when you get here.”
When Helen had something in her mind, there was no budging her from it. Woody’s objection that leaving a Christmas tree up for three months was a fire hazard was unacceptable. He even suggested that there wouldn’t be a needle left on the tree. “Then we’ll glue them back on,” she responded.
The following day, when Dickie returned to school, he had his first encounter with a bully. It happened in the Boy’s Bathroom.
“Look, fellas,” said a skinny freckle-faced boy. “It’s the Crisco Kid.”.
Dickie had already been introduced to name-calling, but this was the first time to be cornered by older kids who apparently had more on their minds than just calling him names.
While one of the boys kept watch at the door, the bully and his gang surrounded Dickie. Then he made a tactical error, saying something that only made matters worse. “It’s my birthday.”
“Is that right?” said the Bully. “How old are you today?”
“Seven.”
“Then it’s your lucky day because we’re gonna give you a party. Grab him, fellas!”
They grabbed him alright. Turned him upside down, dunked his head in a toilet seven times, and ran.
Dickie lay on the floor, gasping for air, wet, humiliated, and crying. One of the benefits of a 1950s crewcut was that it was quick drying, so he found a towel and went to work. Then he rushed back to the classroom and returned to his seat fearing that the teacher would be mad at him for being gone so long. She never said a word.
After school, on the bus ride home, Dickie was uncharacteristically quiet. When he walked through the front door, his mother greeted him as usual.
“How was your day?”
“OK.”
Mommas have a sixth sense, an innate ability, to know when their children are sick or troubled. Dickie’s unusual low-key behavior, especially on his birthday, immediately raised a flag of concern. “What’s the matter?”
Farewell PFC Polk: The End of a Nightmare (In the Valley of Hope Book 2) Page 15