by Doug Beason
Rod’s mother nodded to the front of the stage.
Rod’s heart yammered, suddenly recognizing the overbearing man. Colonel Beaumont, the Wing Commander from Minot AFB was now a one-star general. His father’s wingman.
The general stuffed his cigar in his flight-suit pocket and clomped to the stage.
Still dazed and confused, Captain Whitney staggered backwards. “Sir?”
“Out of the way. I’ll handle this now.”
“Excuse me?”
General Beaumont glared. “You understand English, Captain?”
“Ah, yes, sir …”
General Speedy Beaumont turned to Rod after dismissing the effete faculty member. “I’m proud as hell to swear you into my Air Force, son. It’s the least I could do for your father; especially after all he did for me. I just wish he were here to do it himself.”
He paused for a moment, then drew Rod close to give him a bear hug. While pounding Rod on his back, General Beaumont whispered, “I’m heading up the flight investigation board of your father’s accident. I’m convinced that crash wasn’t due to pilot error—your old man was better than that. And I swear I’ll get to the bottom of it. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
Beaumont straightened, then turned to the crowd and boomed, “Now raise your right hand, son, and repeat after me.…”
***
Chapter Fifty
“I’m Gonna Get Married”
June 3, 1959
USAF Academy
This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
—Sir Winston Churchill, Mansion House, 10 Nov 1942
It was a perfect day, a perfect time, amplified by the three years, ten months and 23 days it took to get there—which made the moment even sweeter.
Rod stood on the Terrazzo at the top of the Bring Me Men ramp with his classmates, 206 of the original 306. He held a hand to his eyes as sunlight glinted off the aluminum siding and glass windows of Fairchild Hall. He stood underneath a cloudless blue sky and smelled the crisp bite of ozone in the air; green mountains towered behind him. He heard muted sounds of the Academy band as his class prepared to march down the ramp to the parade field—
“Hey, Rod, quit gazing around!” Manuel Rojo said. “Master Sergeant Coltrin just called our class to attention. We’re heading out!”
“Right.” Rod snapped around and focused on the gaunt sergeant who stood rigidly at attention in front of the tunnel leading down to the parade field. The officers were already on the field, along with the rest of the Wing, his classmates’ families, dignitaries, the press, local and national news crews, and whatever tourists had managed to slip through security. Excited voices mixed with the sound of music, and the crowds drifted up the ramp and echoed in the tunnel.
Master Sergeant Coltrin moved his head in time with a distant drum beat, then barked, “Graduates … forward, harch.” He moved sharply to the side, squared a corner, and snapped his arm up in a salute to the class of ’59.
Rod and his classmates stepped off for the final time as cadets as they headed down the ramp and into the tunnel.
He marched in the front row; the cadets had lined up in formation according to their graduation order of merit, with the top graduate, Brad Hosmer, marching at the far front left because of his academic and military standing.
Rod found himself somehow out of breath as he realized that the light at the end of the tunnel was literally growing brighter, and in retrospect the path he’d taken over the past four years hadn’t really been all that long. He just wished his father were still alive; and with Sly, Goldstein, and Sanders heading off to different pilot training bases, and Manuel Rojo off to Princeton, this might be the last time they’d ever be together.
A thrill rocketed through him as they emerged from the tunnel; they marched to the growing drumbeat underneath the words BRING ME MEN embedded in the granite opening; cheers erupted from either side of the cadets. Families of faculty members, AOCs, and support staff lined the path and applauded as they waved small American flags.
As they rounded the corner, Rod saw a block of folding chairs on the parade field positioned directly in front of an elevated reviewing stand. The crowd spotted the cadets and stood, clapping and cheering. On the reviewing stand, dignitaries in business suits, general officers and their military aides rose to their feet. Behind the stand, row after row of aluminum stadium seats filled with people spread out along the edge of the parade field; Rod saw a chaotic jumble of men, women, and children, balloons, flags waving, and people holding signs over their heads.
At the far end of the grassy parade field the Academy band struck up “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” The sight reminded Rod of the swearing-in ceremony at Lowry Field, nearly four years earlier—but after all that he had been through, the hazing, the training, intramurals, the academics, getting to know his classmates, the trips he’d taken, meeting Julie, Barbara, breaking up with Sandy, the jet flights, learning how to parachute, navigator training, his survival training, flickerball, running track, getting thrown off tables as a doolie, marching tours, the fights, the tears at losing, and the excitement of winning; the entire four year experience came back at him in a rush, a tsunami of emotion that he found he couldn’t hold back. He glanced around at his classmates as they marched through the block of chairs, and he discovered that everyone around him was swept up in the moment.
“Graduates, halt!” They stopped as one, each directly in front of a folding chair.
“Left, face. Gentlemen, take seats.”
Rod felt as if he were in a surreal dream, drifting in and out of the reality as Major General Briggs, the Academy Superintendent, gave the opening remarks … to the times Rod spent with his father on the trips to establish the Academy; from walking up on the reviewing stand to be presented his diploma from Air Force Secretary James Douglas … to the time he was six years old and helped his father escape from occupied France over the Pyrenees as they negotiated a nine thousand foot mountain pass; from General White, the Air Force Chief of Staff, calling his class to attention and administering the oath of office as he was commissioned … to the last time he saw his father Hank … his pa-pa and ma-ma, and his sister Nanette—
“Gentlemen, you are dismissed!”
The class of 1959 roared. They threw their hats in the air and the parade field looked as if it was raining white saucers.
A deafening roar swept over the area as four F-100 fighter jets, painted in patriotic red, white, and blue, screamed low over the crowd. The USAF Thunderbirds pulled up, leaving colorful smoke contrails in the cloudless blue sky; their engines reverberated off the foothills and echoed across the site.
Aides ushered Air Force Secretary Douglas off the stage to a waiting car as the new lieutenants celebrated.
His eyes filling with tears, Rod shook hands and hugged his classmates. Someone pounded on his back. Children ran from the stands, screaming as they darted in and out of the chairs, snatching up cadet hats as souvenirs.
“Hey, Rod!”
Rod turned as Sly and Carol walked up with their arms around each other. Carol’s blue blouse and white skirt matched Sly’s parade uniform; they both beamed.
Rod punched Sly in the shoulder but spoke to Carol. “Ready for the wedding?”
Carol gave a shy smile. “Except for how I’m going to change after being Julie’s bridesmaid to putting on my own wedding dress. We only have a half hour between our ceremonies.”
“Wendy Shelby offered to coordinate Carol and Julie’s quick change so we could keep our moms out of the dressing room,” Sly said. “Otherwise we’d have a clash of the Titans, and neither of our weddings might take place.”
“What Titans?” said Jeff Goldstein. He, Manuel Rojo, and George Sanders stepped up, grins plastered on their faces; they looked dazed, as though the entire graduation ceremony had been a dream.
“Just preventing
our first conflict with future mother-in-laws,” Rod said. “All you three need to do is to show up for our weddings.”
“Rod! Rod!” Wearing sunglasses, a white floppy hat, and a flowing blue dress that couldn’t conceal her pregnancy, Julie waved to him from the bottom of the aluminum stands.
“Our wedding starts at 1500—don’t be late!” Rod said to his classmates.
“They’ll be there,” Sly said. He shoved him towards Julie. “Just you don’t be late. You may be scheduled first, but we’re not waiting!” He pulled Carol close to him and kissed her on the neck; she giggled and pushed him away.
“Right.” Rod turned and jogged to Julie through the mayhem, stepping over children and stopping to shake hands with his classmates.
Julie waddled out to greet him. She screeched and threw out her arms. “My lieutenant!” She popped a bottle of champagne and sprayed him, laughing.
Rod felt exhausted. June Week had drained him. He couldn’t imagine that the next phase of his life would ever be as demanding as the Academy. All he wanted to do was to get married and have a healthy baby before starting Stanford. He put his arm around Julie and wove their way to the stands to where General Speedy Beaumont sat with his mother and the Phillips’.
Helping Julie up the stairs, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd.
He stopped dead cold. Fred Delante. He hadn’t seen him since that altercation in the El Paso County Courthouse stairwell; but there was no mistake about it, it was his former roommate. Fred’s blonde hair was even longer than before, and he looked tanned, relaxed, as he slipped through the crowd as a shark sluicing through the waves.
Then, as suddenly as he appeared he was gone.
Rod stood on his tiptoes and searched the throng of people. Where did he go? What was he doing here? And why would he show up?
Scanning faces in the crowd, Rod spotted Captain Whitney, and for a moment he thought he saw him speaking to Fred and Mr. Delante.
A group of tourists walked in front of the three, and when they passed, he’d lost sight of them.
Julie looked at Rod quizzically. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Rod pushed the painful memory of Fred, their last fight, and the honor board from his mind. He was starting a new life, and the Delantes were remnants of a distant past. His history with Fred had happened before he’d met Julie, and Fred would never be a part of their world. He’d have to put it behind him and move on … exactly what he’d been telling his father to do before he passed away.
Just as he had walked away from his leveled, burning house in France, Rod turned his back on the Delantes and Captain Whitney, leaving them far behind. He’d never see them again, and the only regret was that he wished his father could be here.…
“Nothing’s wrong.” He kissed Julie, then waved to his mother waiting in the stands. She stood and clasped her hands together, beaming with pride.
Rod reveled in the moment. After all he’d been through the past four years—the Academy system, academics, intramurals, his friendships, losing his dad, and finding Julie—he couldn’t wait to become a father himself, hit graduate school, and then attend pilot training.
Just two more years of education and he’d finally arrive at the promised land and be able to do what he’d dreamed of for years, achieve what he wanted more than anything else in life: fly fighters. It just couldn’t get any better than this.
Turning back to Julie, he whooped, “Let’s get married!”
And left his old life behind.
***
EPILOGUE
“Hotel California”
17 Years, 29 days later
July 2nd, 1976
USAF Academy
“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”
—Don Felder, Glenn Frey and Don Henley
Nanette opened the car’s front door to give grandma Mary a hug. The older woman smelled of perfume and bath powder; she was so frail that Nanette didn’t want her being pushed around by the crowds. The presence of cadet candidates, parents, girlfriends, boyfriends, reporters, news media, and summer training cadre made the Academy look as though it was Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
Her father had parked at the base of the ramp, below the Bring Me Men sign, the symbol of a bastion that was about to change from an exclusive all-male club to a coed institution. TV cameras and news reporters crowded around the incoming cadets, thrusting microphones into their flustered faces.
Her father pulled her duffle bag out of the trunk, and limping slightly, carried it to the side of the car. Nanette straightened and smiled at her grandmother. “Take care, grandma. I love you.”
“Write every day, lass. I still have all the letters your father wrote.”
Nanette touched her grandmother’s cheek. “I will.” She turned to her duffle bag.
Her father stood awkwardly by the bag, flexing his right hand; her mother had refused to come.
For the first time in her life, Nanette saw her father at a loss for words. He was dressed in civilian clothes, insisting that coming in uniform would only draw attention away from her. As a senior officer, he’d be peppered by the news media to comment on what he thought about the first class of women.
Nanette bent over and picked up her bag. She hadn’t brought much. With grandma’s house a short five miles away from the cadet area, it didn’t make sense to bring anything important. She knew that it would be all confiscated anyway, so she might as well wait until after Basic Cadet Training to take personal items to the dorm.
Her father stepped up as she slung the bag over her shoulder.
She felt sorry for him. Here he was, a member of the first graduating class who’d seen a string of firsts since he had entered the Academy at Lowry in 1955, 21 years ago. His class had started nearly every tradition at the Academy, and within minutes those traditions were about to be turned upside-down.
He bent over and hugged her. “I’m going to miss you.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Tell mom I’ll be all right.” She hesitated, knowing she owed him a lot, standing up for her at the last minute. Two weeks under the wire. “And thanks … for signing the age waiver. I know it caused a fight.”
“She’ll get over it.” He straightened and rubbed her arms, as if unwilling to let her go. Behind them the sound of new basics chanted in response to orders growled by the training cadre. Cars drove slowly past and people watched as their loved ones march up the Bring Me Men ramp.
Her father cleared his throat. “Write when you can.”
“I will.”
“If you really want to fly as much as you say you do, then never forget why you came; it wasn’t for me, or anyone else. It’s going to be tough, but remember the things that mean the most are the hardest to come by.”
“Yes, sir.” She shifted the bag’s weight on her shoulder. She felt uneasy; he looked as though he was going to cry.
“This summer won’t last forever, although it will seem that way. Just take it day-by-day. If I made it, I know you can.” He bent over and gave her one last hug. “Goodbye, baby. You’ve made me the proudest father in the world. I love you.”
“Bye, Daddy.”
He stepped back. “Good luck, basic. I’ll see you Parents’ Weekend.” He walked to the driver’s side and watched as she turned to face the in-processing line.
Nanette drew in a breath and set out for the cadets standing underneath the aluminum dormitory. She pushed past boyfriends kissing their girlfriends, mothers crying. All around, reporters faced cameras, gushing about today’s importance.
The cadets in the summer cadre were dressed in white gloves, short-sleeved blue shirts with shoulder boards, wheel caps, pressed blue trousers, gleaming metal belt buckles, and shiny shoes, looking as though they had stepped out of a recruiting catalog. The air was crisp and cloudless blue; a lone prairie falcon circled overhead, as if keeping vigil over its lair.
Nanette Simon
e smiled as she approached, knowing that her next few steps would be her last as a free woman. She turned and waved one last time, then pulled the duffle bag strap high on her shoulder.
And left her old life behind.
***
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