by T. L. Gould
“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Dave said as he motioned toward the open door and the two hookers.
“That’s all I needed!” Moose said. He made his way over to the brunette in the far bed with Ski right behind him, headed for the blonde.
Roger got up and closed the door to our room.
“Oh shit, you know how we need our privacy!” Bobby Mac laughed. “Open up that door. I want to watch. Been so long I think I forgot how!”
Earl Ray kicked over a large round hassock and rolled it toward the door. “Just like the choppers in ’Nam, this is the jump seat,” he said. “Even for you, Shoff.”
And the party was officially in full progress.
Ski and Moose came back to the party room at about the same time.
“Next?” Dave encouraged, which we really didn’t need.
“Go ahead, Shoff,” Earl Ray said.
“You go, Earl. I’ll get my turn.”
“No, you go, Shoff,” Earl Ray said without looking up “I don’t think I can do it.”
“Sure you can, Earl,” Bobby Mac laughed. “Just lay down and let her do the rest.”
“It’s not that,” Earl shrugged. He stared past the bed and through the double glass doors out to the pool. “It’s Jennifer,” he said to nobody. He slowly maneuvered his wheelchair through the glass doors out to the pool and sipped on a Jack and Coke.
I carried Big Al in and slipped him into the first bed with the blonde and joined the brunette in the other bed.
For the rest of the night, each guy took a turn jumping from the hassock into one of the beds, rotating in and out of the rooms. Earl Ray returned from poolside and spent the time talking and drinking with our gracious hosts.
“You better hope none of you bastards have the clap,” Earl Ray laughed.
“Too late now!” Big Al joked. “I still got the fungus from ’Nam!”
“If you still got that shit from ’Nam, your dick would’ve fallen off by now!” Bobby Mac jabbed.
“Yeah, well, go ask the blonde about my dick,” Big Al smiled.
“My deek better not fall off. I dwill keek what’s left of your ass!” Ski laughed.
Dave and Frank spent most of the night on the phone placing large bets on what we could determine as horse races. They used a color and bird combination code like “blue cardinal” or “yellow robin.” After a couple of the calls, we didn’t really pay much attention to what they were doing. They were just taking care of business and politely leaving us to our drinking and the ladies.
After a heated call, Frank slammed down the phone.
“So how bad did we do?” Dave asked.
“Dropped twenty-five hundred,” Frank said casually.
“Fuckin’ pocket change,” Dave said.
By now it was almost six-thirty on Sunday morning, and the hookers thought it was time to call it quits.
“Dave, we need to pay them,” Frank said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dave said coolly.
Dave and Frank went into the hookers’ room, and Dave once again reached in his sport coat pocket pulling out the wad of bills. He gave the blonde what we thought was three hundred dollars and the brunette only two hundred. She didn’t take kindly to the insult.
“You need to pay me as much as you paid her!” she shouted.
“What the fuck did you say to me?” Dave said in a cool, smooth voice. He took a quick step toward the brunette and she backed into the space between the beds. “You know who you’ve had the privilege to fuck tonight?” This time his voice was harsh and loud.
“C’mon, Dave, take it easy. We’ve all had a long night and a lot to drink,” Frank said, trying to calm Dave down a little.
“I did as much as she did! You give me my money or I’m telling my man!” she screamed back.
“You’re going to do what?” Dave said, starting toward her again.
“You heard me! He’s gonna beat your ass and get my money!” she screamed louder.
“Aw fuck,” Frank winced.
We couldn’t believe what this hooker was doing. Just take the money and get the fuck out, we all want to go home.
“Do you know who the fuck you’re talking to? You little slut!” Dave shot back.
Frank tried once again to calm him down, but it was too late. He looked at us and shrugged, stepping aside from Dave.
In an instant, Dave’s fist came up and hit the hooker square across the nose, blood splattering everywhere. The brunette flew backwards across the bed, hitting the wall and slumping down in the narrow space between the wall and the bed.
“Give that to your fucking man! Tell him Dave Marzetti sent you, and I’m waiting for him!”
He tossed a hundred-dollar bill onto the bed and told them both to get the fuck out of his sight.
“Sorry guys, sometimes you have to let people know who’s boss,” Dave told us after we were all back in the party room. “How would you guys like a little breakfast? I know where there’s a great buffet.”
We all told him how much we appreciated everything he had done for us and that we really needed to get back to the hotel; we didn’t want to miss the bus back to Philly.
“Okay, but I’m getting your cabs back to your hotel. Where are you staying?”
While waiting for the cabs on the back dock of the Holiday Inn, Dave Marzetti gave us each a business card and told us if we were ever back in Atlantic City to call him. And if we were ever back in Atlantic City and didn’t call him, he would know it.
The bus ride back to Philly and Q Ward was quiet and uneventful. No drinking, no dope smoking. No pissing out the windows, no puking on the seats. We were real gentlemen. For what Corporal Brown had done to those long-hairs on Friday, we would have washed and waxed his bus for the next six months.
We clambered back onto Q Ward and scattered out to our bunks and lockers. The rest of the afternoon was spent on the patio, drinking New Jersey beer and reliving the past two and a half days.
“You, you, you, you, and you!” Tiny had come up behind us towering in the doorway and pointing at each of us. “All of you but Earl Ray have a date with me one week from tomorrow, 0800, down in sick bay. You’re getting squeezed for VD.”
Before we could say anything, he turned and disappeared back into the ward.
“What’s he mean, squeezed?” I asked.
“It ain’t really squeezed, it’s more like poked,” Bobby Mac chuckled.
“The fickle finger of fate,” Roger laughed.
“Dright up dthe old pooper!” Ski howled.
“No big deal!” Moose said. “Just bend over and enjoy it.”
The week passed as usual, and we all nervously kept a close inspection every time we took a piss. The jokes and jabs reached a crescendo by Sunday evening, and the hooker stories from New Jersey to Vietnam had grown even more and more astonishing.
Monday morning, Tiny was on Q Ward at 0745, and we convoyed down to sick bay. One by one, we were introduced to the fickle finger of fate; specimens were taken and put under the microscope. With great relief, we all left with the good news that we were clean.
Back on Q Ward, we were given the news that Doc Miller had been killed in Vietnam.
Feeling Lucky
EARL RAY HIGGINS sat quietly in the restricted and familiar comfort of his wheelchair. Q Ward lay empty and silent behind him. An early autumn breeze was easing through the wide-open side doors, carrying with it the drone of the Saturday night traffic.
Earl had decided to pass on evening chow, and by the time we returned, he had showered, shaved, put on his legs and arm, and was in full Marine dress uniform. His ribbon rack was on the wool blanket of his bunk, leaning against the small stack of letters from Jennifer. He had taken the Purple Heart medal out of the box and was holding it in his right hand. Sitting side by side on his bunk was a nearly half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of painkillers, announcing his plans for the evening.
“What’s up, Earl?” Moose asked.
&nbs
p; “The sky.”
“You know what I mean. C’mon, what’s going on?”
“Just let it happen. Don’t call for help until you know it’s too late. Keep your promise.”
Earl put the pill bottle in his left breast pocket, wedged the bottle of Jack Daniels between his right thigh and the side of the wheelchair, and placed Jen’s letters between his thighs. He spun around the end of his bunk and rolled down to the double doors onto the concrete patio. We followed in silence, glancing for reassurance from each other of our promise to Earl.
Big Al pulled his chair alongside Earl Ray. Moose, Roger, Ski, Bobby Mac, and I sat down on the cool concrete steps. We were still looking for the nod of reassurance. No one spoke.
Earl sat solemn in his chair, the purple and white striped ribbon of his Purple Heart medal held between the pincers of the hook protruding from his jacket sleeve, the heart-shaped medallion resting on the crease of his pant leg. Jennifer Ann Cooley’s letters were squeezed between his legs, their messages sealed in silence, the envelopes never opened, and the pleading messages never read. Their familiar fragrance mottled the cool air and wrenched a memory of Ward 2B, a beautiful girl lying on the floor next to Earl’s bed and orthopedic shackles.
“I’m feeling really lucky today,” Earl said as he pulled the pill bottle from his pocket.
“How many did you take?” Moose asked.
“Not enough,” Earl said.
“How many?” Moose asked again.
“Four…maybe five. I’m not sure. It ain’t enough.” He tumbled the pills around in the bottle and fingered the cap.
“Then let’s call it quits for now. What do you say, my friend?”
“Just let it happen this time,” Earl said, looking at us as though we had given him permission. “You guys promised.”
“Don’t let this be the last thing you do with your life, Earl,” Moose said.
“It’s not, Moose. The last thing I did with my life was step on a land mine.”
Our promise to Earl was a death sentence. Our commitment “to just let it happen” was giving him permission to die. He had taken our promise as validation to take his own life. We approved it—that made it okay. We looked at each other with a fearful confidence, the silence sealing our loyalty to Earl’s wishes.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I blurted out.
“You can’t,” Earl snapped. “You made a promise. All of you.”
“Let me have a drink of the Jack. Okay, Earl?”
Earl Ray didn’t say anything as he handed the bottle to Moose. The few pills he had taken were beginning to fulfill their promise as the tension in his face slackened and a mild bliss rinsed over his consciousness. Earl was high, but it would take a lot more of the painkillers to take his life.
“Why don’t you give me the pills, Earl?” Moose asked.
“Can’t do it, Moose,” Earl said. “Even if I don’t do it now, I’ll need these when the time comes. But like I said, I’m feeling really lucky.”
Earl Ray Higgins sat erect, watching the slow-moving traffic pass under the street lights and kaleidoscope through the diamond shapes of the chain-link fence. A city bus rumbled south toward the shipyard at the end of Broad Street. Behind the bus, a Yellow cab slowed near the curb, a young woman sitting motionless in the backseat. The bus and the cab disappeared beyond our sight, and the space in the street filled and emptied again and again with cars of people going wherever it was they were going.
Earl raised the bundle of envelopes to his face and inhaled their precious fragrance. The Purple Heart slid from his pincer hook and clanged onto the bottom of the concrete steps.
The most recognizable honor of sacrifice on Earth—so majestic in its magnificence and so pure in its simplicity—was lying at my feet. My heart pounded as I sat unable to move, captivated by its power and meaning. With a timid and hesitant purpose, I bent downward toward the precious medal and touched it with my fingertips, fearful it might break. I pulled it into my hands and cupped it gently, as if I were holding Earl Ray’s very heart.
The phone on the wall inside the front doors of Q Ward had been ringing relentlessly. A student corpsman passing by lifted the receiver and silenced the clanging blasts. He made his way down the ward, and standing inside the open double doors, he summoned our small group.
“Some girl on the phone wants to talk to an Earl Ray. Says her name is Jennifer. She’s calling from the front gate.”
We clambered through the doors and chased behind Earl toward the waiting phone.
“Is this some kind of fucking joke!” Earl yelled into the phone.
“Earl?” the soft voice stammered. “Is that you?”
The receiver fell from Earl’s grasp as he swiped at a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. Moose grabbed the swinging phone and placed it on Earl’s lap. Earl caressed the black plastic mouthpiece as if he were holding Jennifer in his hand. He squinted three or four times, and a slight wisp of air puffed up from the corner of his mouth.
“Earl?” That single word came through the phone like a chorus of angels’ voices.
“Jen…is it really you?”
“Yes, Earl. It’s me.”
“Jen…Jen,” Earl stammered.
“I can’t do it, Earl,” she cried over the phone. “I can’t go on without you.”
“Jen…what are…what are you doing here?”
“Earl,” Jennifer’s voice softened. “Earl, I’ve come to take you home.”
It was a Monday morning two weeks after Jennifer Ann Cooley called from the front gate when Moose and I lifted the permanently borrowed, shiny new wheelchair into the trunk of Jennifer’s car. I walked slowly toward the front of the car to say goodbye. Earl Ray Higgins reached through the open passenger-side window and shook my hand.
“You’re okay for a non-combat…for an honorary Marine.”
“Thanks, Earl,” I said as I squeezed his hand a little tighter.
“Promise me one thing, Shoff.”
“Anything you want, Earl.”
“Don’t ever get that tattoo.”
“You got it.”
Time to Go
THE NAVY BRASS at the hospital made good on their promise to give the admiral my ass on a platter. The Medical Review Board, headed by one of the biggest egomaniacs in the military, had found me “fit for full duty”—and not one doctor on the Board had bothered to even take my pulse.
I wasn’t bitching. It was fitting for me to return to full duty with my friends setting out in life with so many challenges. Even with the wobble in my walk and the two-foot steel rod in my left femur, I was more than happy to finish my enlistment.
Dr. Donnolly told the Board that I needed additional physical therapy and that “he waddles like a pregnant duck.” Evidently, his absence from the Saturday night cocktail parties left him with little influence over his colleagues. They were, after all, covering their own asses against any retaliation the admiral might dish out from his perch in Norfolk.
The military had a standing policy that allowed enlisted personnel to rebut any decision made by the Medical Review Board. I was given my one opportunity to rebut their decision and filed the proper paperwork. Two hours later, I was summoned to the executive officers’ floor, and an enlisted female Navy clerk presented me with the rebuttal to my rebuttal. I just walked away smiling.
Within three days, I was given orders for my next duty assignment, a process that typically would take two to three weeks. I was headed on a tour to Vietnam aboard a Navy aircraft carrier—fly to Oakland, California, pick up a Navy military flight to San Diego, and board the U.S.S. Ranger for a nine-month deployment to Vietnam. They couldn’t have given me any better orders unless they had sent me directly to Da Nang or Saigon.
I danced my way to Q Ward with my orders in hand to find anyone who might be around and give them the good news. Moose, Roger, Big Al, and Ski were heavy into a game of Spades.
“Hey man, how’s it goin’?” Moose asked.
; “Couldn’t be better!” I said.
“What are you so happy about?” Moose asked as he poked at me with his cane.
“Got my review board decision,” I smiled.
“You are geeting dthe fuck out?” Ski shouted.
“Oh man, that’s great!” Roger said.
“No man, I ain’t gettin’ out. They got me fit for full duty. Got orders for a carrier.”
“No fuckin’ way!” Moose shouted. “They can’t do that.”
“They’ve done it,” I told him. “No big deal, either. I owe you guys at least a trip over there.”
“You don’t owe us shit,” Big Al snapped. “You mean the boat you’re goin’ on is headed to ’Nam?”
“Now, ain’t that some shit!” Bobby Mac cried out. “Say hello to that fucking spider for me!”
“I’ll have one of those hot-shot pilots drop a bomb on it,” I smiled.
“Shit,” Bobby Mac laughed. “He’ll just throw it back at ’em!”
“You guys know it don’t mean shit to be on a boat near ’Nam,” I said. “It’s no different than a cruise to the West Indies.”
“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Moose groaned. “They got you, didn’t they?”
“That’s what it’s all about,” I said. “They made sure that smartass remark I made to the admiral stayed in my records. And the congressman’s phone call didn’t help much, either.”
“What congressman?” Roger asked. “What phone call?”
“It wasn’t much. I happened to mention to my mom what the admiral had done and she wrote some congressman a letter. I got called down by the legal dudes to explain why I was trying to ruin the reputation of the hospital and the good doctors here. Something about a possible congressional inquiry, too. I signed a couple of forms and never heard shit after that.”
“Holy shit! Your ass is grass, even on that boat!” Roger said.
“They can fuck with me all they want. Don’t mean shit,” I shrugged.
“Ain’t no way you’re gonna go,” Moose commanded. “We’ll talk to Dr. Donnolly.”