" 'Said the aide loyally,' " Lowell mocked him gently.
"Well, what the hell, why not?"
" 'Said the aide loyally,"" Lowell repeated, laughing.
"No wonder Bellmon likes you so much."
"I don't know about that, but I admire him," Johnny said.
"Yeah, me, too. Beneath that stuffed shirt there's a pretty decent human being. Sometimes you have to dig pretty deep to get at him, though." They rode on in silence until they were on the far side of Fort Rucker, on the Ozark Highway.
"So you don't know anyone else we could move into that house, Oliver?" Lowell asked.
"No, Sir," Oliver said after a brief hesitation.
"You hesitated," Lowell accused.
"Far-out suggestion, Colonel?"
"Shoot. "
"I have a friend," Oliver said. "A second lieutenant: "
"Beneath your dignity, Captain. Although I suppose you'll have one whether or not you want one when Bobby joins the long Gray Line and comes here."
"This is sort of a special guy," Oliver said. "He was in the Texas National Guard. And then Colonel Augustus at the Board-"
"Pancho Villa," Lowell interrupted.
"Sir? "
"Little Tex-Mex guy? Knows avionics?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Dick Fullbright met him, told me about him. Fullbright's very impressed with him. He calls him Pancho Villa. What about him?"
"Well, Sir, for a long time, quarters on the post were no problem. But the minute Jose-"
"Is that his name? Jose?"
"Yes, Sir. Anyway, the minute he got his orders to active duty, and sent for his wife, the quarters all filled up. He and his wife and kids, two of them, are in a dump in Daleville."
"Two kids?" Lowell asked doubtfully.
"Yes, Sir. Little ones."
"You vouch for this guy, Oliver?" Oh, shit Me and my big mouth. His kids will probably set the carpet on fire and kick holes in the wall.
"Yes, Sir."
"OK. Same deal. His housing allowance, and he pays for unusual wear and tear. I'll have my lawyer send the standard contract. If that doesn't work, we'll try something else."
"Sir, if you don't mind my asking, why don't you just sell the place? Houses are in demand, and my girl, I'm sure, could get you a good price for it. "
"Your girl being the widow who won't marry you because she already lost one husband?"
"Yes, Sir."
Now who the hell told him about that?
"Hang tough," Lowell said. "I understand her problem, but husbands get killed falling out of bed. For what it's worth, Barbara Bellmon likes her. I trust her judgment."
"So do I," Johnny said.
"The answer to your question, why don't I sell it," Lowell went on, "is that I am a very rich man because my ancestors had a real estate philosophy: Buy! Cheap if you can, but buy.
And never sell. My own philosophy in this area is of course far more intellectual: If it ain't broke, don't fix it." Oliver laughed.
"Don't laugh. That's a damned good philosophy. What you should do as a young officer is buy a house every place you get stationed. Phrased simply, you use your equity in the first to make the down payment on the second, and you use the rent money to payoff the mortgage. Never take a mortgage longer than twenty years, and fifteen if you can afford it. By the time you're a general, you won't have to worry about living on the chicken feed the Army pays."
"I've got a piece of real estate now, or half of one, I don't know what the hell to do with," Johnny said.
"What kind of real estate?"
"A truck stop. But I don't want to bother you with this."
"I'm fascinated."
"Why do you say that, Colonel?" Oliver challenged.
"What's fascinating for someone like you about a truck stop?"
"We've got some of them. Ordinarily, they're a license to steal. Real money machines. What's wrong with yours?"
"Sir, I didn't mean to get into this-"
"If it's none of my business, fine. But if you're worried about taking advantage of my good nature, you're not that smart. "
"My sister and brother-in-law want to buy me out," Oliver said. "Liza, my girl, doesn't think they're offering me enough money."
"Real estate people never think the numbers are right," Lowell said. "But I think I'd go with your girlfriend."
"Why do you say that?"
"You won't like the answer."
"I'd like to hear it, anyway."
"Let me put it this way," Lowell said. "I went through the Wharton School not because I was fascinated with high finance, but because my cousin, Geoff's father, was running my half of my inherited business and I wanted to be in a position to know that his definition of fair coincided, at least roughly, with mine."
"Jesus!" Johnny blurted.
"Touched a nerve, did I? Tell yaw what I'm going to do for you, young fella. We have a management office in Atlanta. The lawyer I spoke about works out of there. Instead of having him send you the lease, I'll send him down here.
While he's here, explain it all to him."
"Colonel, I don't know what to say."
"Say thank you."
"Colonel . . ."
"Hey, Barbara Bellmon likes you. Bellmon himself likes you. Geoff likes you. Even the Jewish Pope likes you. You're part of the family. It may not be much of a family, but we take care of each other. Do what you're told, Captain. I rank the hell out of you."
xv
(ONE)
Office of the Commanding General
The Army Aviation Center & Fort Rucker, Alabama
1015 Hours 13 May 1964
Major General Robert F. Bellmon stood up from behind his desk and walked to the door of his outer office.
"Johnny, can you come in here a minute?" he asked.
"You, too, please, Sergeant James."
When they had followed him into the office, he told Sergeant Major James to close the door and then waved them to the chairs in front of his desk.
"Second Lieutenant Robert F. Bellmon, Junior," he said dryly, "having graduated from the Academy, is on the standard thirty-day delay en route leave to his first duty station. His first duty station is Fort Rucker, Alabama. Lieutenant Bellmon has been selected as one of the four just -out of the
ing him send you the lease, I'll send him down here with it.
While he's here, explain it all to him."
"Colonel, I don't know what to say."
"Say thank you."
"Colonel. . ."
"Hey, Barbara Bellmon likes you. Bellmon himself likes you. Geoff likes you. Even the Jewish Pope likes you. You're part of the family. It may not be much of a family, but we take care of each other. Do what you're told, Captain. I rank the hell out of you."
xv
[ONE]
Office of the Commanding General
The Army Aviation Center & Fort Rucker, Alabama
1015 Hours 13 May 1964
Major General Robert F. Bellmon stood up from behind his desk and walked to the door of his outer office.
"Johnny, can you come in here a minute?" he asked.
"You, too, please, Sergeant James." When they had followed him into the office, he told Sergeant Major James to close the door and then waved them into the chairs in front of his desk.
"Second Lieutenant Robert F. Bellmon, Junior," he said dryly, "having graduated from the Academy, is on the standard thirty-day delay en route leave to his first duty station.
His first duty station is Fort Rucker, Alabama. Lieutenant II. ... Bellmon has been selected as one of the four just-out-of-the- Point young officers we are going to run through flight school in that test program."
"Well," Sergeant Major James said, smiling, pleased with the news.
Bellmon flashed him an impatient look. "I had nothing to do with his selection," he said. "But I am not so much of a fool to believe that it is unrelated to the fact that I am his father. As his father, I'm pleased. As Commandant of the Arm
y Aviation School, I'm not so sure about that."
"Bobby's a bright kid, General," Sergeant Major James said. "He'll get through the program no sweat."
"That's not what I'm worried about, Harrison."
"Oh," Sergeant Major James said. "Yes, Sir, I see what you mean."
"I've known about this assignment for a month," Bellmon said. "I seriously considered having his orders changed. In the end I decided that would be unfair to Bobby. He wants to become an aviator, he's qualified to come here, and I didn't think it would be fair to penalize him because his father happens to be the commandant of the school. I'm not sure, even now, if that is the commandant speaking, or Daddy. In any event, he's coming here."
"I think you did the right thing, Sir," Sergeant Major James said.
"Well, thank you. Specifically, Bobby is out in Carmel, with his grandmother Waterford. She told me it is her intention to buy him an automobile. Knowing Mrs. Waterford, the odds are that that automobile will be the kind that befits a bushy-tailed Armored second lieutenant. That is to say, it will probably go two hundred miles an hour, cost him half his pay for insurance, and attract the military police like a magnet." Sergeant Major James and Captain Oliver chuckled.
"I will also lay odds that he will not be in California anything like a month," Bellmon said. "In other words, we can expect him here in, say, a week or ten days. I want to set the SOP for his presence on Fort Rucker. He is to be treated exactly like any other second lieutenant. That is the first and great commandment. "
"Yes, Sir!" Oliver and James said in unison, chuckling.
"For example," Bellmon said, "he is no more welcome in this office at any time than any other second lieutenant, which means I do not expect to see him in here, period. I will explain this to him, of course, but I will need some help.
If he ever shows up outside, throw his ass out."
"I get the picture, Sir," Sergeant Major James said.
"He will be living in the BOQ," Bellmon said. "The student BOQ, Johnny, not in yours. "
"Yes, Sir."
"You will not offer your aviation expertise, Captain Oliver, in any way, shape or form, to Lieutenant Bellmon. And you will please spread the word among your peers that the best way you know for them to incur my rage is for me to find out that anyone else is giving him a special helping hand. Got that?"
"Yes, Sir," Oliver said."
"And I would be grateful to you, Harrison, if you would spread the word around afternoon tea at the NCO Club how I feel about this. "
"Yes, Sir, of course," the sergeant major said. "Sir, I don't think this is going to be any problem-"
"Oh, bullshit, Harrison. You know better than that. And so do I. I was a captain at Knox when my father-in-law was post commander. It was a pain in the ass for both of us."
"Yes, Sir," Sergeant Major James said.
"But thank you for saying that, anyway," Bellmon said with a smile. "That will be all, thank you both."
(TWO]
'bethan Municipal Airport
:Jothan, Alabama
1955 Hours 23 May 1964
There was a Caribou with 11th Air Assault Division markings on it on the parking ramp when the Southern Airways DC-3 landed and taxied up to the small, nearly forlorn, frame terminal building.
When he saw the crew of the Caribou in the small, be~led coffee shop, Johnny Oliver decided that they'd set down here for no better reason than they could land and get a cup of coffee without the bureaucratic hassle that landing at Cairns, twenty miles away, would entail.
He eyed the crew and they eyed him. The pilot and copilot, both first lieutenants, looked like they could be the sons of the crew chief, a gray-haired sergeant first class in his forties.
Johnny laid a dollar on the counter to pay for his coffee and doughnuts and walked to the terminal door as the DC-3 taxied up and shut down its engines.
The first two people down the DC-3's stair door were the pilot and copilot. They probably needed a cup of coffee, too, Johnny decided as they walked toward the terminal. Then curiosity got the better of them and they walked over to the Caribou to take a good, professional look at it.
The two airplanes had much in common in that they were twin piston-engine transports and roughly the same size. But more than a generation of technology separated them. The Caribou was, all around, a far superior airplane to the DC-3. It could carry larger and heavier loads, and get into and out of really short airfields. And it had weather-avoidance radar in the nose that the DC-3 didn't have. There was no telling how old the DC-3 was; the first of them had entered airline service before World War II. This one, he decided, was very likely nearly as old as the pilots of the Caribou.
He had the so-what unkind thought that when these two silver-haired airline pilots with their eyes of blue walked into the coffee shop and saw who was flying the 'Bou, they would be just a smidgen less pleased with themselves and their role in the scheme of things than airlines pilots usually seemed to be.
He then turned his attention to the deplaning passengers. He had no trouble spotting Foxworth T. Mattingly, Esq., Attorney at-Law. Mattingly, a short, pale-faced, slight, anemic-looking man, was wearing a dark-gray suit and a rep-striped necktie, and he was carrying an attache case. He looked like a lawyer, and no one else getting off Southern Flight 413 looked even remotely like a lawyer. Still, he was surprised to see how young Mattingly was. From listening to his voice on the telephone, Johnny had decided Mattingly was at least in his forties. He didn't look much older than Oliver did.
"Mr. Mattingly?" Oliver asked as he intercepted him.
When Mattingly nodded, he added, "I'm John Oliver. How was the flight?"
"Actually it was dreadful," Mattingly said. His grip was limp when Oliver shook his hand. "Very good of you to meet me."
"Oh, my pleasure," Oliver said.
"Just give me a sec to reconfirm my departure," Mattingly said, "and then we can be about our business."
As he waited for Mattingly to conduct his business at the Southern Airways counter, Oliver glanced into the coffee shop and saw that he had misjudged the reaction of the DC-3 pilots to the 'Bou pilots. They were all at the same table, engaged in what appeared to be a pleasant conversation.
"I'm out of here at four-ten," Mattingly said. "Will that give us enough time?"
"Well, I don't see why not," Oliver said. "What would you like to do first?"
"Well, examine the property, and then have Lieutenant Lowell sign the lease," Mattingly said.
"I don't think anyone is home," Oliver said. "So that we could get inside, I mean."
The Aviators Page 37