When they dropped me off, I was relieved I no longer
had to sit in a crossfire of chatter.
Doubts crept back into my mind as I entered my house. I had no word for it then; but Bernie wasn’t
a normal person. Was I doing something
stupid? Despite my misgivings, I wasted
no time in telling my mom one of the excuses Bernie suggested I give. That I would be on a cruise with my post
would be too great a lie, so I told her I would be at the Los Alamitos Naval
Air Station Friday through Monday as part of my training, which was a partial
truth. During the period I would be
gone, my mom would be occupied with her Girl Scout troop. My dad would moping most of the time in his
study or in the garage. I was sure he
didn’t care.
During the following week, I
continued to have misgivings. Bernie
made it sound too simple. On the
evening of our next meeting, I handed my duffle bag over to his mother when she
picked me up. I didn’t like committing
fraud and had almost decided to forgo our adventure. Yet here I was turning my uniforms over to her for alterations
that would have to be restored to their original state when our adventure
ended.
Navy Chief Arnold Crump, our instructor, talked
about naval history that night, from John Paul Jones up until modern
times. This is when I learned about the
history at Pearl Harbor and Barber’s Point.
He also began covering navy protocol.
The lecture was interesting in parts and even quite funny. The chief was a typical foul-mouth navy man,
who peppered his lecture with profanity and lurid stories about his
escapades. When Bernie’s mom picked us
in front of the base, my duffle bag was returned to me. His mother had changed the patches during
our two-hour meeting. I never asked
Bernie how he got his hands on airman apprentice patches. It would remain one of the mysteries in our
caper. All that concerned me was that
she had promised to change them back before our next meeting, which was the
following Wednesday after our trip.
Thursday, the following day, was filled with the
routine drudgery of school, hanging out with my shiftless friends at lunchtime,
and then mulling nervously around in my room.
That night before Lincoln’s birthday on Friday, which was a holiday, I
was filled with excitement and doubt.
Given the go ahead by my Mom’s earlier response, I spent a few hours
listening to Elvis and reading a book.
Considering what lay ahead of me, the book should have been the
Bible. Instead I was reading Moby Dick,
required reading for my English literature class. After the first lines, after Ishmael introduced himself, I was
momentarily captivated with his reason for the adventure that led him to
Captain Ahab and the great white whale.
‘…Some years ago,’ he claims, ‘never mind
how long precisely, having little or no money in my purse, and nothing
particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and
see the watery part of the world…’
How more appropriate could a beginning be than that?
It appeared as if Ishmael had no better
reason than myself for crossing the ocean.
I read on for a spell, and seeing what a slacker he was, too, was
convinced I had found a kindred spirit.
But then, after wading through the verbiage Herman Melville used to
weave a tale, I began to lose interest.
There were too many pages and too many big words. How would I ever be able to read it? I asked myself, thumbing through his
novel. There were 1,916 pages and 135
Chapters in Moby Dick. Though
considered a masterpiece by my literature teacher, I would never have picked
such a book. At that point in my life,
my collection of reading material included Mad Magazines, pulp mysteries, and
westerns.
Faced with two crises in my life—my pending trip and
the prospect of flunking my English literature class, I sank momentarily in
despair. I had one grim satisfaction:
if our deception was found out, I needn’t worry about my term paper or high
school anymore. I would be in
jail. One particular part of Chief
Crump’s lecture on navy protocol that covered aspects of the Uniform Code of
Military Justice surfaced in my mind: it was a crime to impersonate an
officer. I believe this included petty
officers, but did it include impersonating airman apprentices?… Why did the instructor
even mention this obscure fact? Did he
suspect Bernie’s intentions?
Suddenly, I took stock of myself. Bernie’s sneaky behavior had made me
suspicious. He had been too secretive
about his trip. Why did he trust only
me, a total stranger to travel with him?
There were recruits from his own high school, students he must have
known. The cloudy vision of his plan,
in the telling, was also troubling. He
had probably stretched the truth about his father and other facts; was he lying
about his plan? On the other hand,
what if it was as simple as he said?
What if he was just peculiar youth—an odd duck, like many people I’ve
known? If so, I was on my way to
Hawaii—a tropical paradise filled with beautiful women made for a young man
such as myself.
Perhaps Ishmael was as foolish as me. Unless I got my hands on an outline or
summary of Moby Dick, I might never know.
Before turning in, I packed my duffle with civilian clothes, toothpaste,
shaver, and other odds and ends. I had
decided to concentrate on the adventure rather than the risk. It didn’t occur to me to borrow my Mom’s
camera so I could take snap shots of the picturesque landscape I would
visit. My reasons for going to Hawaii
had nothing to do with its cultural, historical, or geographical
significance. I looked upon this caper
as my first adventure in the navy and a chance to hunt for girls, which
included Bernie’s three cousins. In
fact, I found it difficult to sleep that night. My head swam with conflicting images: girls in hula skirts and
being arrested by MPs. Bernie and his
mother would be picking me up early in the morning. I needed some shuteye.
Pushups and jumping jacks didn’t make me sleepy. Counting sheep or numbers didn’t help. What finally did the trick was a shot of scotch
from my dad’s secret stash. He rarely
touched the stuff. There was even dust
on the cap. Nevertheless, I drank a
jigger from his bottle of Canadian Club, placed it back in its hiding place,
and walked light-headedly back to my bed.
******
When my alarm clock sounded in the morning, I tried
hitting the snooze button.
Unfortunately, I hit the off button instead. It was an instinctive action, which I performed on school days. Today was a holiday, I recalled
groggily. It was Lincoln’s Birthday,
which meant no school. So why was my
alarm clock ringing? For a half hour or
more, as dawn crept into my room, I floated in that twilight world between
sleep and wakefulness, floating pleasantly around my room, out my window, and
high above my house. One day, after
reading up on this phenomenon, I would learn that it was called a lucid
dream. As I looked down at my yard, I
could see my mom and her Girl Scout troop below. At one point, she looked up and shouted, “Noel, wake up, your
ride is here!”
When I opened my eyes finally, she was standing
there with a disgusted look on her face.
I could hear the Girl Scouts chattering in the backyard. My sister Julia stood there behind her in
her uniform, also frowning. My dad
looked in that moment but said nothing.
“Shame on you, Noel!” Mom scolded. “Didn’t you set
your alarm clock. Your friend and his
mother are in the driveway. Get up!”
“Throw cold water on him.” Julia sneered. “That’ll
wake him up!”
“He’s a slacker!” my dad called from the hall.
“I’m getting up!” I muttered dazedly, rising like a
zombie to my feet.
“Oh my god, Julia,” Mom cried, “hide your eyes!”
Forgetting I was in my underwear, I grabbed up my
clothes, staggered around groggily, struggling into my trousers first, and,
after pulling on a tee shirt, slipping into my jersey, and then plopping on my
hat. I scarcely needed to shave yet, so
I skipped this part of the routine, even failing to brush my teeth. Since my duffle bag was already packed, I
was ready to go. Barely five minutes
had passed and I was rushing out the door.
“Where the hell’s he going?” cried dad.
“Navy thing,” Mom muttered, as if that explained
everything.
“Bye!” I called back.
“Be careful,” Mom called lightly. “When are you
coming home?”
“I have to be back Tuesday morning for school,” I
reminded her.
I was notified last week by the principle that I had
perfect attendance. Though I wasn’t a
model student, this feat, as accidental as it might have been, stuck out in my
mind. For some reason it was important
to me now. Added to my concern for
Bernie’s planning of our trip and my term paper, therefore, was the danger of
missing school Tuesday. Come hell or
high water, I told myself, I’d make it back in time. Scampering to Misses Suarez’ station wagon, I tossed my duffle
bag in the back, climbed into the back seat, and sat there a moment as Bernie
scolded me for being late.
“Didn’t you set your alarm clock?” he barked
testily.
“Yeah,” I replied with a yawn, “I accidentally
turned it off.”
“We have to be on the airfield at nine o’clock,” he
snapped, “and they’re not going to wait.”
“Sorry.” I shrugged. “We’ll just have to hurry.”
He glared at me in his visor mirror, as his mother
backed out of our driveway. “You can’t do that in the navy, Noel,” he
persisted. “Sorry won’t cut it. They’ll
throw you in the brig!”
“Now-now, Bernie,” chided his mother, “be
polite. He’s only a little late. He’s here, isn’t he? That’s what matters.”
“Are you all right son?” She looked back with concern.
“Yes ma’am,” I grinned. “I just need a little
coffee.”
“Coffee is unhealthy,” Bernie muttered tersely.
“It’s corrosive to your colon and bad for your teeth!”
I had heard that line from my Mormon friends. Added to Bernie’s puritanical outlook on sex, which I detected in
spite of his efforts to cover it up, this statement reinforced my earlier
impression. Bernie was what we called
in high school a ‘goodie two shoes.’ He
said he drank some of his Uncle Raul’s tequila, but that statement seemed
lame. I didn’t mind if Bernie didn’t
drink coffee, but what if he didn’t even drink beer? More importantly, was his earlier slip, “Ick! I’m a Christian, Noel. I don’t like loose girls.” He tried to convince me that he was kidding after this slip, but
he seemed insincere. The way his brown
eyes darted this way and that and he couldn’t look me in the eyes had seemed
devious. While his mother drove us to
the naval air station, I was conflicted.
I liked his Mom. She was trying
her best to be nice. Though she had an
ulterior motive, herself, I didn’t blame her.
In fact, I admired her for acting on behalf of her son. She wanted him to have a friend. And yet, as she chattered away and Bernie
sulked, my misgivings about this caper returned.
“Were those Girl Scouts in your back yard?” I heard
her ask.
“Yeah.” I stifled another yawn. “My mom has a Girl
Scout troop. They’re camping out in our
backyard.”
“Scouting’s a great thing.” She smiled into her
rearview mirror. “Bernie was a Cub Scout and then a Boy Scout, but after his
stepfather passed away, he dropped out.”
This revelation seemed significant to me. Not only had Bernie lost his first father
after the war, but he lost his stepfather too.
Was that one of the reasons he was so strange?
“That’s too
bad.” I gave him a sympathetic look. “I went all the way through scouting,
too. When I was fourteen, I got into
the Sea Scouts. I think that’s why I
joined the navy.”
“My daughter Anna was in scouting.” She commented
thoughtfully. “She’s only sixteen now.
But when she’s old enough, she plans on joining the naval reserves
too.”
Bernie frowned into his visor mirror
again. On and on, she prattled about her first
husband’s service in the navy. Her
account was different than Bernie’s, mainly for what she left out. I remembered Bernie bragging about Armand
Suarez’s heroics. Bernie’s father had,
in fact, served on the USS Hornet (an aircraft carrier I would serve on when I
was on active duty). Bernie had left
out this detail and also details of Armand’s job. At the time his duty station meant nothing to me. What seemed significant was the job he had
on the Hornet. He was an aviation
mechanic, like Uncle Ralph (Bernie’s Barber’s Point contact), who repaired the
catapult engines, which launched aircraft from the flight deck of the
ship. This sounded exciting to me. I had heard about this rating during our
recruit indoctrination. Unfortunately,
however, Mrs. Suarez talked fast without pausing. For much of the time, it became a blur in my head—a phenomenon
that occurred often in my classrooms at school. All I could focus on those moments was her sixteen-year-old
daughter. The thought intrigued me very
much. Hopefully, she didn’t look like
Bernie. His mother was an attractive
Mexican woman, who looked nothing like her son. Sixteen years old would make Anna a sophomore in High
School. Who knows, I reasoned, Bernie’s
cousins in Alameda were wild. Why not
her? If she joined up in two years on
her eighteenth birthday, I would probably be on active duty. I would return to reservist duty for my
remaining time, a savvy, seasoned sailor.
Perhaps, I would meet her on the base.
If I visited Bernie’s house, it might even be sooner. As his mother explained that her husband’s
service during World War Two was one of the reasons her son chose the navy—a
fact I already suspected, Bernie shook his head and glared once more into his
mirror.
He knew I was thinking about his sister Anna. Almost as if he could read my mind that
moment, I saw his lips move. Though I
wasn’t a lip reader, he conveyed to me that moment, “Don’t even think about
it!”
“Hey,” I muttered defensively, “what’s your
problem?”
Misses Suarez stopped in
mid-section, murmuring aloud, “What did you say, Bernie? Why are you frowning like that? You’re being very rude!”
“Sorry,” he replied quickly, “it’s
this headache I have. I got up on the
wrong side of the bed!”
I thought that was pretty lame; I
think he did too. Flashing a token grin
in his visor mirror, he said nothing.
The word I would have used for his smile, had I known it then, was
‘disingenuous.’ The second thoughts I
felt earlier resurfaced, worsened by that expression. Did I really want to do this?
I asked myself. Bernie had
verbally attacked me as soon as I entered the car. He assumed I would make a play for his sister. He obviously didn’t trust me. Our trip to Hawaii—an island paradise—had
been his idea, and yet he recoiled at my suggestions for having fun. Though he said was kidding, I was afraid he
was, like my Mom, a teetotaler and prude.
So why did he pick me as a travel companion? I asked myself again. Was
it because he couldn’t find anyone else?
Perhaps, he hadn’t asked anyone else.
The recruits in his high school probably didn’t like him. When I thought about it, the notion of
recruits flying on naval air transports had seemed outrageous. It still seemed outrageous as we traveled to
our destination. As I look back at this
episode, I don’t remember anyone even talking to him at our meetings. I must have come off as an easy mark for him
in class. Bernie told me he would take
care of everything. He said he would do
all the talking when we arrived at the hanger deck at the base. I wanted to give him the benefit of the
doubt, but I found this hard to believe.
I was his stooge or second fiddle on this enterprise, nothing more. The urge to call it off, triggered by
Bernie’s surly mood, rose steadily in my mind.
******
Soon Los Alamitos Naval Air Station loomed into
view. I decided that moment that I
wouldn’t continue with this caper until I got more details. Were we breaking the law? Just how could we proceed with nothing but
our dog tags and our recruit IDs? Was
he serious about having a good time?
One moment he was normal, and the next moment he was acting
strangely. All along, I had begun
wondering if Bernie was right in the head.
In naval terminology, what took the wind out of my sails was his sudden
repentance, after his mom dropped us off at the gate. For a moment, I stood there deep in thought… Should I go or
should I stay! I asked myself, as I sat
motionless on my seat.
Seeing my hesitation, Bernie said contritely,
“Please, forgive me for being rude!”
“… I dunno, Bernie.” I shrugged my shoulders. “… Are
you really sorry? You frowned when you
said that. Why’re you grinding your
teeth?”
“All right” He forced a grin. “I’m sorry, I truly
am. It’s going to be fun, Noel. You have my promise!”
His mother looked worried when he gave him a hug,
peck on the check, and he jumped out of the car. Grabbing my duffle bag, I slid out of the back seat, and bid his
mother goodbye. She peered anxiously at
me, as if to say ‘take care of my boy,’ and broke into a sweet smile, but Bernie didn’t give her a second glance as he
charged toward the gate. No sooner had
we presented our IDs to the Marine guard, than he was racing down the road
toward the airfield with his duffle bag, huffing, puffing, and muttering
incoherently under his breath.
“Bernie, are you certain you want to do this?” her
voice faded into the distance. “Be careful boys. Wear your parachutes on the plane!”
“I’ll call you when we arrive,” he shouted. “Hurry, Noel,” he called back breathlessly.
“There’s no time to waste.”
“Why are we running?” I screamed at him. “Are we
late? What’s the rush?”
“Don’t worry.
We should make it. It’s hangar
four.” He pointed, almost tripping on
his gear.
“Are we really going to be wearing parachutes?” I
yelled. “I want more information Bernie.
You’ve been acting weird!”
Bernie managed a laugh. “My mom has us mixed up with
the Army Airborne. We’re not
paratroopers. We’re going on a
personnel transport, Noel. It leaves at
nine o’clock.”
“Jeez Bernie,” I cried, glancing at my watch. “We
got ten minutes. We won’t have time for
breakfast. You’re really cutting it close!”
Bernie admitted that he already had breakfast. I would be flying with an empty
stomach. As we approached our
destination with our duffle bags slung over our shoulders, we could see a plane
that looked like a DC-4. I would learn
later that it was called a C-54 in the navy.
It sat in front of the hangar deck; it’s silver plates flashing with
sunlight, as if ready to take off any moment.
I was both frightened and excited at the same time. Before I could bawl him out for his erratic
behavior and not getting breakfast, however, he once more tried defusing my
anger.
“I know you’re upset.” He waved his hands. “I’m
sorry for the way I’m acting. It has
nothing to do with you, Noel. I’m just
nervous about being on time. I have
everything planned out. I just need to
find my Uncle’s friend.” “Let’s see where is that fellow?” He muttered,
shielding his eyes from the sun.
He scanned the hangar deck in back of the
plane. There were several different
kind of aircraft parked inside, including a second C-54. A handful of men in naval dungarees and
shirts mulled around a wing engine, eying us with curiosity. One third-class sailor was inspecting the
tail section of the C-54 and an airman appeared to be checking the wheel well
of the plane. From an office in the rear
of the hangar, I could see a third group—naval personnel in uniforms, their
duffle bags on their shoulders, a few holding suitcases and other gear. Running toward the office, as I stood there
contemplating our folly, Bernie called out to someone in this group, “Lou, it’s
me, Ralph’s nephew—Bernie. We’re here
for the hop to Alameda.”
The middle-aged man, who wore the stripes of a navy
chief studied Bernie a moment, then jerked his thumb toward the office. “I remember. Go tell the flight officer you’re here Suarez.” “Not you.” He
pointed to me, as Bernie charged ahead. “You look like a deer in
headlights. His uncle told me about
this kid, but he said nothing about you.”
“Really?” my voice creaked up a notch. “…I don’t
understand. He said it’s all arranged.”
“Listen,” he spoke discreetly, “the navy’s pretty
lax about these hops. I served with his
uncle on the Hornet. I’m doing him a
favor. All his nephew has to do is add
your names to the flight manifest; it’s as simple as that. I want nothing more to do with this!”
I closed my eyes in disbelief. By the time Bernie returned, the chief had
disappeared. Bernie was jumping up and
down excitedly, muttering, “I thought I might get challenged and we’d have to
show our ID’s, but I was wrong. The log
was on the counter, unattended, so I added both our names. Those people really are stupid, Noel. This is going to be a cinch!”
“It’s too simple,” I mumbled, “much too simple. You forged my name on that log, Bernie. What if they find out?”
“You worry too much.” He giggled madly. “We’re home
free!”
As the other passengers boarded the plane, we held
back politely to let the officers and legitimate enlisted men enter. Until I entered the plane, my misgivings
were at their highest level. Bernie had
a mischievous expression on his face when he called them stupid. He rubbed his hands as if he just pulled one
off, and even did a little jig. I was
certain that Bernie had done something wholly fraudulent, and I was now
incriminated in the deed. If the fake
airman apprentice patches on the shoulders of our dress blues are matched with
our airman recruit IDs, we would be in big trouble. I said a prayer (something I rarely do), took a deep breath, and,
as the last passenger to enter, followed Bernie into the plane. All eyes seemed to turn our way. I had expected to be challenged at any
moment, but then, as we sat down (Bernie by a window and me next to the aisle)
I heard the roar of the engines, felt the rumble of the fuselage, and looked
out to see the land slip away, and our plane rise quickly off the ground.
“Wow,” I cried, “this is awesome!”
“Your first hop?” An airman looked back and grinned.
“No,” I exclaimed, “my first flight period!”
He laughed.
We exchanged names with a handshake.
The third class sailor next to him appeared to be listening as we
chatted a spell. In fact, several heads
turned our way. To avoid controversy, I
tried talking small talk with him. When
he asked me where I was stationed, however, I was caught immediately off
guard. I answered that we were heading
to Barber’s Point. It was the simple
truth, and yet I heard Bernie gasp. He
had warned me about keeping my mouth shut.
If the sailor asked me for details, I would have to lie like he
did. I didn’t want to do that. I wasn’t good at lying. My parents realized that often enough. So quickly, I tried changing the subject.
“That was some take off,” I commented, gazing down
at earth. “How high does this thing fly?”
“The word’s elevation,” the third classman snorted.
“This thing is a C-54 passenger transport.
Because this is not a pressurized compartment, we fly relatively low—not
much more than ten thousand feet.”
As if to underline our discussion, a sudden up
thrust of turbulence caused the compartment to rock sharply. According to the third classman, this was
the problem of prop jobs like the C-54 that fly at low elevations. It tended to cause more airsickness than
pressurized, high elevation craft.
During our chat, Bernie was deathly silent. Though I had sounded like a greenhorn among these salts, I was
thankful I had changed the subject.
Belatedly, though, a gravelly voice now erupted a few rows back:
“Barber’s Point? Did he say Barber’s
Point? That’s in Hawaii. What the hell’s he doin’ at Los Alamitos?”
“Oh no,” Bernie groaned.
I expected an elbow in the ribs that moment. I didn’t realize what our discussion and the
motion of the plane was doing to him, and when he uttered “Oh no” he was going
to be sick.
“In the bag, you dumb shit!” the airman cried.
“Awe Christ almighty.” The third classman slapped
his forehead. “We gotta barfer. Someone
clean that up!”
Fortunately, Bernie had managed to vomit into the
deck below and not on his lap. After
missing breakfast, I felt nauseated, myself, until someone arrived, mop in
hand, to clean the deck below. Raising
my shoes up, I watched him slop the mop back and forth and, after dunking it a
pale of water, repeat the process several times. With my eyes closed, pinching my nostrils, I cursed the day I
ever met Bernie Suarez. For the
remainder of the flight, with drooping eyes, slack jaws, and deathly pallor, he
sat there moaning to himself. When the
mess was cleaned up, there was still that telltale odor in the air. The only good thing to come out of his bout
with airsickness was that it had diverted attention from our destination. All the way to Alameda, the smell pervaded
the air. For the remainder of our
journey, no one talked to us and hostile looks were cast in our direction,
which was all right with me now that the subject had changed.
Next Chapter ~ Return to Contents~
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