by Jay Heavner
Tom found Fisherman’s interesting, but the air off the bay, chilly. It was quite a shock to his system after sweltering Vietnam. He looked across the choppy, foreboding waters to Alcatraz. Not too long ago, some of America’s most notorious criminals were confined doing hard times on The Rock, as that island was known. Nearby were plenty of places to buy tourist items, lots of restaurants, and attractions. Sea lions and seals resting on some of the floating docks and made lots of noise. Several large Navy ships were docked in the area, and he could see the Golden Gate Bridge. He was surprised to see it was painted a burnt red, not gold.
Tom walked down Jefferson Street to Hyde Street and hopped a cable car. He wasn’t sure where it would take him, but a sense of adventure propelled him forward. After getting off at the Cable Car Barn and Museum, the young man toured the facility. He found it hard to believe how old this technology was and how well it still worked. After the tour, he walked some five blocks to nearby Chinatown. He saw numerous shops selling Chinese themed touristy items, several ethnic grocery stores with strange smells coming from inside and plucked ducks hanging out front, the typical Chinese restaurants, and numerous drug/herbal stores selling everything from horny goat weed to Hershey chocolate, and eaches novelty beckoned him in. Tom walked down the street, and as he neared a corner, loud noises like gunfire erupted. Instinctively, he dropped to the ground and crawled for cover. He looked up to see people with slanted eyes staring down at him. For a few seconds, images of the battle of Ia Drang Valley filled his head, and as quickly as it came, it was over. Some kids had set off a string of firecrackers. Tom picked himself up off the sidewalk and looked at the curious crowd he’d attracted. His stomach churned, and he swiftly left this uncomfortable place. On a corner, he passed a brick Catholic church with a square steeple, a clock on each side, and the words, ‘Redeem the times for the days are evil,’ from the book of Ephesians. How appropriate considering what I’ve seen lately.
He hopped another trolley, and six short blocks later, it stopped. An old lady in a Ford Falcon had T-boned a cable car up ahead, and no one was going anywhere on this route soon. After about ten minutes, a city bus stopped, and the driver yelled for the trolley passengers to get on. Everyone piled out, and Tom got the last seat open. The fear he felt before was now just a lingering, troubling memory. The bus continued to make its rounds. Few people got off, and many more got on. The aisles were full of standing people, and the overloaded bus now bottomed out at each intersection. Each time it hit, Tom wondered if anything would be left of the underside of the vehicle, but the driver went on adding still more passengers until it was as full as a sardine can. A young couple dressed like hippies got on the bus, and the young woman was very pregnant. She stood in front of Tom and held one hand onto the strap hanging from the ceiling and cradled her belly with the other. Tom offered her his seat. She looked questioningly at the young man with her who nodded his approval. Tom got up, and the young man helped his awkward companion into the seat.
She looked up at Tom. “Thank you. You don’t know how much I was hoping for a gentleman to be on this bus.”
The young man spoke to Tom, “My name is Pat, but most people call me Grizzly because of my hair and beard. And that’s Joyce, but she likes to be called Little Flower.”
“Well, hi, Grizzly and Little Flower. My name is Tom, but most people just call me Tom.” He smiled at that as did the two hippies.
“What are you doing in San Francisco?” asked Grizzly.
“I just got a medical discharge from the Army. I was in Vietnam.”
The two looked at Tom uneasy. “The war isn’t too popular around here, and neither are GIs. It’d be better if you kept that to yourself. Some are downright hostile to the military in this left-of-center town,” advised Grizzly.
Tom said, “So I’ve heard.” He was still a little surprised. How could anyone not respect a person who was only doing what his country asked? He kept these thoughts to himself and just nodded that he got the picture. He asked them, “What about you? What are you doing here?”
Grizzly said, “Why, this is San Francisco, the city of peace, love, and tranquility. Good vibes, man, good vibes.”
Tom laughed. “Yeah, I can see the love part.” He looked down at Joyce’s swollen belly. “Looks like the two of you have been doing your part at doin’ the making love part.”
They smiled. “Yeah,” said Grizzly. “That we have. That we have. We’re gonna be parents, so we got to give up this hippie stuff and go straight. My dad has a job lined up for me in his entertainment business when we get to Pittsburgh, but I need money to get us there. Hey, you interested in a VW microbus? I’m so broke now I can’t put gas in it. I’ll give you a good price. I need bread for plane tickets to get us home quick.”
“Bread? You need bread?” asked Tom.
“Money. I need money. You know, bread.”
“Okay, got yeah. I’m not used to the lingo here in this part of town.”
They talked a while longer about it. Tom said he might be interested if the price was right. The bus continued through the hilly city. The trio got off near Nob Hill and walked about a block to where the microbus was parked. It had a big peace sign on the front under the two-piece windshield and psychedelic designs and colors that would have made Peter Max proud covered the sides and back. The inside was pristinely clean and was set up to be a camper. It had a bed/couch, a small heater, a stove, and a sink. The ‘bathroom’ was a bucket with a toilet seat on top and cat litter in the bottom.
“Not gonna miss poopin’ and peein’ in that bucket,” said Grizzly. “We lived in this thing for two years and saw a whole lot of the USA in it. My grandfather died some time back and left me money. I think he wanted me to go to college, but I bought this, and we used the rest to live on for two years. Guess it’s time to face reality and go home. Plus, I got no real friends here. We quit doin’ drugs when we found out she was pregnant. When we quit, all our ‘friends’ drifted away. It seems all we had in common was weed and drugs. We’re ready to go home.”
Tom looked the VW microbus over. He didn’t really care what the outside looked like. The vehicle appeared in excellent shape mechanically. It had to work out well for his adventure going home across the United States. The two men haggled a little over the price and finally came to a price with which they could both live. Grizzly found the title to the vehicle in the glove box and signed it over to Tom. He drove them to a thrift store where they purchased some suitcases and two backpacks. The couple filled these up with their meager belongings. Anything that wouldn’t fit or any things they didn’t want now was left for Tom to use or dispose of. After this, Tom drove them to the airport by the bay. The couple got out, took their items, wished Tom the best of luck as he did them, and then disappeared into the large terminal.
Tom drove a few short miles to one of the parks with the colossal coastal redwoods. He couldn’t believe trees could grow that tall. Trees in the eastern Appalachians could get big. He’d seen a few huge old trees there now and had seen pictures in the old book, “Tumult on the Mountain,” of trees from the virgin forests the East, but the large trees were cut down one hundred years ago. He looked up and up and up at the redwoods that seemed to touch the very face of God and felt a sense of awe and also his own insignificance. They were so gigantic, and he felt so small. A few lay on their sides. Even the mighty could fall. Branches still green lay scattered on the ground. Even these giants weren’t immune from the storms of life.
He got back in the VW microbus. It was running very well. Hippie Pat had taken excellent care of the vehicle. Tom remembered his promise to Chris about delivering Chris’s last words to the dead friend’s father. Oh, how he dreaded the thought of completing that task. Would he do it or not? The question kept going through his mind, and his stomach churned when he thought about it. Images of the battle in the Ia Drang Valley flooded his head. He mouthed the words, “God help me,” as he sat in the vehicle and stared glassy-eyed through the div
ided glass windshield. Could he really complete this errand or not? “God help me,” he whispered again.
After what seemed an eternity, Tom’s mind cleared. Whether he delivered the message or not, he had to get home. He wanted to see Yosemite National Park, but this being winter, he feared snows in the Sierra Nevada Mountains that would close the mountain passes. So, he chose to head to southern California. Los Angeles he heard was a vast concrete jungle, and he wasn’t going there. He continued to drive until he found himself in Pismo Beach. Tom pulled into a parking lot high on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean as the sun set into the waters. It was so peaceful here, but visions of the troubles on the other side of the vast ocean troubled Tom. And he was drained. It had been a very long day. Even though the parking lot was lighted, he was still able to see the full moon up above. It reminded him of the Hunter’s Moon he had seen on the nights of the terrible battle. He used a portable toilet located near the microbus that needed cleaning. It was rather ripe and odorous. Fortunately, the wind was blowing the unpleasant smells inland away from the vehicle. Tom hopped back in the microbus, pulled out the bed, and was soon asleep.
***
Three hours later
What the …? Tom woke with a start.
“You in the van. Open up, Now!” came a gruff voice outside.
Tom looked through the windows at a large man in a blue uniform wearing a Smoky the Bear type hat. “Just give me a second officer,” Tom said. He opened the side door and stared at the cop with his sleepy eyes. “Is there a problem, sir?”
The cop looked at Tom, and there was an element of surprise on his face. “There’s no sleeping here. You gotta move now.”
“Sorry, sir. Didn’t know it wasn’t allowed.” Tom looked at the policeman and asked, “Something wrong, officer?”
The cop looked carefully at Tom. “You weren’t what I expected. I saw the psychedelic paint job and expected a bunch of stoned-out hippies. With that crew cut, you look more like a GI.”
“I just got discharged from the Army. Bought this van from a hippie up in San Francisco. I’m gonna see the country on my way back home to West Virginia.”
“I was in Richmond once. Pretty state.”
“That’s in Virginia, not West Virginia. Virginia is pretty, but I think West Virginia is prettier, though I’m a bit prejudiced about my home state.”
“Sorry about that. Where did they have you?”
“Vietnam.”
The cop whistled through his teeth. “Hell of a place. I wouldn’t give two cents for the whole place, North and South. Got a brother in the Air Force. He’s in Da Nang and can’t wait to get home. Hey, forget I said this, but I’m going to look the other way and let you stay here for the night. We’ve had some trouble with dopers and gangs breaking into vehicles in the area, so I’m gonna pass by when I’m out patrolling and make sure you are okay. How ‘bout that?”
“Well, thanks. I appreciate that, sir.”
“And quit calling me, sir. No need for that, but when you did, I could tell you were brought up right or were a GI, maybe both. Either way, I could see you weren’t gonna be a problem for me. Have yourself a restful night, and sorry for the bother. I need to get back on my rounds. Take care and have a good trip back to Virginia, oops, I mean West Virginia.”
“Thanks sir, and ‘Go Mountaineers’.”
The cop shook his head. “Sir,” he muttered and shook his head again. “Have a good night.”
Tom was soon back to sleep. He slept the rest of the night away peacefully, and the cop did swing by several times just as he said he would. Tom woke at sunrise the next morning. He fixed some of the food the couple had left in the refrigerator, but he did smell it first. Today, he’d head for Las Vegas. There, he would have to decide to go south of the Grand Canyon and later deliver Chris’s last words to his father or drive north through Utah and skip the meeting altogether. Which way would he go? He sighed. God, please help me.
Chapter 12
“Back in the saddle again,” came the words from the radio in the VW microbus. Tom had found an oldies station and was listening to Gene Autry and other cowboy singers as he sped away from Las Vegas. The trip to the city hadn’t been what he had expected. He found the Joshua trees along the highway interesting, but overall, the desert had been stark and somewhat monotonous. It was bleak and barren with lots of rocks and a few cacti that seemed to be dying. At a gas station where he had stopped for fuel and a snack, he’d seen some postcards of the desert in bloom. The pictures were beautiful. They must have been taken in the spring. Tom wished he could be there to see it like that, but right now, the desert was kind of depressing. Maybe Utah would be better, he hoped.
After much thought and soul searching, Tom realized he couldn’t bring himself to face Chris Benally’s father and tell him the story of his son’s demise even if he had promised to do so. His stomach churned when his mind returned to thoughts of his denying Chris’s dying request, but here he was heading north into Utah when he should be traveling south and then east across northern Arizona.
Las Vegas was a downer too for the country boy. The architecture of the many hotels was somewhat impressive, yet the glitter and glitz of the city failed to impress him overall. He especially liked the tall Stratosphere Hotel. How they made it look like a mirage puzzled and fascinated him, but the casinos of Freemont Street were a letdown. The billboards along the highway coming into town showed happy people full of life having fun in the gambling halls, but to him, the people there seemed anything but joyful. Everyone seemed consumed with what they were doing at the tables, whether it was Keno, Black Jack, or a variety of other games unknown to him.
It was no wonder why the alcohol needed to flow so freely. You’d have to be a little tipsy to stay here and endure this. He’d felt like yelling at them, “Get a life!” but figured that would only get him thrown out into the street. Some of the people looked beyond hope anyway. Their faces reminded him of people on drugs. And it seemed like every corner outside of the hotels and casinos had at least one working girl plying the oldest profession. He was happy to leave town earlier than he’d planned.
The highway to Utah went through more bleak desert before it found its way to the Virgin River, which the busy road followed. The river cut a deep canyon on its way to the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River. Near the river was a little life. He saw a few trees, mainly cottonwood, and some other low bushes and greenery with which he wasn’t familiar. At least, it was a little green like back home.
Southern Utah near St. George was an improvement over where he’d left. The mountains surrounding the town had a few trees, and the valley where the small city sat at least had some scrubby vegetation. He noted that some of the homes had a few real trees around them. It seems like wherever people called home, they want some green trees around them for comfort. Even in barren Las Vegas, he’d noted this. He wondered what kind of effort was needed to keep them alive in that dry and thirsty land and what species could tolerate these challenging conditions. Man always seemed to desire to change his environment into something different.
A little north of the town of Washington, he turned onto State Route 9. It continued to follow the free-flowing Virgin River in a steep-walled valley. Soon, he was passing through the small touristy town of Springdale, the gateway to Zion National Park, his destination for the day. He stopped at the park campground and paid for a campsite for the night. The bathhouses were heated and he looked forward to a hot shower. The ranger at the campground took his money for the overnight stay and also for the park admission, and then gave him the needed passes. Tom drove the short distance to the park entrance at the foot of the deep valley through which the whitewater Virgin River flowed. In the park, the first thing he saw was a large stone arch that had caught his keen eyes. It was high off to the right, and most people would have missed it, but hunting in the wooded hills of West Virginia had made him aware of the importance of small details. It was one of the reasons; he’d ended
up in the air infantry.
He drove on up the valley stopping many times. It had to be one of the most beautiful places on God’s green Earth. No wonder the early settlers had called this Zion like the place where God’s holy temple was located. The high sandstone walls reminded him of a cathedral with the sky for a roof. Early settlers had given the great monoliths names like The Three Patriarchs, East and West Temple, Great White Throne, and Cathedral Mountain. He parked the colorfully painted vehicle in a parking lot where the trail to Angels Landing started. It was a long steep ascent with many high drop-offs. At one point, they were on both sides of the narrow footpath. Even the country boy felt a twinge of fear as he continued his climb to the top. When Tom reached the top, he could see why they called this place Angels Landing. You could see forever from here, maybe even into the very face of this beautiful valley’s Creator. He stayed there for a long while, basking in the beauty.
The walk down went faster, but he could feel the strain on his knees. Tom was glad for a chain to hold onto as he descended the steep trail. An older couple had stopped to rest on a crude bench. They asked him if the climb had been worth it. He emphatically told them it was, and they would regret it if, after coming this far, they didn’t complete it. They thanked him, and he continued his walk down the trail. Ten minutes later, Tom came around a bend and saw a sight in the parking lot he didn’t like. There were two armed rangers with a German Shepherd dog looking at his microbus. The dog was sitting and one ranger who Tom took to be his handler, was giving him a treat.
