Charlie sat his lunch pail on the kitchen table and, like always, retrieved his eating utensils and plate from the drainer by the sink. He then took his place at the head of the table and stabbed a large stuffed sausage with his broken fork. Even though he no longer lived on a farm, Charlie never abandoned farming. He kept chickens in the backyard, hogs in a rented pen behind a neighbor’s house, and cattle in a leased field outside of town. He would only eat meat that he had butchered and processed.
Mable tipped her coffee cup and poured the hot liquid into the saucer. Charlie hummed as she made a loud slurping sound. He never understood why she insisted on drinking coffee from the saucer and not the cup.
“Got something I need to tell you,” said Buddy choosing his words carefully.
Both parents stopped what they were doing and gave Buddy their undivided attention. His serious tone was alarming.
“I know that I shouldn’t have waited until now to tell you this. I’m going to be starting a new job on Monday.”
“That’s good news,” said Charlie smiling.
“Why wait so long to tell us?” asked Mable sensing that there was more to the revelation.
“It will require me to be away from home for the summer.”
Mable’s eyes were open nearly as wide as the saucer on the table.
“I’ll be working for the Highway Department, traveling around the state wherever they need me.”
“I’m really proud of you, son,” said Charlie and then his mother said something that totally surprised him.
“Always knew this day would come,” she said. “Sounds like you’re doing the right thing.”
“You’re not upset?”
“Not about the job but I don’t like that you’re just now telling us,” she said. “When do you leave?”
“Catch a bus for Richmond. Monday morning. 7:15,” he said and then breathed a sigh of relief. The ordeal that he envisioned did not come to pass. Buddy didn’t realize that his mother’s greatest fear was that he would follow his best friend into the Marine Corps.
The following day, Buddy slept late and then he walked into town to purchase a few items needed for summer travel. He stopped by the drugstore to check the bus schedule to make certain there were no changes before his anticipated Monday departure. Across the street at the Five and Dime, he shopped for suitable clothing for working in the hot sun. While there he ran into one of his classmate friends, Trudy Miller, who was a part-time employee at the store.
“Didn’t know you worked here,” said Buddy.
“Just for the summer until I leave for Madison College,” said Trudy adding up the cost of his purchases by hand. “The old cash register is broken…again.”
Buddy watched as she methodically removed tags and recorded each item on a pad. They talked briefly about the tragic loss of their classmates and how they were coping.
“Bobbie Jean said you’re leaving soon for Richmond.”
“Monday.”
“Since me and Bobbie Jean are best friends I never felt comfortable telling you this but…if things don’t work out between the two of you, I wish you would call me.”
“Really? We’re not dating or a couple or anything like that.”
“She thinks you are. Way back when…we were both interested. Unfortunately for me, she spoke first. That’ll be $23.74.”
“There goes the graduation money.”
“Would it be too forward to ask you to write me while you’re away? Just to stay in touch.”
“Sure,” he said while Trudy handed him his shopping bag.
“My address is on the ticket in the bag,” which prompted a laugh from Buddy.
By 5 o’clock Buddy’s friends had arrived. Mable was expecting Donnie Turner and possibly Bill Strosnider or Bradley Rinker, both of whom had been regular visitors in recent years. She was surprised when a girl showed up with Donnie. How nice, she thought. Donnie has a pretty girlfriend. When Bobbie Jean sat next to Buddy at the kitchen table, Mable wondered if there was a problem with the chair on Donnie’s side of the table and then it hit her. She immediately marched into the living room to inform Charlie that, “Buddy has him a girl.”
“Just shows how old you’re getting’ Mable. Young folks do that.” And then he hummed his little tune.
As Buddy predicted, Helen, Woody, and Dickie rolled in an hour late and Helen was as ill as a hornet. “I married the slowest man that God ever made.”
“I didn’t cause you to be late. You spent the last hour gossiping on the phone,” said Woody, who trailed cautiously behind her.
“That wasn’t gossip. I was just finding out what our sorry neighbor was up to.”
Buddy broke up the heated exchange by calling his sister into the kitchen. “Can’t wait much longer on this cake.”
Helen was as shocked as her mother when she saw a girl sitting next to Buddy. Much to Woody’s relief, it was enough distraction to take the focus off him.
Just as Buddy inherited much of his mother’s personality, Helen was in many ways just like her daddy. Around family, he was a grumpy and a chronic complainer but when guests arrived he was the consummate host. Helen quickly sat down next to Buddy and joined in on the laughter. Buddy’s friends thought she was the life of the party.
Helen also had an overactive curiosity and just had to know more about Buddy’s lady friend. Buddy was barely into the proper introduction of his guests when she began firing questions. “Were you in Buddy’s class? How long have you two been dating? Is it getting serious?”
Her interrogation was so extreme that Buddy had to intervene. “Sis, she’s just a friend,” which was not well received by Bobbie Jean, who hit him with an icy stare that let him know, in no uncertain terms, that she disagreed with his assessment.
Buddy elected to turn over the ceremonial blowing out of birthday candles to his 4-year-old nephew, Dickie. Three tries later the fire was extinguished and then Mable began dishing up hefty servings of Buddy’s favorite German chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream.
His birthday gifts were far from extravagant but thoughtful, nonetheless. His parents presented him with a new wallet, Helen gave him a fountain pen inscribed with his initials, Donnie’s offering was a bottle of English Leather in memory of the skunk incident, and Bobbie Jean’s gift was a box of stationary with pre-addressed envelopes.
The partiers eventually moved to the living room where they gathered around the television and watched and old Abbot and Costello movie.
Feeling bad that he had hurt Bobbie Jean’s feelings, Buddy walked her home. “Sorry, that I downplayed our friendship. You really are more than just a friend.”
“I hope so,” said Bobbie Jean wishing that he would take her hand. “Hard to know for sure. I figure you’ll meet some pretty little thing out there on the road and she’ll steal your heart away.”
“No way,” said Buddy. “Nothing out there better than a gal from my hometown.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said as they arrived at her house on Fort Street.
Everything was right for a goodnight kiss. The starry sky and the full moon provided the perfect setting. Bobbie Jean stared longingly into his eyes and then he smiled, turned around, and said, “Goodnight.”
Bobbie Jean stood on her front porch and watched him as he disappeared in the distance. No hand holding. No kiss. Nothing to reassure her that she was anything more than just one friend among many. She concluded that Buddy wasn’t into her enough to know that he had just broken her heart. This was going to be a very long and lonely summer.
Chapter II – The Summer of ‘53
Indoctrination – June 1, 1953
On Monday morning, just before 7 o’clock, Buddy’s Dad gave him a ride to the bus stop on King Street. Mable stayed at home. She just couldn’t bear to see him leave. “We never say goodbye in this family. It’s always…see-you-later.”
The bus stop in Strasburg was nothing more than a curb and a sign in front of the drugstore. Buddy sat on h
is suitcase and held a shoebox in his lap in which his mother had packed food for the 3-hour journey to Richmond. From his location, looking to the west, he could see the Virginia Restaurant, the scene of many happy memories from his teen years. And to the East, the Fire Station that also housed City Hall, which was nothing more than a tiny office where Ethel Puster processed water bill payments. Beside the Fire Station was an alley that led to a parking lot upon which the annual Lions Carnival was staged. And across the parking lot where it adjoined Washington Street was an old log cabin, home of Boy Scout Troop 57, where Buddy advanced through the ranks to Eagle Scout.
As he viewed his surroundings, he considered that leaving just might be a mistake. After all, that little town, population 2,000, was like comfort food for the soul. Everybody knew everybody, neighbors never locked their doors, and there was so little crime that some of the locals wondered if it was worth the expenditure of tax revenue to employ the one and only part-time town policeman. But how could he earn a living there? Grocery store clerk? Pump gas at Fritz’s Filling Station? He made up his mind long ago that employment at the apple processing plant in Winchester or the American Viscose textile operation in Front Royal were not appealing options.
Right on schedule, at 7:15, Buddy boarded the bus that would take him to Richmond with numerous stops in the roundabout Greyhound way. If all went according to plan, he would arrive at his destination at 11:00, catch a cab to the Highway Department’s Training Center and meet with his new boss at 1:00.
He was surprised that there were so few riders on the bus, but then again, he really didn’t know what to expect, since this was the first time he had ever traveled alone. Without question, Buddy was sad to leave family and friends but he was also excited about this new phase of his life. What would it be like to make his own decisions and choices away from the watchful eye of his rule-driven mother? If not for fear of her constant vidual, he would have taken advantage of the opportunity to kiss Bobbie Jean on her front porch.
Buddy learned his lesson, the hard way, about the strong and long arm of Mable’s law. Once, when he was in the 9th grade while walking home from school with Donnie, the two of them engaged in a belching competition. When he arrived, his mother asked him if he was proud of himself for doing such a foolish thing. No spanking. No time out. (Hadn’t been invented yet.) No going without supper. Mable just laid a guilt trip on him, so severe, that it still burned in the pit of his stomach.
Mable Polk had a network of friends, most of them in the Lutheran Ladies’ Guild, who were ready and willing to sound the alarm on any questionable behavior. Unfortunately, the chairman was sipping lemonade on her front porch when the belching contest passed by. It just took one phone call, and Buddy was on the hot seat. Even more troubling was the way telephone calls were processed in 1953. Via the party line system, all your neighbors could listen in on your conversations. It was a gossipers dream and a teenager’s nightmare.
As the morning progressed with numerous stops along the way, the bus was nearly at capacity. At Fredericksburg, a bearded man dressed in black with a large brimmed black hat plopped down in the seat next to Buddy. He seemed friendly enough and a conversation ensued. All was going well until he pulled a wrinkled paper sack from beneath his seat and retrieved an egg. Not a hardboiled egg. A raw egg. With a stick pin, the man pierced the shell and proceeded to loudly suck on it. And then he produced another egg. And another. As the demonstration continued, Buddy became sick, so much so that his condition was noticed by a passenger from across the aisle.
An elderly lady tapped him on the shoulder. “Want to sit by me?” she said.
Buddy did not hesitate. “Thank you so much,” he whispered, concerned that he might hurt the man’s feelings. For the remainder of the journey, the lady filled him in on everything he ever wanted or needed to know about Richmond, and once they arrived at the bus terminal, she offered him a ride to the Highway Department headquarters.
“My granddaughter is picking me up and the Highway Department is on the way. Won’t be any problem at all.”
Buddy agreed to her proposal and inside the bus station he was introduced to Melanie, who was every bit as friendly as her grandmother, but, at least, based on Buddy’s limited experience, the worst driver on the planet. He was a nervous wreck by the time he was dropped off at his destination.
At the receptionist’s desk, Buddy sought directions to the Traffic Division Training Center. A very proper looking lady with giant spectacles, who was more interested in chewing gum and reading a book than making conversation, nodded her head in the direction that he should travel. “And where might I find Room 21B?” Again she pointed to the same hallway, never making eye contact. Who tied your panties in a wad, thought Buddy, as he walked along a narrow hallway in search of the place where he would finally meet his first ever boss.
Finally, inscribed on the frosted glass of a door at the end of the hall, he found 21B. Once inside, there was another receptionist. Thankfully, she was younger, prettier, and considerably friendlier. “Take a seat and fill out these papers. Indoctrination doesn’t start until 1:00.”
For about an hour, Buddy waited with a dozen other new-hires. Most were just out of high school and a few were college students. None of them knew anything about what would be expected of them. All they had been told is that they would be monitoring traffic volume around the state. How that was to be accomplished was anyone’s guess.
A side door opened and a balding man with a skinny body and a large stomach that protruded over his belt ordered the crew to follow him. “Pick your desk, keep your mouth shut, and listen carefully. What I tell you will not be repeated.”
Three expressionless older men with flattop haircuts, short sleeve shirts, and matching ties stood at the front of the room as the speaker opened a notebook and placed it on a podium. “My name is Walter Abernathy, lead manager for this project. These handsome fellows standing to my right will be your babysitters for the next 90 days.” He paused briefly as if anticipating laughter from his audience, but there was none. “Most important skill that you must have for this job is that you must be able to count. Anybody here who can’t count?” The associate managers chuckled, but there was still no response from the new workers.
He then asked each of them to give their names and to tell a little bit about themselves. Buddy nervously gave his answer. “I’m Charles Polk from Strasburg. Graduated from high school last Thursday. I was an Eagle Scout, played football and basketball, like fishing and camping, and hope to be a pilot someday.”
Once the pleasantries were completed Walter Abernathy left the room briefly and then returned carrying a folding chair, an umbrella, and a briefcase. “These here will be your tools for the summer. Anything you lose you pay for. This is just about the easiest job that ever was but last year we lost about half our crew because they either didn’t like it or they couldn’t hack it. Hopefully, we did a better job recruiting this year. You, sitting there in the front row, what’s your name, again?”
“Charles Polk.”
“Come on up here and have a seat in this chair,” said the leader as he opened the folding chair and sat it in front of the podium. “Comfortable?”
“Suppose so,” said Buddy as his co-workers chuckled.
“Your personally issued chair will be your office from 8 to 5, Monday through Friday. Hope you’ve got strong kidneys, because finding a suitable place to relieve yourself on this job is a serious challenge. You get two 10 minute breaks at 10 and 2…and 30 minutes for lunch at 12.” Again he turned his attention to Buddy. “That chair still comfortable?”
“Getting’ harder by the minute.”
“That’s right. You might want to invest in a good pillow. Now, you are allowed to stand beside, behind, or in front of the chair. But you are to never get more than an arm’s length away. Am I clear so far?”
Affirmative responses mixed with groans came from his audience.
The man picked up the umbrella and poppe
d it open. “I know what you’re thinkin’. Bad luck. Right? Well, this here is an official state of Virginia good-luck umbrella. When you’re out there sittin’ in the hot summer sun or a rain storm pops up this here little wonder is gonna bring you good luck. And I repeat, lose it and you pay for it. Here, Charles. See that attachment on the handle?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Loosen those screws and then attach it to the back of the chair.”
Dutifully, Buddie followed instructions while wondering how much longer he would have to be the Guinea pig.
Walter then picked up the briefcase, laid it on the podium, and popped open the latches. “Inside here you will find pencils and the forms for conducting your business. There’s a form for keeping up with your room and food expenses. And these are your traffic count forms that must be turned in at the end of every day to your field manager. Your work will be monitored and if we have reason to believe you are fudging on the numbers you will be fired on the spot and sent home on your dollar.”
Finally, Walter instructed Buddy to return to his desk.
“If you have any questions, there will be plenty of time to get answers while riding with your field managers. When I call your names, please come forward.”
Walter introduced each of the field managers: Tommy Pepper, Otto Bly, and Rusty Miller. Three workers were assigned to each manager and he would lead the 4th team. Buddy was assigned to Otto Bly.
“Before you leave, I want each one of you to grab a chair, umbrella, and briefcase from the storage closet and then follow your managers to the parking lot. Don’t forget your travel bags you brought with you.”
In less than 30 minutes, the workforce was fully indoctrinated and trained to perform their tasks. In the parking lot they loaded their gear in the trunks of state-owned vehicles and moments later, they hit the road for their first assignment, the town of West Point, Virginia.
Farewell PFC Polk: The End of a Nightmare (In the Valley of Hope Book 2) Page 4
