Farewell PFC Polk: The End of a Nightmare (In the Valley of Hope Book 2)

by Richard Weirich

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Well, you were on the list. And if it hadn’t been for me vouching for you…they would have bashed your head, too.”

  Buddy sat back in his chair and sighed deeply. To think that Donnie was connected to the vicious attack on his friends or that his lifestyle choices had caused him to be labeled as something that he was not, such thoughts were devastating.

  “Man, I know it’s a hard pill to swallow,” said Donnie while lighting a cigarette. “But somebody had to tell you. I’m telling you because you’re my friend.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, so I could have warned them? Oh, wait. You were protecting me…not them. You wanted them to be injured. Please tell me you weren’t one of the attackers.”

  “Calm down. You’re raising your voice.”

  Buddy was hacked and he had had enough. Got up from the table, paid the bill, and walked out of the restaurant.

  Donnie caught up with him in the parking lot. “Don’t be like that.”

  “Like what? How dare you accuse me of hangin’ with the wrong crowd? You need to take a good look at that bunch you’re running with. I don’t know what happened to you…but it’s obvious that you have forgotten the difference between right and wrong.”

  Buddy called a cab and left Donnie standing alone. Their meeting had not turned out the way either one of them had hoped. But Donnie had given him a lot to think about. From that painful discussion, he searched for a lesson to be learned. Buddy determined that personal isolation or alignment with a small social clique only leads to trouble. In his new duty assignment, he would seek to be congenial with everyone but he was not about to compromise his values. As far as close friendships, he felt like a child who has just put his hand on a hot stove.

  Now, nine months into the Corps, for the first time, Buddy felt alone. He thought it ironic, to be surrounded by so many people while feeling so lonely. He remembered the New Testament his mother gave him when he left home and her words, “It will help you if you ever lose your way.” The time had come to put her promise to the test.

  All efforts at finding what he wanted to do with his life had failed. Working for the Virginia Highway Department didn’t pan out. He was definitely not lifer material for the Corps. And his track record with girlfriends was on a road headed to nowhere. Sally recanted on her need for space and tried to get him back, but he ignored her plea. Bobbie Jean would have married him in a heartbeat, but he saw her only as a good friend. Maybe he had what the girls back home used to talk about, commitment issues. He remained unsettled, drifting, and hoping to find the reason he was placed on this earth.

  The Worst Date Ever – July to August 1954

  Regular duty sure beat training. At least, there was more freedom and Buddy felt like he was contributing something positive to the Corps. He was still saving his money, 50 percent of his modest USMC income.

  Weekends provided plenty of free time, most of which was devoted to letter writing and working out. Buddy even got involved in some of the base boxing tournaments and although he never walked away with a trophy, he considered it great fun. His mother was horrified when he wrote about his boxing exploits, but his dad was proud, even suggesting that he and Mable would drive down to Cherry Point to see him in action, but they never did.

  Buddy still didn’t have an automobile. Rumors that his outfit was to be deployed to South Korea kept him from making the plunge. So, when he wanted to go off base, he traveled by bus. On Saturday, July 31, he decided that he would take advantage of one of the nearby beaches.

  Once at Emerald Isle Beach, Buddy stopped by a concession stand on the boardwalk for lunch.

  “Mind if we sit here,” said a young girl with two others standing behind her.

  “Help yourself,” said Buddy, who noticed that there were several empty tables still available.

  “Marine?” asked the girl.

  “Excuse me.”

  “Are you in the Marines?”

  “Uh, yeah,” he said resulting in giggles from the girl’s two friends. “How did you know?”

  “Your haircut…and most of the guys that come here are in the Corps. My name is Roxanne. This is Haley and that’s, Jessica.”

  Buddy observed that Roxanne appeared older than her friends, he guessed that she was about eighteen. Haley and Jessica looked to be no more than fourteen.

  “I’m Charles. You girls on vacation or somethin’?”

  “We live just down the road in New Berne. Where are you from?”

  Roxanne stole the show. For one reason, she did most of the talking, but more than that, she was outgoing, friendly, and a real head turner.

  “Why don’t you join us on the beach?” offered Roxanne.

  Buddy’s answer was a no-brainer. Hanging out with three girls was a substantial boost to his ego, with the possible exception of the youthful appearance of Haley and Jessica. Anyone who saw them would hopefully reason that he was there with Roxanne.

  For the remainder of the afternoon, they baked in the sun and occasionally cooled off by swimming in the Atlantic. While they tanned, Roxanne chattered like a chipmunk. Buddy tried to participate in the discussion, but there was seldom an opportunity. However, he was captivated by her fun personality, Southern drawl, and quick wit. He had never been around anybody like her.

  Eventually, she got around to asking Buddy to talk about himself. When she learned of his cartoonist aspirations she asked, “If you were a comic book hero, who would you be?”

  “Never really thought about it. Maybe, Beetle Bailey.”

  “No way. He’s in the army.”

  “Don’t know of any Marine Corps comic book heroes. How about Superman? I’m pretty sure with a little practice I could leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

  “How about me? What cartoon character do I remind you of?”

  “That’s easy. Daisy Mae Yokum from Li’l Abner. Blonde hair. Polka-dot swimsuit.”

  “Really? I was thinking something more along the lines of…Wonder Woman.”

  “Nope. You’re a dead ringer for Daisy Mae,” said Buddy, which resulted in a handful of sand thrown at him.

  Soon after, Roxanne continued the detailed expose of her life. She had an older sister who was attending college in Chicago, who seldom wrote letters, or kept in contact with her family. Roxanne’s dad was a flight instructor, growled like a bear, but was a sweet as a puppy. Her mother was an elementary school teacher and a member of the New Berne City Council. Her favorite song was Sh-Boom by the Chords and she despised country music. Made her want to gag. Her favorite color was aquamarine, she hated sailors because of their silly uniforms, she tried pizza and didn’t like it, and her last name was Smitherman. Curiously, when Buddy asked her if she had a job or was still in school she quickly changed the subject. He considered asking her to reveal her age but had been taught that posing such a question to a lady was improper.

  At the end of the day, the girls announced that they had to catch their ride, but they declined Buddy’s offer to walk them to the parking lot. Before they left, Roxanne got Buddy’s address, gave him her phone number, and asked if he would like to come to New Bern to see a movie with her the following Saturday.

  “Hope you don’t think I’m too forward,” said Roxanne. “I can see that you’re shy and I could also tell that you wanted to ask me out.”

  She was right on both counts. He did think it was a little inappropriate for a girl to make the first move, that is, according to his mother’s rule book of etiquette. And she was right on the mark about him wanting to ask her out. He thought about telling her that he wasn’t shy, just quiet. Getting a word in between her non-stop sentences was impossible.

  Before he could agree to her terms, she closed the deal. “I’ll get a letter out this weekend and let you know what’s playing.”

  Realizing that she already had all the answers, Buddy wanted to know where and how they would meet on Saturday.

  “I’ll pick you up.”r />
  Then Buddy attempted to settle on a time for their meeting but Roxanne’s playfulness continued. “You don’t have to worry about nothin’. I’ll check the movie schedule and put everything in your letter.”

  “I’m sure you will,” said Buddy, who laughed as Haley and Jessica giggled.

  “Should I dress up? Never mind…”

  “It’ll be in the letter,” they said in unison.

  Buddy was still laughing as the girls walked away. He had never met a girl who was so much fun or so entertaining. Despite the positive experience, his mother’s voice was exhorting him to think twice about what he had just gotten himself into. ‘If it’s too good to be true, it usually is just that.’ And then he had a very disturbing thought. Was this the kind of gal that Mable had warned him about? A hussie? A floozy? Was this a rare occurrence or did she do this kind of things with lots of Marines? Then came that voice again, ‘What do you really know about this girl?’

  On Monday, August 2, on the way back from the chow hall, Buddy was deep in thought, still thinking about that girl and wondering if she actually would send him the promised letter. He was so caught up in the moment that he failed to salute an approaching Marine Captain.

  “You don’t salute officers?” asked the officer as Buddy strolled passed him.

  Unfortunately, Buddy didn’t understand what was said and still was unaware that he was being addressed by a Captain. His response made matters worse. “Nope.”

  “So, you don’t salute officers?” yelled the Captain.

  Buddy’s heart raced at the realization that he had just insulted an officer and when he turned around and saw the two silver bars on his interrogator's collar, he knew he was in big trouble.

  “Sorry, sir. I thought you said, “Do you have a light?”

  “Does ‘you don’t salute officers,’ sound like, ‘do you have a light?”

  “No, sir. I am very sorry, sir.”

  As Buddy stood rigidly at attention, the Captain inspected his uniform from head to toe. “What’s that in your shirt pocket? Whatever it is, it’s against regulations.” Before Buddy could respond, the officer angrily tore the pocket off of his shirt revealing the New Testament that his mother had given him. The Captain looked at Buddy’s face then took a moment to leaf through the book. “A gift from your mom?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Strasburg, Virginia, sir.”

  “Give my regards to your mother.”

  “I will, sir.”

  “Carry on,” said the officer who then continued on his way.

  Buddy had little contact with commissioned officers since entering the Corps and this was the first time he had ever experienced compassion from a higher ranking Marine. Had that been one of his DI’s from Boot Camp he would have already been engaged in some sort of brutal punishment. He was relieved, yet shaken by the encounter, and wondered whether to interpret the officer’s action as acceptance or denial of carrying the holy book in his shirt pocket. Buddy was not trying to take a stand or flaunt his religious convictions by violating Marine Corps regulatory protocol. He just wanted to keep the book close at hand.

  At Mail Call on Wednesday, Buddy received a letter from Roxanne Smitherman, who detailed her plan for their Saturday night date, which included picking him up at the base front gate at 1800 hours and attending a Grace Kelly and Jimmy Stewart movie. He was impressed that she was familiar with military time and happy that she had her own car. He was to watch for a black Crysler Imperial. At least, he wouldn’t have to take the bus to New Bern.

  On Saturday, August 7, it rained all day and Buddy considered calling off his date with Roxanne. By 1700 hours, the storm had dwindled to a drizzle allowing Buddy to make a dash to the bus stop. Once outside the gate, he waited and watched for his date to arrive and amused himself by thinking about her reaction to being compared to Daisy Mae Yokum. But the shoe fit more than he realized at the time. In Dogpatch, USA, on Sadie Hawkins Day, the girls asked they guys for dates. He wondered if New Bern was anything like Dogpatch.

  When 1800 hours arrived, there was no sign of Roxanne and her black Crysler. Buddy was big on punctuality. His sister, Helen, was the queen of tardy, a habitual offender, and he half-heartedly theorized that she would never make it into heaven. He often told her that St. Peter would get tired of waiting and close the gate before she got there.

  At 1825, five minutes short of the time that Buddy had set as the limit of his patience, a black automobile appeared in the distance. When the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of him, he was surprised by what he saw. Roxanne wasn’t alone and she wasn’t driving. An older woman was behind the wheel. Hopefully, he thought, that’s her older sister, back from Chicago. If so, she was definitely older than he had imagined. Oh, Lord, please don’t let that be her mother.

  Roxanne rolled down her window. “Sorry, we’re late. Hop in.”

  In the backseat? Really? This was not at all that which he had expected.

  Then came the introduction. “Charles, this is my mother, Beth. Mom, this is Charles.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Smitherman.”

  Beth Smitherman responded with a big smile. “Sorry, we were late. It was raining cats and dogs when we left. But we should be at the theater before the main feature starts.”

  As the car pulled away from the front gate, Buddy looked back to make sure that no one he knew was watching. If this ever got out, he would never hear the end of it.

  “Roxie tells me that you’re from Virginia,” said the elder Smitherman.

  And so, the questioning began. For the next 30 minutes, all the way to the New Bern Theater, Buddy was meticulously skewered, grilled, and vetted. Fortunately, Mrs. Smitherman was nice about it and all was going well until they arrived at their destination. Buddy assumed that Roxanne’s mother would drop them off at the theater and then return to pick them up later. He was wrong. Dead wrong.

  If there was a positive in this unexpected turn of events, it was that Beth Smitherman bought the tickets and the popcorn. Additionally, Buddy now knew the source of Roxanne’s forwardness. Not only did Mrs. Smitherman select where they would sit in the theater, but she also directed the seating arrangement, which landed Buddy between the two women.

  When the title of the motion picture appeared on the screen, Rear Window, Buddy wished that he had one through which he could crawl out. Surely there was someone there who knew him. He flashed back to the balcony at the Home Theater in Strasburg and how as a youngster, he and Donnie, would watch for teenage couples sneaking kisses. They would then throw Jujubes to break up their passionate embraces. You could see everything from up there, and often, what was happening below was far more entertaining than the movie. He just hoped that he wasn’t providing the main attraction for any of his Cherry Point friends.

  About a quarter way through the movie, Roxanne took Buddy’s hand and held it tightly. He was pleased with what he perceived as a demonstration of affection. But at the halfway point, Mrs. Smitherman grabbed his other hand, and as the tension built in the Hitchcock thriller, the hand squeezing intensified. Concentrating on the movie was difficult if not impossible but Buddy took it all in stride. It was more fun than Saturday night in the barracks and as far as the date, he scored it a five for stale popcorn, a ten for the outstanding motion picture, and two for an embarrassingly awkward situation.

  On the runway out of the theater, Buddy continued to watch for someone who might know him.

  “So, did you like it?” asked Mrs. Smitherman.

  “One of the best movies I have ever seen,” said Buddy, happy that there was at least that redeeming quality to his date.

  “Charles, we would stop for a snack, but New Bern rolls up the sidewalks early. How about something at our place? You aren’t ready for your date to be over yet, are you?”

  “I don’t want to be any trouble,” said Buddy wondering how this even classified as a date. And, what was up with Roxanne. She hadn’
t said a word since they left the theater.

  As they drove to the Smitherman house, through a neighborhood of some of the finest homes that he had ever seen, it concerned him that no one was talking. The chatterbox from a week ago remained suspiciously quiet. Did he do something to make her mad? He was no expert on female dispositions, but he was reasonably sure that Roxanne was hacked about something. “Everything OK up there, Roxanne?” Buddy’s question was like touching a flame to a stick of dynamite.

  “Mother, you said you were going to drop us off at the theater.”

  “Your father didn’t want you to be alone with a boy that you just met. Truth be told, he didn’t want you to date a Marine. If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have been there at all.”

  “Did Daddy tell you to hold his hand, too? I’ve never been so humiliated in my life?”

  Beth Smitherman laughed. “You’re mad about that? Don’t be silly. I’m twice his age. That was a scary movie. I was frightened. Besides, he’s not my type.”

  I’m right here, thought Buddy. Not her type? What’s that supposed to mean?

  And then Buddy got the answer to the question he was afraid to ask. It hit him like a ton of bricks.

  “Roxie, you are only fifteen.”

  “Almost sixteen,” objected Roxanne.

  “What kind of parents would we be if we just let you go off with a grown man?” said Mrs. Smitherman, who then turned her attention to the shaken rider in the backseat. “How old are you, Charles?”

  Feeling like a complete and utter fool, Buddy’s voice was barely audible when he spoke. “Just turned nineteen.” Who came up with that stupid rule that you never ask a girl her age, anyway? He made up his mind that would be the last time he would make that mistake. When in doubt, ask.

  “See there,” snapped Roxanne. “Just three years apart. Daddy’s five years older than you.”

  “But I was eighteen when we met. No comparison. And you might want to check your math.”

  As the spat between Roxanne and her mother continued, Buddy weighed his exit options. Maybe he should ask to be dropped off at the bus stop. Even thumbing a ride back to Cherry Point would be less troublesome than listening to the two hens going at it in the front seat.