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

by Richard Weirich

  On May 1, Buddy was teamed with MPs from the Navy and Air Force for fence patrol. Their job was to guard the perimeter. Up until that day, Buddy’s duty involved his feet, either standing or walking for extended periods of time. This new assignment, albeit temporary, was to be carried out from a Navy Jeep.

  Representing the Navy was Petty Officer, 3rd Class, Melvin McDonald from Burlington, Vermont. Most notable was a rose tattooed on his arm and the name, Misty. He was joined by Airman First Class, Covington Philpott from Sevierville, Tennessee, who spoke with a twang that Buddy found comical.

  “Got a purdy day fir this here hoedown,” said Covington. “Reckon how many folk will be uh-comin’?”

  “No telling,” said Buddy. “What’s that town you’re from near?”

  “Pert near Gatlinburg. Ever heard of it? Way up in the mountains. Not like these mountains ‘round here. These are little scrawny thangs.”

  Covington was one of those people that had a knack for brightening a day. He was upbeat, outgoing, and one heck of a lot of fun. Melvin, on the other hand, acted like he didn’t want to be bothered and he was definitely not excited about sharing his jeep with non-Navy personnel. That didn’t stop Buddy from attempting to draw him into the conversation. “Who’s Misty?”

  “Why do you want to know?” snapped Melvin.

  “Just making conversation,” said Buddy.

  “Once upon a time she was my girlfriend, that is until I went off to Boot Camp. Three weeks into camp I got a Dear John.”

  “Real sorry to hear that,” said Buddy, pleased that Melvin was opening up.

  “That’s crazy,” offered Covington.

  “And why is that?” growled Melvin.

  “Because your name ain’t John.”

  Melvin turned toward Covington, stared briefly, and then shook his head in disbelief. “Look, fellows, I’m not a morning person. About lunchtime, I’ll be one of the nicest guys you’ve ever met. But for now, I’d appreciate it if you cut me a little slack and shut up until I’ve had a chance to get something to eat.”

  Covington pulled a paper bag that he had stowed beneath his legs and handed it to Melvin. “Here. Have some lunch. Don’t know what’s in there but my wife made it, so it’s bound to be good.”

  “Man, I don’t want your lunch,” complained Melvin.

  “Eat it. We’ll all feel better,” said Covington still holding the bag. “Take it.”

  By 1100 hours, the crowd had picked up considerably, leaving less time for talking. Covington pointed out a small child who was crying and separated from adult supervision. Melvin quickly parked the jeep and as the three MPs rushed toward the toddler, a man and woman emerged from the gathering and swept him up.

  “Mission accomplished,” said Buddy but when they returned to the jeep they encountered another problem. Several of the Friendship Day visitors had climbed aboard the jeep and were checking it out.

  Melvin panicked. “Hey, get your grubby claws off my…”

  “It’s OK,” interrupted Covington. “They think it’s part of the show.”

  “Either of you fellas speak Japanese?” asked Buddy.

  “Nope,” replied Covington.”

  “Not a word,” said Melvin.”

  Buddy approached the small crowd gathered on and around the vehicle, smiled, and motioned for them to step away. But the only response was a lot of bowing and incomprehensible chattering.

  Covington stepped forward and offered an idea, “If you can’t lick ‘em…join ‘em.”

  His compatriots weren’t sure what he meant until he stood beside the jeep and motioned for a man to blow the horn, which he did, resulting in shrieks of delight from his friends. Then Covington showed the man how to turn on the lights and he even let him turn the wheel. After the others in the group had taken their turn at the steering wheel, Covington raised his arm, pointed to his watch, and then showed them the runway where a bi-plane was preparing to take off. More bowing. More unintelligible babbling. And off they went, scurrying like ants toward a spoonful of honey.

  “Well done,” said Buddy. “Acts of kindness are understood in any language.”

  Melvin’s response was far less thoughtful. “Let’s get out of here before somebody else tries to hijack my baby.”

  When 1400 hours rolled around, they reported back to their duty officer who gave them a meal break. Covington had already sacrificed his sack lunch for the cause so Melvin returned his act of kindness by buying him a hot dog.

  An hour later, the trio was back on patrol. Thus far, guarding the border fence had turned out to be one of Buddy’s easiest duty assignments, and more importantly, he had made some new friends. Covington had already suggested that the three of them should get together again, “Maybe we could go for a hike in them there little baby mountains.”

  At 1530, it was time for the main event and most of the crowd had congregated in the grandstands. Melvin stopped the jeep in anticipation of an appearance by the famous Blue Angels. The preliminaries were just about to wrap up as an aircraft ascended for its final run.

  “Sopwith One and a Half Strutter,” said Buddy.

  “How do you know that?” asked Covington.

  “Built the model years ago. Still sits in my bedroom.”

  Suddenly, the roar of the engine stopped, followed by a sputtering sound, and then the plane seemed to stop in mid-air, before turning toward the ground.

  “Wow, this ought to be good,” said Covington, while the crowd gasped at the pilot’s skilled trickery. “That’s some stunt.”

  “That’s not a stunt,” yelled Buddy when the plane began to spin out of control.

  The roaring of sirens confirmed Buddy’s assessment as did the parachute that hovered over the falling aircraft. Seconds later, the WWI biplane crashed into a ball of fire south of the runway, followed by a giant plume of black smoke.

  “Shouldn’t we be doing something?” shouted Covington.

  “Crowd control,” replied Buddy, when he saw that the audience was beginning to panic.

  Melvin cranked up the jeep and drove to the grandstand entrance. “We’ve got to settle them down before somebody gets hurt.”

  The three Military Policeman ran to the gate and did all they could to assure the crowd that they were not in danger. As other servicemen joined them in calming the visitors an announcement came over the public address system. “The pilot is OK and there is no cause for alarm.” And then the message was repeated in Japanese. “The Blue Angels will begin their performance in 30 minutes.”

  Order was quickly restored, but some of the people apparently rattled by the experience, headed for the parking lot. By the time the Blue Angels took flight, the grandstands were again filled and the show that followed was sufficiently impressive to entertain a nervous audience.

  Buddy’s duty assignment ended at 1800 hours. Before retiring to the barracks, he and his new friends made plans to meet on the following Saturday for a trip into town to a movie theater that featured American motion pictures.

  It felt good to make new friends, and he still had 4 hours to get back to the barracks, plenty of time to write another letter to Sally. And thanks to the events of the day, there was an abundance of news to share.

  Buddy had no trouble falling asleep that night, but early in the morning, he awakened in a cold sweat. That old nightmare from his youth hit him harder than ever. In this most recent episode, there was a troubling new detail. Previously, he was always looking on, a bystander. In this dream, he joined a line of people who were walking passed a casket draped in flowers. In front of him, he could only see the backs of the participants, all dressed in black. Some he recognized. Like before, his mother was there and his dad. Then came his turn to see the deceased and he was immediately stricken with horror. The vision was so vivid that it caused him to sit up in his bed, wide awake, and horrified.

  The darkness of night was now his enemy. Buddy jumped out of bed, ran down a flight of stairs, and onto the sidewalk. He stood th
ere, stunned, still sweating, breathing heavily, and trying to erase the spectacle from his head. Think about something else. Anything. Something.

  The only source of solace was a single streetlamp that dimly lit his surroundings, enough light to prove that he had only been dreaming…that the uniformed corpse in that casket was not dead. Buddy looked at his arms, inspected his feet, and even rubbed his face. Thank God, he was alive.

  Dreams like that are not soon forgotten. Even though Buddy tried to dismiss it as nothing more than a nightmare, possibly triggered by the horror of the airplane crash, he still couldn’t put it out of his mind. Was God trying to tell him something? Was it a warning of eminent danger?

  In the days that followed, he did all he could to keep his mind occupied. Buddy wrote letters to everybody in his address book, surrounded himself with friends, read his New Testament, pushed himself harder and longer in physical workouts, and prayed more fervently than ever for the Lord’s protection.

  Buddy was so rattled by the nightmare that he shared the details with Captain John Lewis, the Marine Corps chaplain.

  “Nightmares like this are not uncommon for fighting men,” offered the Captain. “I’ve heard about many similar experiences. There are few jobs on this earth more dangerous than that of a Marine. We’re expected to be brave which causes us to suppress our fears. Consequently, those pent up feelings linger in our subconscious, and sometimes they rise to the surface in our dreams.”

  “So, my experience was normal?” asked Buddy.

  “Yep. Happens all the time,” said the chaplain.

  “But, I’ve had basically that same dream since I was a child.”

  “Just like me, you grew up in a world at war. We were barely out of WWII when Korea came along. And that conflict only ended a short time ago. You serve with a bunch of Marines who were there and I’m sure you have heard their stories. And, I’m sorry to say, those dreams aren’t likely to end.”

  It bothered Buddy to think that there may not be an end to these dreams. “There’s nothing that can be done about it?”

  “Read your Bible…and pray.”

  “Already doing that.”

  “Sometimes we forget that the 23rd Psalm was written by a man on the run. Powerful and wicked men were bent on killing David. Those comforting words of peace were composed in times of great turmoil.”

  “That’s Mama’s favorite Bible passage. Taught it to me when I was barely old enough to talk.”

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil,” said Captain Lewis, who then leaned back in his chair and smiled. ”And then Kind David tells you why you don’t need to be afraid. Do you remember what he said?”

  “For thou art with me.”

  “You got it. We’re not promised that we won’t have hardship and problems on this side of eternal life. But we are assured that the Lord is always with us. If there is good news in all this, your torment is just a dream. For all too many men, their nightmares are realities. I’m reminded of that every time I’m called upon to visit a wounded Marine in the hospital.”

  Buddy didn’t get the answer for which he had hoped, but he felt considerably better about his circumstances. He thanked the chaplain, who then asked if he was still considering a ministerial career.

  “Leaning that way,” said Buddy. “Still got a couple of years left in the Corps to make up my mind.”

  “Let me know if you need help with that.”

  Full Disclosure – May 1955

  Buddy’s birthday gift to his father arrived a week late so he didn’t want to make the same mistake on his mother’s 58th birthday. He got an early start on Friday, May 6th, in hopes of a timely arrival by the 23rd. He had already shared some options with Sally including an overcoat, a Sunbeam mixer, and a set of Noritake China. In her letter, Sally said that the decision was easy. “Go with the china. That price is unheard of in the states.”

  Noritake china was manufactured in Japan and through the Base Exchange, he could purchase and ship a complete 12-piece setting with all the available accessories for around $50. For the ultra-frugal Marine on a modest PFC income, it would be an extravagant gift. But, as Sally pointed out, “You will blow your mother’s mind.”

  Buddy then stopped by the base Post Office to drop off a stack of mail. The previous day he had written six letters, one of which contained a bold confession to Sally Duffy. “If only I had stayed and not joined the Corps, I would be in the most incredible place on earth…there with you. You have no idea how wonderful you made me feel when you told me that you loved me. What a fool I was to nearly let you get away. I long for the day when you and I can be together again. Mama always told me that I would know when the right one came along. She was right. I know it with more certainty than anything that I have ever known. You are the one, the one and only true love of my life. I didn’t want to wait a moment longer to tell you how I feel about you. Please don’t ever forget me. This is a dangerous world that we live in. P.S. Enclosed is a photo of me standing on the Kintai Bridge. Please notice that something is missing. That would be you.”

  Later, when Sally received her letter, she was deeply moved by his expression of love. But she was also concerned at the changed tone in his writing. Gone were cheerfulness and humor. There was now an alarming sense of urgency and seriousness. What did he mean when he said, ‘Please don’t forget me?’ Why would he even say that? Or, maybe, she was just reading too much into it.

  There were still three more errands to be checked off Buddy’s To-Do List: a haircut at the Base Barbershop, lunch at the chow hall, and dry cleaning to be picked up at the Base Laundry. Once completed, then it was back to the barracks where he prepared for afternoon guard duty.

  He arrived at his post just before 1400 hours and signed in. Moments later Eddie clocked in.

  “Did you see the new schedule?” asked Eddie while loading his firearm.

  “When did they post it? Haven’t seen it.”

  “They’re splittin’ us up.”

  “No kidding. When?”

  “The 24th.”

  Buddy looked at the calendar on the wall. “That’s on a Tuesday.”

  “Right. We’re moving to Tuesday through Saturday at the Air Terminal. It’s a single post.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You’ll be all by your lonesome outside the entrance. You’ll have the honor of relieving me at 2000 hours.”

  “That means I won’t get off until…”

  “2:00 in the morning. Sorry, man. At least, there shouldn’t be much going on that time of night. The hardest part will be staying awake and standing in place.”

  “Standing in place?” said Buddy. “That’s crazy.”

  “Yep. No guard shack. No sitting. No walking. Just standing at your post for six hours. You’re gonna love it.”

  “I’d rather have a root canal.”

  “But you will still get to see my smilin’ face every day.”

  “What more could I ask for?”

  Eddie pointed to his face and smiled. “One handsome devil.”

  A car full of Navy WAVES approached the front gate. “I’ve got this one,” said Eddie before rushing out of the guard house. “How are you lovely ladies on this beautiful afternoon?”

  Buddy grimaced at the notion that the words ‘lovely ladies’ were used to describe WAVES.

  “If you ever need a tour of Iwakuni, just let me know. I’m something of an expert,” said Eddie while checking their IDs and writing their names on a clipboard. “You all drive careful…and have a lovely day.”

  When he stepped backed into the guard station, Buddy was laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Iwakuni tour guide? Really?”

  “Why not? Took you on a dandy tour, didn’t I?”

  “Suppose you did,” said Buddy, thinking that some things about Eddie had not changed. He still had an inflated opinion of himself.

  “I still feel sorry about what I did to y
ou back in Virginia.”

  “Forget about it. It’s behind us.”

  “For the longest time, I admired my dad. Wanted to be just like him.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Not to hear my mom tell it,” said Eddie, who proceeded to open up about his past. “My mother called me last summer. First time I had heard from her since their divorce when I was eleven.”

  “So you were raised by your dad?”

  “Pretty much. Him and a nanny. He was gone most of the time but what I did see, I idolized. Rich, successful, drove fine cars, popular with the ladies. So, whatever he taught me about life, I took it as gospel. ‘If you want something, go after it, and if somebody gets in your way, run them over.’

  “He said that?”

  “Yep. ‘Believe in yourself,’ he would say. ‘Might as well because nobody gives a damn about you anyway.’ Sound like anybody you know?”

  Buddy chuckled. “A fella I worked with a couple of summers ago.”

  “Exactly. But after spending time with Mom, I saw what that kind of behavior can do to other people. She became deeply depressed and started going to a psychiatrist in Richmond who put her on an experimental drug that nearly killed her. Something to do with her liver. Then, dad had her put away.”

  “Put away?” asked Buddy.

  “Psychiatric hospital. He told me that she left us and didn’t want to have anything to do with me, which is what I thought all these years…until last summer. She said that the hospital was like a prison. Ever heard of shock therapy?”

  “Yeah, but I really don’t know anything about it.”

  Buddy and Eddie had learned how to carry on a lengthy conversation while handling the flow of traffic in and out of the base. Their thoughts seamlessly flowed between the brief interruptions.

  Eddie hung a clipboard containing the traffic log back on the wall and continued. “Shock therapy involves sending electrical shockwaves to the brain. It was supposed to relieve her depression. She said she went through it 3 and 4 times a week for six years.”