Fourth and Forever

by Bert Carson

  Although she was twenty-three years older than the photos, I’d seen of her, the high school senior was still evident in her smile. She was tall and slender. Her black hair, flecked with silver, was cut short. She moved with easy grace and confidence.

  “You must be Meg.”

  She laughed, “I’ll bet I’m the only woman you’re expecting.”

  We shook hands, left hands, and I said, “Meg, before we go inside I want to ask you a question.” I motioned toward the corner of the porch and we stepped away from the door.

  “I don’t have a plan for these meetings. Everyone wants to know about Vietnam so I just talk about what comes to me to talk about. Tonight, with you here, I think it’s important to talk about camaraderie and loyalty. Specifically I’d like to talk about Bob, if that’s all right with you.”

  She didn’t hesitate, “That’s what I came to hear, Josh. Say anything you want.”

  “Thanks, Meg. Now, come on in where it’s warm.” We stepped into the house. Flexible, recognizing a newcomer was at Meg’s feet before she had taken two steps into the house. “Flexible, you’re even cuter in person than you are on TV,” she said as she bent down and patted his head. Flexible barked.

  I pointed toward Bobby, who had moved to Meg’s side. “Meg, this is my son, Bobby. Bobby, this is Bob McKinney’s sister, Meg.”

  Bobby took Meg’s hand, stammered slightly, but managed to say, “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  The house quickly filled with the usual Monday night bunch. Despite their excitement about Saturday’s victory and the playoff’s they settled down quickly. I took my place on the stool beside the fireplace. As if that was signal, all conversation stopped.

  I glanced slowly around the room, trying to make eye contact with as many of the players as I could. It wasn’t difficult since they were all staring straight at me. Finally, I asked, “Are you tired of all the talk about Vietnam?”

  I should have considered that question a bit more. I received the same loud, unanimous shout that Brent got to a locker room inspirational question. In this case, a loud “NO!” was followed immediately by a howl from Flexible. “Okay, I get it, bad question, that won’t happen again.” That got a few laughs and everyone quickly settled back down.

  “Tonight we have a visitor, a special visitor. Sitting between Bobby and Coach Jenkins is my friend, Meg McKinney.” There was a polite round of applause as Meg raised her hand. “I said that Meg was a friend, and she is, but you should know that we had never met until just a few a minutes ago. Before that I’d only spoken to her once and that was last Thursday when she called after seeing you know which issue of Sports Illustrated.” There were only a couple of laughs. I knew they were focused on my story.

  I took a deep breath and began telling them what I’d been thinking about since Meg’s call four days earlier. “Hueys were the workhorse helicopters in Vietnam. There were several models built during the years of the war. They came in two configurations, gunships and slicks. Gunships were Hueys equipped with Gatling guns and rocket launchers. Because of the extra weight of the ordnance and armament, they seldom carried troops. Their job was to provide air support to ground operations. The other Huey was called a slick. Like the gunships, slicks had a crew of four, a pilot, copilot, crew chief and a door gunner. The only armament a slick carried was two M-60 machine guns, one mounted on each side. The crew chief and the door gunner manually operated the M-60s. Slicks were designed to carry troops.

  As I’ve mentioned to you before, on my first tour in Vietnam I was a crew chief. On my second and third I was a pilot. It was on my second tour that I met Meg McKinney. She wasn’t in Vietnam, her brother Bob was. Bob was my crew chief for almost eleven months. Bob and Meg were born and raised in Kalispell. Bob arrived in Vietnam the same day I did. In fact, we rode on the same truck from the airport to our new company.

  “Two things happened on that ride that I won’t forget. First, when he found out that we were going to the same unit, Bob volunteered to be my crew chief. I told him that I was fresh out of flight school and suggested he might want to reconsider that offer. He laughed and said that he was fresh out of crew chief training and if I could handle his inexperience, he could handle mine.”

  “It was a couple of weeks before my aircraft assignment settled down but as soon as it did I requested Bob as my crew chief and I got him. I never regretted it.” I choked up thinking about Bob and the countless missions we had flown. I glanced at Meg and saw that she was having the same problem.

  I took another deep breath, and said, “Bear with me guys, this isn’t easy to tell.”

  From the stairway someone said softly, “Take your time, Daddy, we’re not going anywhere.”

  “The other thing Bob did on the ride from the airport was tell me that as soon as he could get his duffel bag unpacked he was going to show me his photo album. We signed in together, then the company clerk took Bob to the enlisted barracks, and the company commander took me to the officer housing area, a row of two man tents about fifty yards from the orderly room. After supper, I was unpacking my gear when someone knocked on the main tent post. Before I could say anything Bob was inside with his photo album. He told me to sit down. I did and he sat down beside me and went through every picture. I met his horse, his mother and father, his girlfriend, some of his high school friends and I met his sister Meg. When Meg called last Thursday, she asked if I’d talk to her about Bob. I told her about these Monday conversations and asked if she’d like to attend. As you can see, she said, “Yes.”

  Standing on the porch a few minutes ago I asked her if I could tell you about her brother and she said yes again. I think you’ll know why I asked in just a few minutes.”

  I paused to take a sip of water. “Once a flight crew was set up, it wasn’t changed unless one of the members rotated out, or was killed. Since Bob and I arrived on the same day, we flew together for a long time by Vietnam standards. In the months we were together, I got to know Bob McKinney as well as I’ve ever known any man and I loved him more than I’ve ever loved another man, other than my father. Bob was the bravest, most selfless man that I knew. But, even more important than that, and this is what I want to talk about tonight, I knew that I could count on Bob. No matter how bad things were, I knew I could depend on him. I knew if everything went to pieces, Bob would die for me and he knew I’d do the same for him.”

  I drained my water glass and someone brought me another one. “My wife, Kathy, sent homemade cookies and brownies to me at least once a month. Bob’s mother did the same thing for him. Once, Mrs. McKinney sent me a batch of brownies. She put a note in the tin and I still remember what it said. She wrote, ‘Bob thinks the world of you and I do too. He thinks it because you are a wonderful officer and a great pilot, and because you are his friend. I think it because you take care of my son…’

  A month or so after I got those brownies, Bob and I flew our last mission together. It was one of the toughest ones we’d ever flown. We’d been sent just over the river into Cambodia for the emergency extraction of a Green Beret A-team. The landing zone was a natural clearing in a triple canopy jungle. There was only room for one helicopter and we had to come straight down through a small opening in the trees to land there. Two gunships were circling the opening to protect us, but that was a joke and we knew it. There was no way they, or anyone else could help us if we were attacked. We sat on the ground for the longest five minutes of my life, then finally, what was left of the A-team appeared and they were in sad shape. They were unarmed, at least two were wounded, and they were barely moving. Without asking, Bob told me on the intercom that he and Clancy, the door gunner, would give them a hand. In seconds, they were out of the ship heading toward the Green Berets. Bob had removed his machine gun from its mount. He was carrying it on his hip like it was a rifle and he was John Wayne. He had a long bandoleer of ammunition slung around his neck. Clancy helped the men to the chopper and Bob went past them toward the edge of the jungle. In a few minu
tes, the Viet Cong began firing on the helicopter. Bob returned the fire. I couldn’t see him but I could see the tracers from his machine gun as he fired.”

  I caught my breath again and I sensed several of the guys doing the same. “Clancy got everyone on board and in a minute or two; at the most, Bob was back in the ship. He plugged in his headset and told me we were clear to go. He didn’t have to say it twice. As I took off there was a loud explosion behind us and Bob calmly said, ‘Good timing, that one landed right where we were parked.’ Just when I thought we would make it, we began taking machine gun fire from both sides of the clearing. Clancy and Bob fired back. I had my hands full trying to get us out of there but I noticed that Bob had stopped firing. When we were clear of the machine gun fire, I checked the instruments and noted that everything was still in the green despite the hits I’d felt us take.

  Then I asked Bob if his gun jammed. He didn’t answer so I asked Clancy to check on him.”

  That scene came back to me as vividly as if had happened yesterday and I was almost drawn into it. I shook my head slightly and drained the water. It was a few seconds before I felt safe to talk again. “Bob was dead, killed instantly by ground fire as we pulled out of the landing zone. Here’s what I want you to understand. He died to save us. It wasn’t a patriotic act; it was the act of a friend. A friend who was committed to do whatever it takes to back up a buddy. That’s camaraderie.”

  “Last Saturday I broke my hand. When I went to Coach Jenkins and told him, we had to run the ball thirty yards, he told me to go for it. That’s camaraderie. As much as we’ve talked about an undefeated season and the national championship, the truth is, first and foremost, we play for each other. That’s camaraderie. When Denby took out the two men at the twenty there was no one left but Hunk and me and their safety. I put my hand on Hunk’s shoulder and said something.” I looked at Hunk and asked, “Do you remember what it was?”

  He didn’t hesitate, “I’ll never forget, Daddy. You said, ‘You’ve got to take him out, Hunk. It’s the only way I can get through.’”

  I scanned the room, smiled and said, “Well, you know what happened next. If you don’t, Hunk will show you the front page of yesterday’s paper.” Everyone laughed.

  When they settled back down I said, “That’s camaraderie. By the way, camaraderie is just a guy word for love. Unconditional, unquestioning, always there love. That’s what we experience as a team and that’s what every Vietnam vet experienced.”

  I looked around the room. “Let me wrap this session up. I’ve told you about the magic that comes from living in the moment. Something that we all experienced in Vietnam and something every Vietnam vets treasures whether he or she can describe it or not. The camaraderie that we experienced is the second thing that Vietnam vets miss because most of them had never experienced it before Vietnam and few of them have had the opportunity since. Gentlemen, you have given me the opportunity to experience it again by letting me be a member of the Grizzlies. Thank you.”

  I was finished but no one moved, at least not for what seemed to be a long time. Then someone clapped and it quickly grew to a sustained round of applause, which went way beyond my comfort level, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  As the team was leaving, Brent came to me and said, “Daddy, that was about the most inspirational talk I’ve ever heard. You don’t mind if I refer to it a few times this week do you?”

  “Of course not, Coach. Help yourself.”

  He turned to Meg and said, “It was good to meet you Meg. I hope you can make it to the play-offs.”

  Meg shook his hand, “I just might do that, Coach. I’ve been a Grizzly fan all of my life.”

  With that, Coach Jenkins joined the last of the departing players, leaving Meg, Bobby, Flexible and me in the suddenly empty living room.

  I put my arm around Bobby’s shoulder and said, “Why don’t you walk down to the Red Lion with us. We can have a cup of coffee and talk a little.”

  Bobby said, “I have a better idea. Why don’t I go and get Janet and we’ll meet you at the Red Lion and you can buy dinner.”

  I looked at Meg. She nodded. I turned to Bobby and said, “You’ve got a deal.”

  Chapter 28

  Snow had been threatening all day. When we walked outside, we saw the threat had been fulfilled. Though not heavy, the snowfall was spectacular. A light dusting covered the ground and the world was hushed as the snow muffled all sound.

  I noticed that Bobby had Flexible. “Son, I know Flexible is great but I don’t think they’ll let him in the Red Lion dining room.”

  Bobby ginned at us. “Don’t underestimate Flex power,” he said, as the two set out to get Janet. Meg laughed, took my arm, and we headed toward the Red Lion. We savored the snow in silence for the first block, and then Meg said, “Josh, at the risk of seeming forward, I want to say something, if I may.”

  I said, “Now there’s a place where you and Bob differ. He never asked, just blurted out whatever was on his mind.”

  She laughed softly, “You’re right, he did. Therefore, I’m going to do the same thing. I want to be your friend. I want to be as good a friend to you as Bob was. You’ve just lost your wife and I’m still in love with a man I’ll never see again. You don’t need a girlfriend and I don’t want a boyfriend. But, I think we could both use a good friend. One we can always count on. What do you think?”

  We stopped walking. I turned her toward me, looked in her eyes and said, “Meg, that’s the best offer I’ve had in a longtime.” In the softly falling snow, we sealed the deal with a handshake.

  Because of the hour and the snow, the dining room, which was usually packed, was only half-full. We sat by the window overlooking the river, ordered coffee, and watched the breathtakingly beautiful landscape fill with snow.

  Ten minutes later a round of applause drew our attention back to the dining room. We looked toward the entrance and saw the hostess escorting Bobby, Janet and Flexible toward our table. Janet had outfitted Flex in his cheerleading sweater and he was the object of the applause.

  I introduced Janet and Meg and within minutes, they were chatting like old friends. We ordered and while we were waiting for our food, we told Janet and Bobby about our deal to be friends. Bobby said, “That’s great for you two.” Then he looked at Janet and said, “But, it’s too late for us. Janet is already telling everyone that I’m her boyfriend.”

  Janet looked at him in mock seriousness and said, “Well, its true isn’t it?”

  Bobby grinned from ear to ear to said, “Yep, it sure is.”

  We finished dinner and I motioned to the waiter that we were ready for the check. In a few moments, he returned with it and a dish of ice cream. “The ice cream is for Flexible, a gift from the staff he explained.”

  Bobby looked at Flexible, standing at attention beside him. “Well, what do you say, Flex?”

  Flexible barked so sharply all four feet came off the ground. Everyone in the dining room laughed as the waiter put the dish in front of the dog.

  We told Meg about our weekly visits to the hospital. I suggested to her that if she could stay one more night we’d love to have her join us on tomorrow’s visit. She said, “There’s nothing I’d like better. I’m working on a proposal for a new client and I brought the files with me. I can work in my room here as easily as I can work at home.”

  “Great, then I’ll pick you up at 5. If I see that I’m going to be later I’ll give you a call.”

  ********

  By the close of Tuesday’s practice, Jeff was back up to speed as the starting quarterback. As we watched Georgia Southern game films, we knew they were watching our films. We figured that Jeff was a big advantage in our favor as far as the films went, since I was the quarterback on all the films that they were watching.

  We left the field house at 4:30. I jogged home, took Flexible for a quick walk, showered, changed and managed to walk into the Red Lion at three minutes before the hour. Meg was waiting in the lobby.
She looked up from the newspaper, smiled, and said, “Perfect timing, Josh.”

  On the way to the hospital, I briefed her about what to expect. That turned out to be a total waste of time. We met Bobby, Janet, Hunk and Patty Jenkins in the parking lot then headed toward the back entrance beside the emergency room. As we climbed the short flight of outside stairs leading to the doorway two ambulances, sirens screaming, careened into the area in front of the ER. Quickly they reversed and backed side-by-side toward the unloading dock.

  Normally we’d have gone into the hospital as they unloaded their patients. Instead, the five of us stopped and watched as nurses, orderlies, and interns rushed out to help the EMTs. Later I recalled that moment and realized that we knew that somehow this seemingly unconnected event was, in fact, connected to us.

  The EMTs swung open the doors of the first ambulance and two orderlies quickly stepped inside. I heard one of the EMTs explaining to an intern, “This one is stable, and his vital signs are strong, but he’s unconscious.”

  The orderlies appeared pushing the stretcher and we recognized the comatose patient. Patty gasped, “its Howard Green” She looked at me and said, “Josh, I’m going to find a phone and call Brent.”

  I nodded as I watched the stretcher disappear through the swinging doors. I felt Meg take my hand. That brought me back to the moment. I said, “Bobby, will you and Janet explain to the nurse on duty in the children’s ward that we won’t be visiting tonight. Maybe she’ll let you take a few minutes and explain to the children that we are here but we have to wait downstairs to find out about a friend.”

  “We can do that, Daddy. We’ll see you in a minute.”

  A police car had followed the ambulances into the hospital parking lot. I looked at it and recognized the patrolman who was still behind the wheel, apparently completing the accident report. I pointed toward him and said, “Hunk, isn’t that your friend, Pete Murphy?”