The Peripheral Sur

By Bart Key

Story of Sur covering his experiences during life as described by him, his good friends and acquaintances.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543967814

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© Bart Key. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses

permitted by copyright law.

ISBN: 978-1-54396-780-7 (print)

ISBN: 978-1-54396-781-4 (ebook)

This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any references to real people, alive or dead, events, organizations or locales are for the intended purpose only to provide a sense of authenticity and meant to be fictitious. Characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and should not be

considered as real.

Contents

Time Out

The Surfer

The Soldier

The Warrior

Fashion

Sabbatical

Into the Wilderness

Reunion

The Wizard

Wild Beach

Adjusting

The Circle Expands

Paco’s Changing World

Macau

Austria

Return to Idaho

Little Brother

Bachelors No More

Down The Road

Home on the Range

The Entertainer

The Europeans

Jade Palace

Taking It Easy

Bump in the Road

Foundation

The Chair

Last Assignment

Shadow Squad

One Big Family

Then There Were Three

Chapter One

Time Out

My tour of Vietnam was far from uneventful. Quite to the contrary. Fortunately, I managed to return home physically unscathed and spent the remaining two months of my army obligation on assignment at the Pentagon.

I was in sort of a daze during those months as I couldn’t get the war out of my head. Memories kept popping up especially my last day in the ‘Nam when I said goodbye to Ward. As we walked together across the tarmac to the general’s jet, I remember hearing for probably the zillionth time Light My Fire playing on someone’s recorder. Before I boarded we shook hands, looked at each other and hugged. I told him to be safe and razzed him about his new captain’s rank. He laughed and told me to get the hell on the plane and fly back to the world. Ward was one of those very special persons you encounter in your life if you’re lucky. The two of us had shared some challenging and dangerous times and I’m not sure what I would have done without him. I hoped that this would not be the last time we saw each other.

It was almost surreal being the only passenger on my flight. The general’s small jet had a pilot, a co-pilot and an orderly who pampered me during the long trip back home. After necessary stops for fuel and rest, we finally landed at Andrews Airforce Base in D.C. where a car met us and drove me to the base BOQ where I would stay for the remainder of my obligation.

My brief time at the Pentagon was boring as hell, most of it spent attending seemingly endless meetings where all we discussed was the winding-down process of the war following the recent cessation of hostilities. It helped that most of the attendees seemed to value my thoughts on the subject though I made little effort to make new friends since I wasn’t going to be around that long. During my free time I wandered around by myself in the District visiting some of the famous sites including Arlington Cemetery where I teared up. Years later I would openly sob at the Vietnam National Monument.

In May when I was discharged, I climbed into my brand new silver Corvette and headed toward my hometown in Idaho. It felt strange being a civilian again. I certainly was a different person now that I had been to war and witnessed the deaths of both comrades and the enemy. During my last several months in Vietnam, I had been deeply involved in the planning of operations designed to end the hostilities. The operations had proved to be successful which was deeply satisfying. I had learned that I was capable of participating in problem solving at the very highest level. But notwithstanding the positive results, I found myself no closer toward resolving the conundrum which had plagued me from that day several months earlier when I had lost several men under my command during combat. How did this war ever get started or for that matter what caused any war to occur? Wars obviously are humans’ greatest nightmare so why do they keep occurring? For the time being, I would put these thoughts aside as all that mattered to me at the moment was going home and seeing my dear grandparents.

My mother’s parents had raised me from the time I was three following the deaths of my mom and dad who were killed in a car accident driving to a college football game. All I can remember about that time is crying a lot. Raising a toddler at their ages couldn’t have been easy but very quickly the three of us became a closely-knit family. My only other close living relatives at the time were my mother’s parents and their son Charlie, who lived in a town close by. Now, all three of them were gone too, my grandparents having each passed away when I was still in high school and Uncle Charlie who died of cancer when I was in Vietnam.

It was a pleasant afternoon when I arrived home. Grandpa saw my car pull up and walked out to greet me in the driveway. We hugged and he helped me unload my luggage warning me that Grandma’s dementia had worsened and she might not recognize me. Fortunately, she did. We just hugged and she cried she was so happy to see me. Both of them were getting on in years now and their faces showed it.

For the next several days I just hung around thrilled to be home. Grandpa could tell though that I was hiding some anguish. While my letters to them had always been upbeat and carefully left out any mention of the wartime horrors, Grandpa knew better but nonetheless respected my obvious preference not to talk about them. One morning at breakfast he casually inquired as to what my future plans were. He repeated the offer he had already made to me in a letter that the manager’s position at the family mercantile store was mine if I wanted it. I thanked him and politely declined explaining that I didn’t see that as being the direction I saw for myself. Also, I was trying to come to grips with some nagging issues which he had probably noticed and it might make sense for me to take some time off to do some camping by myself in the northwest for a while. He seemed to understand. He wanted me to know though that whatever path I eventually chose, he and Grandma would always support me. I knew that and loved them both so much.

Two days later, I tearfully hugged them both and hit the road. For the next couple of weeks, I drove the backroads of Idaho, southern Washington and Oregon. Most nights I slept in campgrounds. When I was hungry for something other than camp food, I would stop at a local café or tavern somewhere. Everywhere I wandered, the folks I met were mostly friendly and loved to chat. One day at a truck stop I picked up a young guy who had recently been laid off and was hitching his way to Seattle to move in with his brother. When it started getting dark, I pulled into a campground and invited him to crash in my tent for the night as I had an extra sleeping bag. Our site happened to be next to a small lake and so both of us were able to take a refreshing dip while it was still light. Around noon the next day I dropped him off at another truck stop and wished him well. Another time, I stopped at a motel in a small town and during dinner chatted it up with my waitress who had just finished her second year of college. She took a liking to me and after she got off her shift, she knocked at my door and invited herself in. And so on.

Most of the time though I was by myself and my thoughts continued to focus on wars and why they happened. In ancient times, I knew hunger often led to war as did religious differences. The desire to subjugate and greed for more territory were both on the list as well. In more modern times, differences in political dogma certainly could lead to conflicts, Vietnam being a good example. My mind was scrambled with searching for solutions and I became more and more convinced that the answers I sought were indeed blowing in the wind. Then one morning after waking up and climbing out of my tent, I resolved to set aside my quest for resolution and move on with my life. I called Grandpa from the nearest pay phone and told him I was headed for Los Angeles.

So now what? Should I look for a job? What qualifications did I have for an employer to consider? Or perhaps I could start my own business. But what kind of business and how would I go about doing that?

I did have a good academic record which I thought might impress prospective employers. After graduating from high school near the top of my class and having done extremely well on the national tests, I was accepted at the University of Colorado where I pursued a liberal arts degree majoring in psychology and minoring in philosophy. I managed to graduate with honors a semester early.

Should I want to start my own business, I had some rudimentary business skills from the years I had worked in my grandparents’ mercantile store. I also possessed a good work ethic at least partly because of my grandparents’ insistence that I always complete all my homework assignments and do well in classes.

On the weakness side, I had always been a bit too introverted. While growing up my preference was to spend my free time at home reading science fiction. I had always coveted my privacy perhaps to a fault. But when I was around others, I was comfortable and friendly. In college, my social life improved a lot when I joined a fraternity. Though I was never the consummate ladies’ man like some of my brothers, I wasn’t a wallflower either and had even experienced a couple of longer term relationships during my junior and senior years though neither was all that serious.

As I had enrolled in my college’s advanced ROTC program, I entered the Army right after graduation after having been commissioned as a brand new second lieutenant. Within a year I received my orders for Vietnam and was put in command of my own platoon. That experience no doubt contributed greatly in the building of my leadership skills. That should be a valuable asset no matter what direction I decided to go.

When the freeways started to meet and flow in all directions, I knew I must be approaching L.A. For three days I scouted the City and very quickly concluded that this was not the place for me. So I headed north along the coast until I reached Ventura which had much better karma. After checking into a motel, I wandered along the beach for the remainder of the afternoon, spellbound by the ocean and its smell. I became fascinated by all the activities I observed especially the surfers out on their boards. Unlike L.A., here there were no crowds or smog. I especially envied those who lived in homes bordering the beach.

That evening, I called Grandpa to tell him I was in Ventura, liked the place and might settle in for a spell. Thanks to my mother’s parents and my Uncle Charlie, I had no immediate financial worries. My mother’s parents had set up a trust fund to cover my college education costs and when I turned twenty-one, the remainder of the trust was paid over to me. My Uncle Charlie, a lifelong bachelor, had left his entire estate to me including the small bank he had inherited from his parents. Let’s just say I was pretty well off and my splurging on the purchase of a new Corvette was little more than a small dent in my wallet.

Remembering a real estate office I had walked by the previous day, I returned there the next morning and entered where a young man about my age greeted me. Eric had been in the real estate business only for a couple of years and was anxious to please. After explaining my interest in finding a beach house, he took me to see several on the market. One grabbed my eye as soon as I saw it. It was right on the beach and was seriously rundown. A fixer-upper was just the ticket as I had nothing better to do at the moment and should be able to do some of the repairs myself though my skills were pretty wanting. Luckily, the house had been vacated and came with all its dilapidated furniture. Perfect. After returning to Eric’s office, he called the seller’s broker and within minutes a deal was struck. Eric had even arranged it so that I could move in the next day. I was so proud. I called Grandpa a couple of days later to give him my new address and phone number. The news on his end was not so good as Grandma was continuing to fade. I offered to come home immediately but he said no. This was not yet the time.

So, I set about cleaning up the place and making a list of what had to be fixed or replaced. I was in no hurry and spent lots of time just relaxing on the beach each day. Everything I had heard about the wonderful California beaches was true. Unquestionably I would have to learn to surf.

Then one day while doing some repair work outside, an older pickup with a couple of surfboards neatly stacked on the its bed topper pulled up. The young man who got out had to be a surfer. He was heavily tanned, wore boardshorts and sandals, was shirtless and had a mop of curly brown hair. I guessed him to be about nineteen or twenty. He approached me, stuck his hand out and introduced himself as Jeremy. He pointed at my house and asked if Johnny was home as he wanted to invite him to go surfing with him that day. I explained that Johnny recently had moved to San Diego apparently to be with his girlfriend and when he put his house on the market, I had bought it. Jeremy sort of chuckled and commented that he was not all that surprised. I asked him in for a beer and learned he was a full-time surf bum after having dropped out of college at the end of his first year. He sometimes did carpentry work to pay the bills but otherwise was pretty much out somewhere along the coast surfing or messing around with his buddies on the beach. I told him about my recent fascination with surfing and how I was determined to learn how. Out of the blue, Jeremy volunteered to teach me if I’d like. I accepted instantly and he said he would be pick me up the next morning early for my first lesson. Our friendship which began that day would last a lifetime.

Chapter Two

The Surfer

I couldn’t believe I had just volunteered to teach a total stranger how to surf. He had introduced himself as Sur. Seeing the quizzical look I gave him, he grinned and explained that his birth name was John which was also his father’s name. His mother didn’t want to call him John Junior or little John so instead she started calling him Sur, short for Surrano, his middle name and her mother’s maiden name. The nickname had stuck and that’s what his family and close friends called him growing up. I wasn’t sure why but somehow the name seemed to fit.

Early the next morning, I picked him up and we drove to a beach I knew which usually had decent surf for beginners. Both of us stripped and put on summer wet gear I had with me. I handed him my longboard to carry down to the beach and I brought one of my shortboards. I explained to him that learning is much easier on a long board. As we were walking down the bluff, he expressed concern that maybe he was too old to learn as he had heard that good surfers usually take up the sport at an early age. Indeed, that had been true in my case as I had started when I was eight. To allay his concern however, I explained that while it was unusual for someone to become an adept surfer when they started later in life, it was not unheard of. I personally had a couple of buddies who started late and both now were accomplished surfers. He was relieved at hearing that and expressed confidence he too would beat the odds. And for some reason, I didn’t doubt him.

As we neared the beach, I asked him about his swimming skills. He assured me he was a good swimmer having in fact been a member of his high school swimming team. When we reached the sand, I showed him the basics of paddling out. Together we carried our boards into the surf and when it was deep enough began paddling out together. At first, he had difficulties dealing with the shore waves. But after I gave him a few pointers, he soon managed to avoid being swamped. When we finally paddled out to just beyond the wave break, we laid on our boards and watched as the waves rolled toward us. Through the noise of the surf, I explained how to identify a potentially surfable wave. Then I followed up by paddling into one and letting it take hold. For the next couple of hours he worked and struggled to properly paddle into waves and allow them to carry him while lying flat on his board. Needless to say, he wiped out at lot at first and swallowed a lot of seawater. But I could tell his confidence was building. In late morning as the surf began to flatten, we quit and returned to my truck. He asked me to stop at a local surf shop I knew where he bought his own wet gear and longboard.

When we arrived back at his house, he invited me in for lunch. He was full of questions about surfing. I explained to him that surfers in southern California looked forward to the winter months each year because that’s when the big storms created the best waves. Analyzing waves is not as easy as it may seem even for seasoned surfers. Whenever one arrives at an unfamiliar surf spot, a good rule of thumb is to seek out surfers who have surfed there before. If they like you, they’ll tell you where the best waves are likely to be, what’s the best time of day for good surf and what the bottom conditions are like. Some dedicated surfers might spend years getting to know a special surf spot. In Ventura, early morning generally is a better time to surf as the water is glassier though sometimes heavy fog can be an issue.

So for the next two weeks, we went to the same beach each morning and paddled out together. I would always teach him something new or explain to him something I thought he was doing wrong or could improve upon. I had never known anyone who practiced so hard and listened to instructions so intently as Sur. And he hadn’t exaggerated when he said he was good swimmer. He had a strong stroke and quickly became comfortable paddling out and pushing himself correctly into surfable waves. In time I showed him how to stand up on the board after entering the wave. One had to pop up quickly on his feet and stay forward to the front of the wave to avoid falling as the wave steepened. After many attempts and much effort, he began having success at standing up for short distances within some of the smaller but consistent waves. From that point on, it was all downhill for him. He was hooked and couldn’t wait to go surfing whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Looking back, it was clear that I enjoyed being with Sur from the moment we met. He had a pleasant aura about him and his penetrating blue eyes always met yours when he spoke to you. He had started letting his hair grow longer and complained that he needed to be in better shape. If that were true, I sure couldn’t tell. He was wiry and muscular with little body fat. The guy always smiled like life was good and laughed generously. Unquestionably, he was very bright and highly educated. He exuded confidence in everything he attempted. Sometimes he listened to you so attentively that you hoped you wouldn’t embarrass yourself by saying something stupid. But Sur never looked down on me or anyone else for that matter. I was kind of like that too. Though he never talked much about his Vietnam days, I could tell that the war had affected him a great deal. While he was extremely proud of his time in the army, he hated the war itself.

As for me, I had never been interested in school and was at best an average student. In high school my attention was given to participating in sports. I lettered in both soccer and gymnastics but my passion was surfing. As for the war, I had always considered myself a peacenik and during my one year of college, had even participated in a protest march. So far at least, the draft had not caught up with me. When I became a surf bum, the war to me was out of sight, out of mind.

Every time I went to Sur’s house, he was always trying to fix something. It was pretty obvious he had never worked with tools much and his inventory of tools was pretty limited as well. A couple of times I helped him with a project and showed him how to use some of his tools more effectively. Then one day on our way back from what turned out to be our last surf lesson, Sur asked me if I would be interested in helping him fix up his place. He would expect to pay me, of course. As I was pretty close to being broke at the time, I accepted. The next day I came over bringing my tools and together we made a list of the various materials and supplies we would need for what would be a major refurbishment of his place. I volunteered to provide my truck for hauling things and Sur agreed to pay for gas and maintenance expenses. After about a week, Sur queried whether it might make sense for me to just move into his spare bedroom until the work was completed. That made sense and besides, the rent was free.

Our first priority was to enclose his carport so he could park his Corvette out of the elements. Both of us remember that time well as we were just completing the project when the news broke that an American astronaut was walking on the moon. After work that day, we drove to my favorite tavern which was packed with celebrants hoisting a few beers. We joined in.

The next phase was to replace the home’s deteriorating exterior with a neutral-colored siding made of weather-resistant materials. Sur wanted to duplicate as nearly as possible the original rustic appearance of the house. At my recommendation, Sur hired one of my surf buddies to replace his leaking roof with one made of clay shingles. Sur and I then all but gutted the inside of the house and started over. Wooden fitted planks were used for the walls instead of plasterboard. Yet another one of my buddies installed Spanish tiles over all the floors. And another who was a qualified plumber helped the two of us enlarge and redo the bathroom which included removing the bathtub in order to make room for a large walk-in shower. We also installed a shower outdoors next to the back porch for rinsing off sand when returning from the beach.

As we continued working together, Sur and I got into sort of a rhythm. Sur didn’t know much about using tools. But after I showed him how, he caught on amazingly quickly. Our work atmosphere was always relaxed and we kidded around a lot. Sur became used to my admittedly rank language but never really cussed much himself. When we stopped working for the day, we’d usually have a couple of beers while making dinner and crash early especially when we had plans to go surfing the next morning.

Between working and surfing, neither of us had much time for any kind of outside social life which for me was pretty unusual. One day while surfing, one of my surf friends remarked that he hadn’t seen me around much lately. I told him about my new job and how it took up a lot of time at the moment. As for Sur, he didn’t seem to have any interest in an outside social life. From our conversations, I knew that he led a fairly active social life in college. At the moment though, all he seemed to care about was completing the work on his