Jack and Leslie

By Walter ''Bud'' Stuhldreher

This is a sweeping saga of love and adventure of a young couple set in the 50s, 60s and 70s. Starting with a blind date while Jack is a naval flyer, they court and marry. Jack, kicked out of the Navy, goes to work for Leslies father in
his Coca-Cola bottling plant. Quits,heads up a proposal team for another company then becomes a lobbyist. He was hired back, with all demands met, and builds a Navy trainer to fly in his spare time. There are several fights, one aerial dogfight and many sex scenes. There is a surprise ending after the marriage undergoes many ups and downs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479747740

Walter ''Bud'' Stuhldreher

Walter “Bud” Stuhldreher is a graduate of the University of Notre Dame and Indiana University. He served in the Navy for four years as a midshipman and three plus years as an officer – all at sea. He is a Life Member of the Veterans of Foreign Wars and the American Legion. He worked for IBM in its Space Division for two decades and now lives in Tallahassee, Florida, with his wife, Bettie. He is an avid golfer, real estate investor, plays the French horn in his church orchestra, travels and maintains a busy writing and lecture schedule. He is currently working on a novel.

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Copyright © 2013 by Walter Bud Stuhldreher.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Jack and Leslie is a work of fiction. The characters in it have been invented by the author, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The story is also fictitious.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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CONTENTS

PART I

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

PART II

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

PART III

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

PART IV

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my loving wife,

Bettie

Also by Walter Bud Stuhldreher

SOUR M.A.S.H. AT SEA—and Other Stories (2003)

SOUR M.A.S.H. AT SEA—Second Wave (2004)

SOUR M.A.S.H. AT SEA—Rogue Wave (2005)

SOUR M.A.S.H. AT SEA—Ebb Tide (2008)

Some of what follows really happened.

Ken Follett

PART I

CHAPTER 1

It was early evening in Norfolk, Virginia, and the breeze was whispering through the new leaves. Cicadas were calling in their peculiar non-musical way in the nearby trees. The air was redolent with the fragrance of blooming wisteria, honeysuckle, azaleas and other southern flowers announcing the advent of spring. The winter cold, with the occasional snowfall followed by the trials of getting around town in the slush, would soon fade from memory. This scene went unappreciated by the four young men standing next to a 1949 Plymouth coupe on a downtown street. They also ignored the two young boys pedaling their bikes down the street from a nearby vacant lot, the metal baskets in front of their handle bars filled with baseballs and gloves. As the four continued to slap mosquitoes away, with little luck, the streetlights came on meaning it was 7:30.

Jack, where are they? asked one of the men. They were supposed to be here by now.

The four men looked very much alike, yet were different. While they all shared crew cuts, the same height of around six feet, and all appeared to be fit with no flab apparent, a person meeting them for the first time would easily recognize them individually the next time.

Jack, with dark brown hair and crystal blue eyes, a trim, slim build and with an air of command about him, looked at his thick Breitling everything-proof aviator watch, confirming it was 1930 hours in military time. How do I know where they are? I’ve never met them. Maybe they got the directions mixed up. Who knows? Anyway, Tom set up this deal. Ask him.

Tom stared unconcernedly at the other three. Tom, whose hair was cut so short it was hard to tell what color it was, had thick, muscular shoulders and equally large thighs. He irritably replied, Give it a rest, will you. They’ll be here. There’s no way nurses are going to pass up a chance to meet four young, good looking, available men like us!

How do they know we’re good looking? They have never seen us.

Because, you dumb screw-up, my Aunt Mary told them we were, replied Tom.

They’d have to be pretty naïve to believe anything an aunt says about her favorite nephew.

Dumb or not, pretty or not, I promised Aunt Mary you would behave tonight, so let’s just make the best of it. Worst case, at least we’re going on a date, and that’s something that’s been in mighty short supply since the boat got in last month. Girls are hard enough to meet as it is, so shut up.

The good-natured bickering continued as the four of them, best friends and pilots in the Navy together, waited for the absent nurses. The service had taught them waiting was a way of life, and many times they had waited for far worse things than dates with nurses. Getting ready to land on a carrier at night, for example. No matter how many times they had pulled the number three wire successfully in the past, each landing was a gut-wrenching maneuver and a mind numbing fear that had to be controlled if it were to be executed successfully. Night landings on carriers were, by far, the most terrifying activity any flyer, Navy or otherwise, could experience.

The boat had lost one pilot in night-landing training exercises two months ago during their recent deployment to the Med, which was pretty much par for the course. In peacetime the Navy averaged losing a pilot every two months during carrier tours and these four knew, but for the grace of God, it easily could happen to one of them during their next tour. And, although they didn’t know it then of course, one of them was to maintain that average.

Just then a dirty, battered, nondescript sedan pulled up. A young woman rolled down the driver’s window and cheerily asked, Are you the Navy pilots Mrs. Riley said we were to meet here?

Yeah, that’s us, Tom replied. She’s my aunt and I’m Tom Sullivan. You must be Shirley, my date for the evening.

Yep, that’s me, Shirley Dixon, the worst driver in town, the driver laughingly replied. That’s why we’re late—I couldn’t find this place. Give me a hand and we’ll introduce everyone around. Shirley, slightly plump with an attractive mane of corn-silk blond hair, almost fell out of the front seat, grabbing Tom’s arm possessively as she landed on the sidewalk. "The good-looking brunette getting out of the front seat is Nancy Thompson, and I think you, pointing at the shortest pilot, will be her date."

Fine by me, replied Chet, eagerly walking around the car to stand next to Nancy, who was indeed easy on the eyes.

I’m Chet Maxley and glad to be your date! Chet, marginally shorter than the others, was on the thin side, so thin that when in uniform his brass Navy-issue belt buckle looked incongruously like a rodeo star’s belt buckle, except it didn’t have a lariat embossed on it. Chet was wiry and stronger than he looked. This fact was not lost on his buddies who had learned the hard way not to wrestle with him. They used this hidden asset to surprise unruly local opponents in their infrequent bar fights. Unruly locals who, like locals everywhere in the world, were angry when local women preferred to go out with good-looking young uniformed men with money in their pockets.

The girl in the back seat, farthest away from the young men, opened her door and stepped out. I’m Bunny Prentiss. Who’s my date?

Shirley looked at the two remaining officers and pointed her finger at one of the two. You’re Bunny’s date, what’s your name?

Brad Jackson.

OK Brad, introduce yourself to Bunny, and we’re nearly there.

Brad walked around the rear of the car, closed Bunny’s door and escorted her to the curb. Brad was almost a mirror image of Chet, except for weighing perhaps ten more pounds, and had dark brown eyes while Chet’s were blue.

The four girls admiringly noted that none of the men wore glasses, and indeed, their eyes were notably clear and piercing. They knew that as pilots, all the men had at least 20/20 vision, and probably a good deal better than that.

Bunny leaned against Brad, her slim, curvaceous body topped by a tanned, Rita Hayworth looking face, surrounded by a tight cap of curly black hair. Brad was thinking that Aunt Mary had outdone herself picking out these four movie star look-alikes. Thanks, Aunt Mary, we sure owe you a big one!

Jack looked at the remaining girl in the back seat, realizing she was to be his date for the evening. He was mesmerized by the most impossibly lime green eyes he had ever seen. She had a milky white complexion and almost blue-black hair. Elizabeth Taylor had recently been introduced to the American movie screen and her stunning beauty was enhanced by her violet eyes. Supposedly the most beautiful eyes in America, Jack quickly decided that his date’s beat hers by a mile. Her thick luxurious mane of black hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders, dramatically softening her high cheekbones and causing her deep lime green eyes to stand out against her almost translucent white skin. She had full, slightly parted lips.

Jack leaned forward. Hi! I’m Jack Winship and, as your date for the evening, the luckiest man alive! He opened the door for his date and helped her out, delighted to discover she was very tall, that her wonderful eyes came to his chin. Jack, who was two inches over six feet, was tired of dancing with girls whose faces snuggled into his belt buckle. He knew why Shirley had picked him out to be this girl’s date since he was the only one there taller than her. The short-sleeved bodice of her dress failed to conceal the fullness of her breasts and slender waist. Her bare legs were long, and she was wearing sandals.

Hi! My name is Leslie Wainwright. Not only are we both tall, your last name starts with a ‘W,’ same as mine. That should make it easy to remember. Leslie grinned at Jack as she offered her hand for him to shake.

He was struck by her easy manner. Blind dates, in his experience, usually started on an awkward note, but Leslie was gracious and sure of herself. Leslie, your name could start with a ‘Z’ and I’m sure I would have no trouble remembering it.

Are you always this flattering with girls you have just met? Leslie asked. You had better be careful, I could get used to being treated with such attention.

That’s probably a good idea, because I have every intention of continuing to treat you like this. And you can be sure I don’t say that lightly. In fact, you’re the first blind date I’ve ever said it to.

The other six young people watched this exchange with detached amusement. The girls were used to seeing Leslie dazzle the opposite sex, the men were used to seeing girls fall for Jack in a hurry. But the guys weren’t used to seeing Jack seemingly enthralled by a date. Love ’em and leave ’em was Jack’s motto. He darn well wasn’t acting that way tonight, though.

Guys, why don’t you and your dates jump in Shirley’s car and go somewhere nice, Jack suggested. Leslie and I will take my car and meet you later tonight at the Traffic Light, around ten or so. We wouldn’t all fit in one car anyway.

Chet replied, Hey, Jack what’s the deal? We were supposed to go out together, not split up. Tom backed up Chet’s question, saying his Aunt Mary intended for them to go out as a group.

Jack didn’t budge. Listen guys, I know it’s a change in plans, but if it’s OK with Leslie, I’d like to do it this way. Besides, we’re going to meet you at the Traffic Light later anyway. Leslie, what do you say?

Jack, just what is it you want us to do by ourselves? Leslie was entranced by Jack, partially because he was a good bit taller than she. Height was a problem she often encountered, since boys never liked their dates to be taller than they were. But darn it, no one had any right to be as good looking as this guy, and confidant as all get out. Those crystal blue eyes were killers. Slim, tall, I bet he’d be a vision in uniform, a vision most girls would die for the chance to go out with, but why doesn’t he want to go with the rest of the gang? First dates were always easier in a crowd; besides, she could stick with one of the girls if Jack turned out to be a dud. Leslie was suspicious of good looking guys, they were always stuck on themselves, and their favorite topic of conversation was their favorite person: themselves. Boring!

Leslie, listen, I’d like to get to know you as quickly as possible, and it’ll be easier if we’re by ourselves. I know just where I want to take you, and I don’t want these hot shots to hear what I have in mind.

Hot shots?

Oh, sorry. That’s Navy slang for pilots who think they’re great, which is exactly what these guys think they are. Not that I’m as sure of that as they are. Sometimes we call them hot pilots or aces. So, anyway, what do you say?

All right, Jack, I’ll take a chance, but remember, we’re meeting them at the Traffic Light at ten, OK? Jack assured Leslie that was his plan and said good-bye to the astonished pilots. This was a new Jack. He had always liked being in a crowd before. Shoving off by himself with a blind date was definitely unusual.

CHAPTER 2

The car with the other three couples shoved off, its occupants happily debating over where to go. Tom, Jack noticed, had taken over driving duties, probably much to Shirley’s relief. He took Leslie’s arm, turned her around and announced, Well, we’re here.

Where’s ‘here,’ Jack? a puzzled Leslie asked. Jack didn’t reply, simply walked Leslie up the worn cement steps to a large granite building whose huge front doors were fronted by soaring Doric columns of granite. Georgia marble lined the walls and floors. It had been built in 1903 and inscribed over the doors was The Norfolk Public Library. The building here at the foot of Freemason Street was well past its prime. Leslie was astonished. Why in the world was Jack bringing her here? He apparently knew where he wanted to go. He passed by the information desk without a glance, and headed towards the rear of the building. Veering right at the last archway they entered a smallish room where an older woman sat at a wooden desk

OK, Leslie, who’s your favorite poet? Jack whispered. Leslie stared at him. What in the world? She had never been asked that, not even by the boy she had gone steady with in high school, and surely not by a blind date! Jack was not only the best looking man she had seen in months, he also was full of surprises. And she had only known him for ten minutes. What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?

No, I’m all right, just flabbergasted.

It’s this way. I told you I wanted to get to know you as quickly as possible. I’ve never felt this way before. I just know I do. It may sound strange, but I’ve got a theory about people. You can tell a lot about a person by what they read and who they admire as a writer. So tell me, who’s your favorite poet? You do have one, don’t you?

Of course I do. Emily Dickinson! Leslie blurted.

Jack smiled, as if he had already known what her answer was going to be. He took her hand and his heart jumped. What in hell is that, he wondered. You know nothing about this girl except she’s tall, remarkably good looking and a nurse. He had seen plenty of that combination during his time in Norfolk, but he had never felt this way before. Slow down, buddy boy, if you know what’s good for you. You’re going way too fast. Strangely, he didn’t care. He had never believed in love at first sight, thought it only existed in romance novels, but for the first time he wasn’t sure. And he was desperate not to get off on the wrong foot with this one.

Leslie was also bewildered by her feelings towards this stranger. Three years out of high school and 21, she had dated enough to know that her reactions to this guy were different from any she had experienced before. She had known her steady in high school was not the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, even while dating him. He was nice enough, and ensured she would have a date for the proms and other dances. That had seemed very important to her and her friends at the time. They had also indulged in making out in various back seats, something she had found fascinating and delightful. But she had kept it under control, knowing instinctively it was up to her to set the boundaries. No hands below the waist was her steadfast rule, much to her boyfriend’s dismay. They had gone their separate ways when she entered nurses’ training at the hospital and he had left for college.

So how could she be having these feelings for Jack, whom she barely knew? Feelings which were counter to her well-structured plan for earning her nurse’s cap. Her parents still did not understand why she had chosen this path rather than attending college as they had assumed she would from the day she was born. Her grades had always been good, and she had taken tough courses, too—math, science, English and French for four years. Her teachers had suggested that she take the normal courses girls took in those days, home economics, typing, and bookkeeping. Leslie had insisted her mind was as good as any boy in her class, far better than most in fact, and her grades proved her right.

When the brochures her mother requested arrived, brochures from the better women’s colleges near their home, Queen’s College, Salem College, Meredith College and other like schools, Leslie would have none of it. Ever since her only sister had died from scarlet fever when Leslie was twelve, she had known she wanted to be a nurse.

So what was going on here with this guy Jack? On the surface he seemed a particularly poor prospect if she was looking for a husband, which she wasn’t. Despite his good looks, wonderful manners and engaging ways, he was in the Navy. Here today, gone tomorrow. She knew nothing about him other than that he was probably a college graduate since he was an officer. What sort of family did he come from? Where had he been raised? Did he believe in God, which was something very important to Leslie who never missed church. Questions, questions, questions. And precious few answers. Well, Leslie concluded, this blind date was turning into a strange one, even if it had been a mighty pleasant one so far. What’s next, she wondered.

Jack, holding Leslie’s hand, strode by the desk manned by an elderly, gray haired woman, and passed through a doorway marked with a small white sign that was smudged with fingerprints, indicating Poetry Section. The few shelves held slim books of poetry, arranged in alphabetical order, by the poets’ names. Jack selected a volume. They sat down at a table, and Jack started reading to her. Some of her favorites, as it turned out. Leslie was impressed. Navy pilot or not, this guy obviously had more to him than she might have guessed.

Jack, tell me, is Dickinson your favorite poet, too?

No, she isn’t, although I like her well enough. My favorite is A. E. Housman.

Hmm, he’s too morbid for me.

Just on the surface, I think, Jack replied. I see I’m going to have to spend some time discussing some of his poems with you. Maybe I can get you to change your mind. At least I’m going to enjoy trying!

Eager to learn more about this intriguing fellow, Leslie asked him to tell her about himself.

What’s to tell? What you see is what you get. I’m just a Navy pilot like the other guys. We’re a dime a dozen here in Norfolk.

That’s not what I mean and you know it! I already know that, silly! Tell me where you grew up, what’s your family like, how did you get in the Navy and why did you want to be a pilot?

Whew! What a lot of questions! I’m not even sure my roommates know that much about me. But if you really want to know, here goes.

For the next ten minutes or so Jack described growing up in a small Minnesota town as a PK or preacher’s kid. His dad was a Methodist minister, his mother a music teacher. No brother or sister, just a succession of family pets, mostly dogs. He played football and basketball in high school, activities his parents allowed as long as he kept his grades up. He loved reading and listening to music. Frank Sinatra was his favorite singer, Glenn Miller or Tommy Dorsey his favorite orchestras. He couldn’t believe Leslie had never heard of Tom Lehr, a Harvard professor who wrote the wittiest lyrics you ever heard. Good grades came easily, but continuing on to college was next to impossible considering his father’s meager salary as a minister. Jack had worked his way through the University of Minnesota and was selected for Navy Officers Candidate School after graduation.

At first Jack’s father disapproved of his entering the military; however, his mother and her brother convinced him it was an honorable career. He acquiesced, but with misgivings. Jack, always remember God comes first. You’ve been raised a good boy and I’m proud of your church attendance. You’ve never gotten into any sort of trouble and have a good set of values to guide you. Your mother and uncle have convinced me you can handle the temptations that are sure to come your way. We’ll miss you, but it’s time to make your own way in the world. Remember, God first and everything else second, and make us proud of you. Jack told Leslie it was easily the longest talk he and his dad had ever had.

Leslie was impressed by Jack’s willingness to talk about God’s place in his life, the simple upbringing he had experienced, his ability to take what came. He hadn’t said so, but the change from being a PK in a small Midwestern town to the unique culture of the Navy must have been a difficult transition.

Did the other guys at school know you were a PK?

Sure, I had nothing to hide. They didn’t really care, as long as I showed I had the stuff to fit in, did my assignments and played sports. I didn’t have the ability to play varsity, but was pretty damn good on intramural teams, and that was a big deal at school. Jack continued. After graduation from Officers Candidate School, I was accepted into flight training. I did well there, so I got a fighter pilot assignment, which I badly wanted. And I love it, not only the flying part but the Navy part as well. Getting to see parts of the world I only dreamed about back in Minnesota, plus hanging out with a great bunch of guys. The only part I dislike is not seeing my parents very often. They can’t come here and my duties prevent me from going back home more than once a year. Jack leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. He was obviously contemplating what he had said, that he hadn’t really thought about his life and how much he liked it until just now. Jack said that brought Leslie up to date on him, what about her?

Well, I sure can’t compete with all the things you’ve done, but here goes. My family lives right here, well, outside of Norfolk really. I grew up here and was taller than any boy in my class by fifth grade which made it rough for a while. My mother kept telling me they would catch up, but you know what? They never did! She meant well, I guess. Things really got rough for me when I was twelve and my only sister died of scarlet fever. I didn’t have any other sisters or brothers and it took me some time to get over it. I guess I never really have. That’s when I decided to become a nurse. My parents didn’t like the idea. Still don’t, but maybe they’re reconciled to it by now. I hope so, anyway. After high school I entered nurses’ training at the Norfolk General Hospital Nursing School on Colely Avenue and here we are, three years later. I love my job in the pediatric department and intend to work there after graduation. So, Jack, there you are: Leslie Wainright’s life history. Not very exciting, is it?

Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. I think you’ve accomplished a lot. I know nurses’ training is difficult, and it had to be hard to go against your parents’ wishes when you were only eighteen. But you haven’t told me anything about your personal life, like what do you do when you’re off duty?

Jack, that’s a harder question than it sounds. Let’s just say I enjoy dancing, music, reading and playing tennis, OK?

Ever play golf?

My dad loves it and tried to get me interested, but, frankly, it seems to be a huge waste of time. And darn hard, too. At least in tennis it’s easy to hit the ball back and forth. Why? Do you like golf?

Yes, but it doesn’t like me. You’re absolutely right. It is hard and requires practice, something I don’t have time for right now.

They continued talking about movies, books, music and the various things they were interested in. It was all light stuff, as if they were both afraid to get into too serious a conversation so early in their relationship. While neither knew what the other was thinking, they both realized this wasn’t going to be their only date. Then a softly ringing bell announced that the library was closing. They were amazed. Nine o’clock already? Jack and Leslie left quietly, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Jack opened the car door for Leslie, and closed it after she had been seated. Wow, Leslie thought, good manners too. Is this guy for real or is he just trying to impress me? Time will tell, but so far, this was the best blind date she had ever been on. She glanced over at the steering wheel Jack was gripping lightly as he drove the car down the street. Good! It didn’t have a lover’s knob on it. Leslie hated the darn things, thought they were dangerous as well as tacky. Jack noticed Leslie studying the steering wheel and asked her what was on her mind.

Leslie, too embarrassed to tell him, merely replied, Oh, nothing.

Jack didn’t believe her, but let it drop. Leslie. Do your friends call you that or a nickname of some sort?

Gee, Leslie thought, another question I’m going to duck.

No, just Leslie. It would sound like a boy’s name if they shortened it. It would be some time before Leslie revealed she had been called Slats by Trudy, her best friend in high school. A dig at her height, of course.

OK by me. Leslie it is. Now, if I’m right, the hospital is on the way to the Traffic Light. Right? Jack asked.

Yes it is. Why do you ask?

Boy, you’re going to think I’m nothing but a question machine, but here’s another one: do you have any shoes with heels on them?

Jack, that’s the craziest question you’ve asked yet. Of course I do. What do think I wear to church or dress-up affairs? Not that I think it’s any of your business. It’s kinda personal if you ask me. No man, except maybe Dad, tells me what to wear and that sure includes you! Leslie was simmering. The nerve of the big jerk!

Oh no, Leslie, that came out all wrong. Of course I would never tell you what to wear, in fact, I think that dress is gorgeous and looks perfect. And I like the sandals, too. It’s just that they have a jukebox at the Traffic Light and I hope we can get in some dances.

I know perfectly well there’s a jukebox there. So what? Leslie was still angry.

Man, this conversation is going downhill in a hurry, Jack said desperately. Maybe I should just start over. Leslie agreed, and asked him to get to the point, if there was one. Leslie, I hope to dance with you at the Traffic Light, and if it’s OK with you, we could stop by the hospital so you can switch shoes to a pair with heels. I’m so tall it will make dancing with you much easier. There! That’s how I should have said it.

You’re darn right, Jack, that’s what you should have said all along. I love dancing with heels on, but as I told you, I’m careful to always wear flat shoes on blind dates. Boys simply hate to go out with girls who are taller than they are. How was I to know you’d be at least six inches taller than me? Not that I don’t like it!

Whew! Are we all right again? Am I off the stupid hook?

Yep, we’re back on track. You sure had me going there for a time. I was getting ready to tell you there was a bear on the farm.

Leslie, you’ve lost me. What bear?

Leslie shrugged as she shifted in her seat. It’s what sharecroppers used to say when it was really hot out in the fields and they wanted to go in and cool off for a bit. That’s what they’d tell the foreman who’d have to let them go in while a search was made to make sure there wasn’t a bear on the premises. Of course the foreman wised up to the ruse soon enough, but then it simply became a saying the sharecroppers used to let the bosses know they were at their limit.

Jack exclaimed, relieved, So what you meant was you were close to ending the date and have me let you off at the hospital. I’m glad we got things straightened out in time. Man, am I glad! I’m crazy about you!

Leslie was exhilarated that Jack had let that slip, but she couldn’t let him go on like that. Jack, just hush up, you haven’t known me long enough to say something like that. What’s it been? Less than two hours? So keep your mouth in neutral, let me off at the nurses’ entrance, and I’ll switch shoes.

Jack, of course, knew where that door was and pulled up shortly. Leslie let Jack open both the car door and the hospital door as she hurried up to her room, swiftly changed shoes, and returned. Next stop: the Traffic Light and some dancing, something Leslie was good at and hoped Jack was at least passable. If he was, they were going to make a fine looking couple out on the small dance floor.

CHAPTER 3

They parked in front of the Traffic Light, which was more like a roadside diner than anything else. It was a just a small place with a dirt parking lot circled by some scraggly trees from which yellow lights hung, but was popular with the younger set as a place to hang out. It had a juke box, a small area jokingly referred to as the dance floor, and served liquor.

Leslie and Jack spotted the others sitting at a round table with two empty chairs. Shirley waved them over and promptly asked Leslie if she needed to visit the rest room. Nope, sure don’t, replied Leslie as she sat down with Jack. Leslie knew Shirley wanted to pump her about where she and Jack had gone and what they had done. While good friends, Leslie didn’t believe she owed Shirley an explanation, especially since Shirley was a good bet to blab it around as soon as she could. Shirley stared daggers at her, but Leslie didn’t care. Jack was beginning to strike her as someone special, and certain things are best left unsaid. The visit to the library was so unusual it was one of those things.

Someone had put a quarter in the jukebox and five Glenn Miller tunes were coming up. Come on Leslie, they’re playing our song! Jack yelled into her ear, the noise level at a dull roar due to the large crowd and the low ceiling. They stood up and started for the dance area. The first tune was Little Brown Jug, and Jack swung Leslie enthusiastically into the fast number. Leslie thankfully observed Jack knew how to dance; indeed, he was a darn good dancer! He led well, using his left hand behind her back to let her know where they were headed and was amazingly light on his feet. Around and around they spun, inventing jitterbug steps as they improvised. The other dancers, recognizing a good dance team when they saw one, stepped back in a circle to give them more floor room and watched with appreciation as the two tall people put on a show. The watchers gave them a hand when the song ended. Bugle Call Rag, American Patrol and Tuxedo Junction were the next three up, and Leslie and Jack never missed a beat. A few of the other dancers returned to the floor, keeping clear of them and enjoying the music themselves.

The set closed with a slow number, Serenade in Blue, and Jack and Leslie danced cheek to cheek, oblivious to everyone but each other. Jack, Leslie murmured, where in the world did you learn to dance like that? You’re a wonderful dancer!

Jack replied, Hey, I could ask you the same question. But I’ll let you in on a secret. It was my mother. She insisted I take dancing lessons in grade school, and I found out I liked it. I kept at it in high school and took part in student musicals. But you gotta keep that under your hat, I sure don’t want the guys to find out, they would tease me no end.

OK, mum’s the word, but don’t you think they’ll wonder how you got so good?

Gee, I don’t know. All I know is they have never asked me about it. Maybe they don’t care. They returned to the table, Leslie basking in the nice comments thrown their way by the envious girls whose dates were far less smooth on the dance floor. After cooling off with a couple of beers they returned to the dance floor where the magic continued.

Jack, I don’t want this evening to ever end. I have never, ever had such a good time!

Me, too. Now let’s just enjoy the music, Jack murmured, holding Leslie closely as Moonlight Cocktail surrounded them in their blissful cocoon. Damn, Jack thought, this remarkable girl could grow on a guy, in fact, he was pretty sure he was already a goner. Intelligent, large green eyes you could get lost in, curves in all the right places, maybe even a better dancer than he, long shapely legs—what more could a guy want? OK, money would have been nice but, in Jack’s limited experience at the university, rich girls were usually stuck on themselves, particularly good looking ones. And to say this nurse was a ravishing beauty was on the mark.

Leslie, let me ask you something. As good looking as you are, did you ever enter a beauty pageant?

Leslie stopped dancing and stared at Jack in horror. Damn! Jack knew he had put his foot in his mouth once again.

Are you crazy? Do I strike you as the kind of a girl interested in letting people stare at me like I was a piece of meat? Shame on you for even thinking such a thing. I reckon, maybe you aren’t as smart as I thought you were! Imagine! Me, getting up on a stage in a swimsuit and smiling like a ninny. Ridiculous!

She stormed off the dance floor without a backward glance, leaving Jack holding on to thin air. He followed her to their table wondering how he was going to put things between them right again. Damn, this girl had a quick temper!

I’m truly sorry, I had no idea you felt that way. Most girls I’ve known would have been pleased to have been thought pretty enough to be in a beauty pageant. And I don’t care what you think, you darn well are better looking than any beauty queen I ever saw!

Leslie considered Jack’s remarks. It was an apology, even though he had been dumb to think that about her. OK, Jack, you’re off the hook. But don’t you ever think such a thing about me again. A beauty pageant! Of all things! Can’t you just see me up there, reading a book of poems while the other girls twirl batons? Leslie giggled. Relieved, Jack took her hands in his big ones and promised her he’d never picture her in a beauty contest again. Well, he amended to himself, he probably would be imagining her in a swimming suit, but she didn’t need to know it!

And don’t go undressing me in your mind, either, mister, Leslie warned.

Jack was startled, and grinned sheepishly. Could she see through him that easily? Wow, she was a handful!

The evening soon came to a close. The girls were on duty the next morning and the guys had to report in at 0800 at the Fentress Naval Auxiliary Landing Field in Chesapeake, seven miles southwest of their regular station, the Oceana Naval Air Station in Virginia Beach. Fentress was used as a Field Carrier Landing Practice (FCLP) facility and they were to start refresher carrier landing training there.

Leslie, we’ll be back next Friday. Will you go out to dinner with me then? Jack asked as they stood outside the nurses’ entrance. Leslie paused for a moment, as if she was thinking it over. She watched Jack tense up and decided she liked him too much to kid around like this.

Jack, I can’t wait, she truthfully replied, and surprising herself—and him—leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. Seven o’ clock she called back over her shoulder as she scurried through the door slightly embarrassed. Who cares, she thought. I loved feeling his face with my lips! Did he taste good! Shivers ran through her body as she leaned against the wall inside the closed door. Why in the world do my knees feel weak? Surely one little sisterly kiss couldn’t have that much impact on her, could it?

Jack returned to the car, feeling so good he almost started singing out loud. Driving back to the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters at Oceana Naval Air Station, all he could think about was Leslie. What a beauty, what a fine conversationalist, what a great dancer! And how about that kiss? Where did that come from? Jack didn’t really care, all he knew was that he couldn’t wait for next Friday.

Entering his shabby pre-WWII room at the BOQ he found the other three guys waiting for him. Ignoring the questions hurled at him he proceeded to undress and grabbed his ditty bag for a trip to the communal head down the hall. He told them only that he had a marvelous time with Leslie and intended to see her again. They weren’t satisfied and were waiting in his room when he returned.

Guys, don’t you think you need to grab some sack time? We’re going to be picked up at 0700 for the trip over to Fentress for a week of shooting carrier landings and takeoffs. You need to be concentrating on that or you’re going to be in trouble. So good night and get the hell out of here! I’ll see you at 0615 for breakfast.

CHAPTER 4

They were waiting outside the next morning when several white Navy Chevrolet Carryalls—truck-based vehicles that could be described as heavy duty station wagons—pulled up the next morning. All carried canvas Valv-Paks packed to the gills. These bags, which unfolded when unzipped, carried an amazing amount of stuff and had been used by officers since WWII. All the Carryalls bore U.S. government license plates and the legend FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY painted on their doors. They were driven by enlisted airdales in white uniforms. Jack smiled as he climbed in. The cars were stripped, with manual shifts, and if they had ever had radios, they didn’t any more. The Navy, sensitive to taxpayers seeing them drive by in comfort, had made sure they were stripped of every creature comfort including hub caps.

The pilots were dropped off at the Fentress BOQ, and were directed to report to the ready room at 0800. The assembled pilots, sitting in the cramped tight-fitting desk/chairs, struggled to stand to attention when several senior Navy officers entered the room. The senior officer, a four striper, told them to stand easy and introduced himself. "I’m Captain Armstrong, and I am the Commanding Officer of this facility, the Fentress Naval Auxiliary Landing Field. For the next five days you are going to be familiarized with the Chance Vought F4U-5 Corsair, which I have been informed you have experience flying at Oceana. This flying will be different: takeoffs and landings as if you were on a carrier. With one exception: there will be no arresting wires. Other than that you will refresh yourselves on the correct carrier landing techniques. It will be your only chance to learn these techniques prior to your upcoming deployment on the USS Saratoga."

There was a murmur from the crowd, this was the first they had heard of a carrier deployment.

Silence in the ranks! barked an officious looking commander flanking the captain. Captain Armstrong continued with his welcome speech, one which he had obviously given many times before. He finished by wishing them good luck and left the room.

Gentlemen, I’m Commander Wilson, your lead flight instructor this week. Mornings will be spent in the classroom, afternoons practicing takeoffs and landings. You will find the runways the same width as a carrier; however the length will be extended to adjust for not having the boat heading into the prevailing wind at 30 knots. But you will learn the proper approach pattern when landing on a carrier and Landing Signal Officers will guide you. All takeoffs and landings will be graded and posted in this ready room every night. The lowest 10% will not be allowed to continue on to join the fleet. This will be a difficult week but one required to prepare you for flying off of—and returning to—a carrier. After all, that’s your main job in the Navy. All of you have done it before; however, not in Corsairs. We’re here to help you in any way we can. Schedules for each day’s training will be posted every night by 1900. Right now, split off for classrooms A, B, C and D in this building. Your names will be found outside of the one you’re assigned to. Good luck and good flying.

Little did Jack or his fellow pilots know it, but those were to be the last kind words spoken to them that week. It was Hell Week—one they had heard about, but they had not believed the stories. They were to find that the stories were all too true.

Classroom time was spent reviewing the NATOPS, the Naval Aviation Training & Operations publication for the F4U-5 Corsair fighter plane which was much like an owner’s manual for a car. Introduced into service on carriers in January 1945, it truly became the leading fighter of the Navy’s Pacific War effort. A total of 2,140 Japanese airplanes were destroyed by the Corsair with a corresponding loss of only 189 aircraft for the Navy and Marines. The last production model would roll off the assembly line on Christmas Eve, 1952, completing the longest production time of any fighter in American history, slightly over ten years. The original Corsairs were fighters whereas these later Corsairs were fighter-bombers.

The Corsair was built around the Pratt & Whitney R-2800 Double Wasp Radial engine, the same engine found in the Republic P-47 Thunderbolt. Big engines require big propellers (the Corsair’s four propellers were 13′2″ long), which required a high ground clearance, which in turn necessitated heavy and complicated landing gear mechanisms. A novel approach was used in the Corsair by employing an inverted gull-wing configuration which allowed a shorter and lighter landing gear. This also permitted a less complicated retraction mechanism. Many of the pilots considered the Corsair on the ground to be somewhat ugly, but in the air they thought she was beautiful. Many compared her handling characteristics to be like riding a unicycle in that she was prone to flip over more easily than any other fighter.

Jack and his friends had hundreds of flying hours in the Corsair; however, they had not flown them on carriers for several months. The post-WW II years had not been kind to military budgets, and planes and carriers were in short supply. This was the duty they had been waiting for, and they were confident of their abilities. While still in the building, Jack pulled on his form-fitting G-suit, pants which had air bladders in the pelvic area and all down the legs. The bladders would squeeze to cut off blood flow below the hips to keep blood up in his upper body to improve his vision when doing maneuvers. It was spring-loaded and calibrated to respond to the G-forces. The more Gs, the more air it would allow in the bladders to apply more pressure. He then pulled on his flight boots, grabbed his personal helmet and was ready to go.

That afternoon Jack stood at the wing root as the plane captain, the sailor responsible for servicing that aircraft, told him about the status of the airplane, and helped him properly fasten his personal gear—the Mae West inflatable life preserver, the survival gear pack, and a .45 ACP pistol. He climbed up onto the right wing, then into the cockpit, using the steps, hand grips and walkways provided. The plane captain strapped him into his parachute and seat, gave him a thumbs-up, and then got off the airplane. Settling down in the seat he discovered the previous pilot had been a short guy. He cranked the handle on the right side of his seat to lower the seat the maximum nine inches. He then adjusted the rudder and brake pedals and rotated the butterfly valve by foot to maximize the fresh air intake available through the cockpit ventilator. Finally he tugged the harness as tight as he could. Although he wasn’t going to need oxygen while practicing take offs and landings, Jack checked the mask fit by squeezing off the corrugated breathing tube and inhaling lightly.

To the uninitiated, the numerous gauges on the main instrument panel, plus the ones on the consoles on both sides of the cockpit, would be intimidating, but to Jack they were old friends, and a careful look revealed everything was OK. Jack next made a visual check that the wings were fully spread, insuring that the wing hinge pins were home and the red closing doors were not visible at the wing joints. He looked down from the cockpit to make certain there was a fire extinguisher in place, then made an I’m-gonna-wind-it-up motion with his hand. He went through the complicated routine required to start the engine.

He was accustomed to the loud noise it made when the starter switch was turned on. A large cloud of black smoke obscured the engine before it ran smoothly. Jack then released the starter switch and the primer switch. It was a tested, rugged, powerful engine and very reliable. He next torqued the stick, ensuring the various controls were working properly. Satisfied that he and the plane were ready, Jack taxied out to the runway using the conventional S—turn procedure since, with the nose high, he couldn’t see directly in front of him.

The five days passed by in a hurry. The skills required to properly land and take off from a carrier were reacquired. The Corsair had some quirks as all planes do, but unlike some of their classmates, Jack and his friends had no trouble flying it. It was fast with speeds in excess of 300 knots, and had excellent maneuverability. Once they learned to conquer the Corsair’s dangerous spin characteristics, it was a plane flyers loved to fly. All four scored well, and each night they found themselves in the top