Soldier: a Memoir: Volume I

By Neal Griffin

This memoir records Mr. Griffins life during his twenty years of military service. It begins when he was eighteen and joined the army and ends when he retired at thirty-eight. It describes his flaws, struggles, successes, failures, weaknesses, and insecurities as he faced the challenges of military service. At the same time, it examines the relationship between two kids who got married too young. It describes their struggles and failures during the turmoil of army life, including many overseas moves, raising kids, loneliness from frequent and long separations, and the results.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524625108

Neal Griffin

NEAL GRIFFIN is originally from a small town in Wisconsin and is the author of Benefit of the Doubt and A Voice From the Field. During his career in law enforcement, Griffin was Tactical Operations Team Leader, Narcotics Investigator, Hostage Negotiator, and Supervisor of a Homicide Unit. He's written about police ethics and the relationship between police and the communities they serve. Recently retired from the force, Griffin lives in southern California with his wife, Olga Diaz.

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Soldier:

A Memoir

Volume I

Neal Griffin

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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© 2016 Wimberly Griffin. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/02/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-2511-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-2512-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-2510-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016913571

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgment

Preface

Chapter 1 The Beginning

Chapter 2 Basic Training

Chapter 3 Advanced Training

Chapter 4 Jump School

Chapter 5 Germany at Last

Chapter 6 Back in the Army

Chapter 7 Second Tour in Germany

Chapter 8 Officer Candidate School

Chapter 9 Dominican Republic

Chapter 10 Flight School

Acknowledgment

S pecial thanks to Kate Page Korp for her warmhearted review and wealth of positive suggestions. She donated endless hours editing the draft to make it readable and coherent. Her kind support and encouragement gave me the confidence to share my story openly. I am blessed and forever grateful for her friendship.

Preface

W hy would I, a simple man of no worldly importance, write my memoir? There was one reason that compelled me to undertake the task. My daughter once told me that she really never knew what I did while I was in the army. She knew that I left in the morning and came home at night, I was often gone for long periods of time, and her mom and I fought a lot. It occurred to me that was about as much as I knew about my father. I decided then that my descendants should know more about me than that.

I have been as honest and forthright as possible in what I wrote. That was my vow when I started. In keeping that vow, I realized I was confessing my failures at the same time I was searching for myself. Tempted to modify my vow of honesty, I found I couldn’t. That left me with a second purpose for this memoir: I would make it an act of penitence. Catholics confess their sins to a priest for forgiveness and reconciliation with God. This memoir is my confession. It is my way of confessing and asking forgiveness from God and my family and descendants.

This memoir chronicles my life during twenty years of military service. It begins when I was eighteen and joined the army and ends when I retired at thirty-eight. It describes my flaws, struggles, successes, failures, weaknesses, and insecurities as I faced the challenges of military service. At the same time, it chronicles the relationship between two kids who got married too young. It describes their struggles and failures during the turmoil of army life, numerous overseas moves, and raising kids, and it discusses the loneliness from frequent and long separations and the consequences.

I am not sure who would want to read such a memoir. My friends and family might. Others might because in the end, it’s only a story of love and life set in a military background. The reality of twenty years of living is that there’s a lot of boredom in it. Army life is much the same. There is a saying that piloting an aircraft is about hours and hours of boredom interrupted by minutes of sheer terror. Reading what I have written can be described likewise: pages and pages of boredom interrupted by a paragraph or two of amusement or penance, excitement, or the pain love inflicts. But my life during this period was what I made it. I can’t change what is. In my defense, I have corrected all that was bad about the man I was. I have made peace with God and myself, and I am satisfied with the man I have become. I hope my family and friends can forgive me for my failures. I have at last been able to.

Names have been changed to avoid any embarrassment to those who knew me during this period.

Chapter 1

The Beginning

To all things there is a season:

A time to be born, a time to die:

A time for the child, a time for the man.

M y eighteenth birthday was April 22, 1956, and I joined the army on July 31, 1956. The thirty-first was a Saturday, and my joining the army surprised everyone, including me.

I was still living at home in an old, weather-beaten, run-down house in the little tourist town of Jacksonville Beach, Florida. The house sat two blocks from the Atlantic Ocean. A large screened-in porch covered the front of the house, and entry was through the porch to the main house. My room was off the side of the porch, providing me a private entrance.

I was sleeping late that Saturday morning, when the sound of someone banging on my door woke me. It was two of my classmates, Les and Hank. I had no idea why they would want to see me. We had not seen or spoken to each other since graduating from high school in June, and although we were friends and had known each other since grammar school, we were not hanging-around buddies, so it surprised me to see Les standing there. Before I could ask why they’d come, Les said, Neal, let’s join the army.

Les’s statement was like a bolt of lightning out of a blue sky. Les was an intellectual and what you would call a geek, though people didn’t use that word at the time. In all the time I had known him, he had never shown any interest in the stuff I liked, such as sports, hunting, fishing, and, especially, the military. While I, with two of my close friends, Bobby and Tommy, had joined the Marine Corps reserves in November 1955, Les’s actions were out of character and a surprise. Besides that, Les had a twin brother, Frank, and he never did anything without his brother and vice versa.

"What do you mean join the army?" I asked as if it were a joke.

Les replied enthusiastically, Neal, don’t you remember how you always talked about going to Germany? Well, there is a tank battalion forming at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. The army is shipping the battalion to Germany in six months. The army is recruiting men to fill out the positions in the battalion. I talked to the army recruiter last night, and he said that if we join the army today, he can get us assigned to that battalion. That means we would go to basic and advanced training and be in Germany by February of 1957.

As I listened to Les, I felt a tingle of excitement surge through my body. It was true. I often talked of going to Montana or to Germany. Montana was far away and had green valleys and snow-covered mountains. I think it was the distance that intrigued me the most. I wanted to take all the good in my life and get far away from the bad.

At that moment, Germany seemed a lot like Montana. When I was sixteen, I read an article in a magazine about Germany. There were beautiful pictures of this green land with snowcapped mountains and quaint towns. The article described how Germany was rebuilding after World War II and how friendly the people were to the Americans who were helping them rebuild. I had never seen snow, mountains, or such green valleys and fields. The article left an image in my mind that beckoned me, especially during some of my low periods. In those days, I had many dreams that I knew would never come true. However, based on what Les was saying, I realized I could make this dream come true.

I could go to Germany. I would have to leave Kate, my girlfriend. She was the one good thing in my life. But I was going to have to set her free anyway. The army would separate me from Kate, soften the impact of that separation, and keep me away despite how much I would want to be with her. Somehow, I felt that God had sent the answer and solution in the person of Les.

With no further thought, I heard myself saying, What do we have to do? as I started putting my clothes on.

We have to join this morning to complete basic training in time to go with the tank battalion to Germany, Les answered.

I’m ready, I said as I finished dressing. It had taken me about three minutes to decide to change my life. It remains the fastest decision with the most impact I ever made. It felt as if I were taking a breath of fresh air that was saving me from the life I would live if I did not take the chance. It set me on a course I was ill prepared for but unafraid to take. It would provide the opportunity to overcome the adverse effects of my first eighteen years.

I left with Les and Hank without saying a word to my family. Les was driving, and all the way to the army recruiter’s office, my spirits were soaring with the sensation that I was starting a new life.

The army recruiter, Sergeant Bollus, greeted us when we reached the office. He looked sharp in his khaki uniform. He was a World War II and Korean War veteran, and the three rows of ribbons on his chest testified to how well he had served. Like a salesman, he was both friendly and professional. He first asked, Are you guys sure you want to join the army? We said yes, and then he asked, Are you eighteen or over? When we said yes, he directed us to three desks with three stacks of forms and pencils on them. Fill those forms out, he said. If you have any questions, ask.

The first form asked for my last name, followed by my first name and middle initial. Well, all my life, I had gone by Neal, so I entered Griffin as my last name and Neal as my first name. I didn’t put anything down as my middle initial, since I didn’t have one.

It took us about an hour to complete and sign the forms. As we handed Sergeant B. the forms, he did a quick review. Looking at my form, he asked, Don’t you have a middle name?

No, I said. Just Neal.

He looked at me funny but didn’t say anything. Then he directed us to be at the Jacksonville Army Induction Center at eight o’clock on Monday morning for physicals and swearing-in ceremonies. Bring your birth certificates and toilet articles with you because you’ll be leaving Monday evening by train to Fort Jackson, South Carolina, for basic training. Say good-bye to your family and girlfriends on Sunday because you won’t be able to after you report to the induction center.

We were silent as Les drove toward my house to drop me off first. Finally, Les said, Wow, that was fast.

Did any of you guys talk this over with your family? I asked. They both said no. We sat in silence until we got to my house. I am sure we all were thinking about how to tell our families and friends and how they were going to react.

Les was our leader in this, and when he stopped at my house, he said, I’ll get Howell to drive us on Monday, so he can bring the car back. Be ready at six thirty so we can get there on time.

Thanks, I said, getting out of the car. Les drove away, and I stood there looking at my house, a little stunned at what I had done. Taking a deep breath, I walked up the stairs to the screened porch and opened the door.

Just as I entered the front porch, Mom opened the door to the living room. She looked at me with an expression of relief on her face and said in a raised voice, Neal, where have you been? You’ve been gone all morning without telling anyone. I’ve been worried sick about you. Mom spoke with a heavy southern accent. We all did.

Mom, I joined the army this morning. That’s where I’ve been—down at the army recruiter’s office, filling out the paperwork.

Oh my God! she said with a look of disbelief on her face. Why on earth did you do that? Why didn’t you tell us you were going to do that?

I didn’t know, Mom, that I was going to join the army until this morning, when Les and Hank woke me up.

What do Les and Hank have to do with you joining the army?

We joined the army together, Mom.

I can’t believe you are running off to join the army and leaving us. What are we going to do without you? How could you do this to us?

I did not know if she was going to get hysterical, but there was no doubt that I had hurt and upset her. By now, we had reached the living room, and my brother and sisters were gathered around, wanting to know what was going on. Still in disbelief, my mom angrily yelled, Your brother has run off and joined the army! My brother and sisters were all saying words that were supportive, which upset my mother even more. My father, hearing the commotion, came into the room to find out what was causing it. He had been sobering up from his last drunken binge.

My father was a hard-core alcoholic. Back then, alcoholism was poorly understood. We certainly did not understand it. What we understood was the miserable life we led because of his alcoholism. Today when I think back, it saddens me to think about how dysfunctional we were as a family. Dirt poor, with no social programs to serve as a safety net, we were a member of the white-trash class. I didn’t know what white trash meant in those days. The ability to recognize and describe us in that manner came decades later. The effects of this status and the constant rebellion against my father’s drunkenness were most often the source of my unhappiness. Knowing that people thought of me as white trash didn’t help in the self-esteem department either. This was the life from which I wanted to escape.

I had almost replaced my father as the family provider. This was the reason my mother was so upset. I was the one she had become dependent on, and now I was leaving. Before that morning, the responsibility of this dependency had shut my mind off to any life other then what I was living. Now, because some mysterious force had given Les the notion to join the army and guided him to me, I was going to leave it behind. I knew the decision was hurting Mom, but it was also hurting me, because I felt guilty about what I was doing. I felt as if I were abandoning my family

To clarify, a lot of my early life was good. I excelled in team sports, hunting, and fishing, which required individual effort and discipline. These were my comfort-zone areas, and I was good at them. Being white trash did not get in the way. I cannot count the times my skill as a hunter and an angler provided the only food we had to eat.

My father taught me to hunt and fish in his more sober moments. He instilled in me the undying belief that all life is precious. Son, he would say, life is precious, and you only kill game to provide food, never for sport, for trophy, or just because you can. These moments made me feel as if I had a father. I have lived by this simple philosophy all my life. I recognize now that despite the pain my father put me through, he was also responsible for some of the good baggage I carry.

Over the years, as my father’s drinking worsened, my mother became more and more dependent on me for support. As result, I had to work after school. In fact, I started working when I was eight years old. My friend Bobby got me a job selling the Jacksonville Beach weekly newspaper. He convinced Mrs. Page, the distributor, that I was old enough to sell papers. She gave me the job. Each week, I gave all the money I earned, about a dollar and a half, to my mother. Many times, that money provided what little food we had for the week.

To supplement the money from selling the weekly paper, I walked the streets of the Beach, as Jacksonville Beach was commonly called, searching for discarded soda bottles. I would get a two-cent deposit for each bottle. Sometimes I could make a dollar a week, depending on the number of bottles I found. At Christmastime, Bobby and I would go into the swamps and gather mistletoe. We would go from door to door, selling little bunches of mistletoe for fifteen cents each. When I turned twelve, I followed in Bobby’s steps and started working as pinboy, setting pins at the Beaches Bowling Alley. I averaged ten to twelve dollars a week doing this. The year was 1950, and I paid social security on this little amount. Even now, old memories take hold of me whenever I look at my social security account and see the contributions from 1950. It makes me tear a little for myself and for anybody who’s been where I’ve been.

Bobby and I were like brothers. He was two years older, and his life was similar to mine. Although his father drank, he was not the alcoholic my father was. Bobby’s mother also worked, so he had a more normal family life. Most of the time, he led, and I followed in his steps. When he left the bowling alley and got a job at a concession stand on the boardwalk, he helped me get a job there. In our senior year, he got a job as assistant manager of the local miniature golf and golf driving range, so I did too.

He was the first one to get a means of transport other than a bicycle. In our sophomore year, his father bought him a Cushman scooter. Bobby and I went everywhere on that scooter. In our junior year, 1955, he bought a 1949 Studebaker convertible, and we went everywhere in it.

Having transport improved our ability to earn money. It enabled us to drive to the Ponte Vedra Golf Course, about four miles south of the Beach. Ponta Vedra was a private community of wealthy people living around a world-class golf course. The greens were bordered by swamps, fields of palmettos, and what we called the lagoon. There, we could find golf balls in the rough along the holes or dive for them in the lagoon that the course was built around.

The lagoon was created by an old open-pit phosphate mine that had flooded to form about ten miles of lake. The lagoon presented the golfers with some tough water holes. It also provided some of the best bass and crappie fishing in the state of Florida. The only problem was that it was private property and constantly patrolled by a determined deputy sheriff. Needless to say, the layout of the golf course resulted in a lot of balls lost in the rough and in the water. All we had to do was get in the rough with snakes and find the lost balls. Then, at night, we would slip onto the golf course and go to those greens that bordered the water. There, along with alligators and snakes, we would dive for golf balls lost in the water.

After about an hour of our searching the rough, the golf club pro would discover us and chase us away. We would run through the swamps to another area of the golf course to look for more balls. Again, the pro would eventually find us and chase us away. We would keep this up until there were no areas left to search, and then we would head to where we had hidden the car and go home.

Our big problem at night was the deputy sheriff. He knew where to look for us when we were diving and where we would most likely hide the car, so either Bobby or I would watch while the other one dove. When the one diving came up, the one watching would dive. Occasionally, the sheriff would get lucky and sneak up on us, but we always got away by ignoring his warning to get out the water and instead swimming to the other side of the lagoon. The sheriff would have to run to the nearest footbridge to cross. That gave us time to swim back to the other side or get out of the water and run.

Diving for golf balls at night had its tense moments. In the summer, it wasn’t bad. During the winter, it could get cold. We didn’t have wet suits to keep us warm. Sometimes the cold water caused our testicles and penises to shrink so much that they would disappear. We worried about this, not knowing if it was doing any permanent damage to us. Sometimes diving was scary because the alligators would lie in the water, watching. As we skimmed along the bottom, we would run into or grab big catfish and other weird stuff. We took all these chances because we were hungry and could make good money selling the golf balls.

We always collected golf balls during the weekdays and sold them on the weekends. After collecting the balls from the rough and from diving, we would wash them. Then we cleaned them with peroxide, which whitened the cover. On the weekends, we would display them on a tee near the swamps, so we would have an escape route. As golfers arrived to tee off, we would ask them if they wanted to buy any balls. We figured they would, because some of them were losing a hell of a lot of balls in the rough and in the water. Balls in perfect condition with brand names, such as Titleist and Spalding Dot, we sold three for a dollar. Balls in good condition went four for a dollar. The rest we sold ten for a dollar. On a good weekend, we would make forty to sixty dollars, depending on how many balls we had collected. At seventeen years old, I was making more money than my father every month. As usual, most of it went to my mother.

Because of my jobs and golf ball business, life in terms of having food to eat and occasionally new clothes and shoes to wear got a little better for us. I even managed to save enough money to buy a 1947 Ford coup in October 1955. I wanted a car because I was gaining enough confidence to start dating. Besides, I was tired of borrowing my father’s old junker, which barely ran and constantly broke down. Despite our improved status, we stilled suffered mentally and physically from my father’s alcoholism.

My father was smart and had a good heart when he was sober and in control. He just couldn’t manage the devils that drove him to alcohol. He lived in a vicious cycle of one or two weeks of work and then a week or two in a drunken binge. When his money ran out and the drunks he hung around with ran out of money, he would start the week or two of sobering up. Of course, by then, he had lost his job. We had no money for food, clothes, or rent. Because of the lack of rent money, we didn’t live long in one house. We would get behind on rent, and eventually, the owners would evict us. Some of the owners felt sorry for us and let us stay as long as possible. Of course, we lived in the most run-down, neglected houses available. That meant I could never invite friends to visit or do anything normal teenagers did. To me, living at home did not mean what it usually means to other people. My vision of a home was a warm, friendly, and roach-free house, a happy place where you lived for years and always wanted to return to. Everybody I knew lived in a home. I never lived in a home, only in run-down houses with my father, mother, one brother, and three sisters.

Father was one of the best carpenters in the Beach, but because of his alcoholism, he was unreliable, and thus, the contractors were reluctant to hire him. Even when he was working, it was stressful. Each day around five o’clock, when it was time for him to come home, I could feel the anxiety building inside me. When he entered the house, I would look at his face because I knew the look he would have if he was drinking again. When he was drinking, we would cringe when we heard him coming. When I was younger, I just cried, but when I was about sixteen, I began to intervene and fight him when he started to beat up on my mother. We begged our mother to leave him and get us out of this horrible life, but in her mind, she saw no way she could provide for five kids and herself. There were no social programs to rescue us. Mom rationalized that the little money and support my father provided was worth the pain and misery he put us through. Then there was the support I provided.

I had a deep love for my mother because she suffered so much to take care of us. But the older I got, the more I began to feel that she could have gotten us out if she had wanted to. I often thought I would run away and get myself out, but then I would think about my mother and my younger brother and sisters and wonder what they would do without me there to help. I only knew of one other family worse off than we were. Like us, their family had three sisters and two brothers. The difference was that both the mother and father were alcoholics. Maybe my mother was right in the end, because we all turned out reasonably well. The two brothers from the other family are incarcerated for life, and the sisters became hookers.

I did about as well as I could in school, considering the problems I had to contend with at home. I was strong in math and poor in English. I was tough on a football field. I was a star football player in my senior year. Everybody knew me, and I knew everybody, but other than Bobby, I did not let myself get close to anyone. I envied most everyone, and for some reason or another, after I graduated from high school, I always remembered my classmates as being much taller than I. I did not date or have a girlfriend until my senior year. My home embarrassed me, and with my poor self-esteem, I was shy and unsure of myself. Thus, I avoided most circumstances that involved social contact, except sports.

In my senior year, I needed an elective to fill out my requirements, so I signed up for a creative arts class. The class was open to both seniors and juniors, and Kate Page, a junior, also had elected to take the art class. I had known Kate since I was eight years old. When I started selling the Jacksonville Beach Reporter, I would pick up my papers after school on Thursday afternoon at Mrs. Page’s office. Kate was Mrs. Page’s daughter. Mrs. Page was a single parent, so Kate would be at her office each week. She must have been taking a ballet class, because she was always in tights and practicing her steps when we picked up our papers. Since she was a grade behind me, I do not remember ever talking to her after I stopped selling papers. Now she sat across from me at the big art table that served as our desk.

She had grown into a dark-eyed beauty. She was a straight-A student, was witty, and was an active member of most after-school clubs and activities. She was also one of the most popular girls in school. I had heard that she dated a senior from one of the big schools in Jacksonville. She was way above my level as far as I was concerned. But during class, as we worked on our projects, we began to talk and joke with each other. She was interesting to talk to. Her attention toward me had an inherent ability to bring me a little ways out of my shell. Soon I was looking forward to art class. I looked for her before school and in the hallway when we changed classes, hoping for a chance to talk to her or wave. She made me feel good, and the way I was beginning to feel about her was like nothing I had experienced. However, I did not show my emotions, because I was too afraid of the rejection that I knew would occur, and I didn’t want to chance losing the relationship we had. I saw a beauty-and-the-beast bond that was not a fairy tale.

Our growing friendship didn’t go unnoticed by my friends and classmates. My close friends didn’t encourage me. I think they were being protective. Bobby said one day, Neal, she’s high class. Are you sure you want to get involved with her? Of course I did, but I was afraid to. I knew if I asked her out on a date and she accepted, she would find out how inadequate I was. She might want to come to my house, which I did not want anybody to see. So September and October passed with art class being the only time we spent together.

The rest of my life went on as usual. I played center and linebacker on the football team and enjoyed the reputation of being a stellar player. November rolled around, and it was time for the homecoming game and dance. As usual, I had no intention of asking anyone to the dance, although several girls had hinted that they were available.

It was four days before the Friday homecoming game and dance, and as usual, Kate and I were talking and joking. About five minutes before class ended, she became quiet, and then she said, Neal, would you do something for me?

Her tone was serious. I was still in a joking mood and responded with a line from a Humphrey Bogart movie I had recently seen. Kate, I’ll do anything for you. If you need someone rubbed out, just let me know, and I’ll take care of it.

She smiled and then, with a let’s-get-serious voice, said, That’s not it. I realized that she wasn’t joking and really wanted me to help her with something.

She was putting her art materials away and seemed as if she wanted to tell me something, so I said, Kate, come on. Tell me what you want. I can’t help you if I don’t know what you want.

She looked at me with an expression that I had never seen before and said softly, Take me to the homecoming dance. The expression on my face never changed, but the inside of me exploded in disbelief at what she had said. A queen had just asked her servant to escort her to the social affair of the year.

I heard myself saying, Of course I’ll take you to the homecoming dance. I’ll be glad to take you. I said I would do anything for you.

She looked at me with a relieved look on her face and said, You don’t think badly of me for asking you?

I thought about how hard it must have been for her to ask me to take her to a dance. This was thirty years before it was cool for a woman to ask a man for a date. I said, Kate, I could never think badly of you, and that’s a promise.

She seemed to be back in her light, happy mood when she asked, What will you tell people when they ask you about us going together to the dance?

I intuitively knew what she wanted me to say, but her integrity would never permit her to ask me to say it. I replied with a smile on my face, Well, I’ll tell everybody that I asked you to go to the dance, and you said yes.

The bell rang, ending the class, and she reached across and squeezed my hand, saying, See you. To this day, I can still feel that squeeze.

We parted, and I got to my next class. I tried to keep my attention on the instruction, but then the impact of what had just happened began to sink in. I was going to the homecoming dance with one of the most popular girls in the school. I should have been walking on air, but I wasn’t. I had never been on a real date before, much less to a dance. I didn’t know how to dance. Fortunately, I had clothes since the dress would be blue jeans, and I had blue jeans. I had a car. I would have to tell Kate that I didn’t know how to dance. I figured I would tell her tomorrow in art class. That way, she would have a chance to change her mind about going with me.

All during football practice, I kept thinking about my date with Kate. I took some hard hits because my mind wasn’t really on the practice. In the locker room after practice, everybody was talking about homecoming and who was taking whom. I was asked several times if I was going or whom I was taking. My answer, I’m thinking about asking someone, was evasive. But I wanted Kate to have a chance to back out after I told her I couldn’t dance.

Art class was the next-to-last class in the afternoon. For the first time since the class started, I was dreading going to class. When I saw Kate, she was her usual beautiful, bubbly self. Her Hi! as I sat down was sweet, as if there were something special between us.

I looked at her and said, Kate, you need to know that I have never been to a dance, and I don’t know how to dance.

I waited for her to say, Well, maybe it would be better if we didn’t go, but she smiled her sweet smile and said, That’s okay. We’ll learn together. It’ll be fun. The enthusiasm in her response left me with mixed emotions. I was still on the hook to go on a date with a girl I knew to be far superior to me in dating knowledge and experience. That would invariably cause me some embarrassing moments. On the other hand, she made me feel as if it didn’t matter. She knew the truth and still wanted to go with me. That ended my hesitation. We were going, and I would do my best. I smiled at her with a smile that said thank you from my heart. I am not sure if she picked up on it. The class started, and our attention turned to classwork.

When class was over, I asked her where she wanted to meet after the game. The dance would start in the school gymnasium immediately after the homecoming game. She said she would wait outside the locker room and meet me there. As we left the classroom, she started to say something but changed her mind. For the rest of the day and night, I could not stop thinking about what had happened and what was going to happen. The one thought that kept nagging at me was why she’d picked me. She had her choice of any boy she wanted. I never asked her why. I think she told me once that something had happened, and the boy from Jacksonville who was supposed to take her could not make it, which left her without a date.

The next eight months were the happiest in my life. By my graduation in June, I was deeply in love with the most wonderful girl in the world. What was remarkable was that I think Kate loved me. She overlooked my faults and lack of social skills. She was beautiful in both body and heart. She was witty, intelligent, and caring. I went to my first dance with her. She didn’t care if I couldn’t dance. She just said, We’ll learn together, even though I knew she was already a great dancer. She was precious; she was a diamond, while I was just barely a chunk of coal. She lifted me up and gave me the confidence to believe that I might be worth something someday. However, along with this, my growing love was an increasing concern.

I was graduating in June, and I knew that my life had to change. I had no plans to go to college, and besides, my grades were not good enough. I had no goals, no mentor other than Bobby, and no one to counsel me. I just plain didn’t know what I wanted to do. It was a helpless feeling, and I wasn’t mature enough to handle it. All I could see in my immediate future was some menial job that paid enough money to take care my family. The only thing I knew for sure was that I loved Kate dearly and wanted to be with her.

Kate had dreams and wanted to go to college. She had worked hard to prepare herself. She saw things that I could not. She always encouraged me, and when it came to her, I always did my best, but I knew I was way short of what it would take to be her equal. Kate’s mother also had worked hard to prepare her for being a success in life.

I liked Kate’s mother. I think she liked me too. She was always nice to me and never displayed any objections to me dating Kate. I knew there were probably a lot of parents who would have objected to their daughter dating someone like me. I knew that Kate’s mother had struggled to provide Kate with a good life and probably sacrificed a lot to ensure that Kate would get a good education and have a chance for success.

One day about three weeks before I was to graduate, I went by to see Kate. Kate wasn’t home at the time, but Mrs. Page said, Come in, Neal. I would like to talk to you for a few minutes. I went in, and she asked if I wanted a soda. We sat down at the table, and she said, Neal, what are your plans after you graduate?

Whenever Kate asked me that question, I could get away with an I don’t know response. However, I sensed that Mrs. Page was looking for serious answers, so I said the only thing I could that made sense: For now, I plan on getting a job around town until I figure out exactly what I want to do. I could see that she more or less had expected that answer.

You know, Neal, you and Kate are very close, and I can see that as boyfriend and girlfriend, you love each other. What I am worried about is when Kate graduates and goes off to college and you stay here. How will that affect the relationship between you two? I’m concerned about your future as well as Kate’s. I think you are a good, honest young man. You are both young. In the next year, while Kate finishes high school, you might think of getting married. Do you think you are mature enough and able to give Kate a good life? You know, the worst thing that can happen is to get married young, be unprepared, have to struggle to live, and have that struggle turn a beautiful young love into hate. It happens all the time.

I listened closely to what Mrs. Page was saying. I was always a good listener. Mainly because I never considered my views important, I always wanted to hear and understand the other person’s view. It was obvious that Mrs. Page loved and cared deeply for Kate. It was obvious to me how immature and naive I was. She was raising subjects I had not even considered. My mother and father hadn’t even bothered to ask what I was going to do. Mrs. Page was not telling me not to think of marrying Kate but, rather, asking me how I was going to do it. She was right. Kate’s potential was unlimited, and I was a dead end. If Kate and I hung on to each other as young lovers often did in defiance of those telling them that it wouldn’t work, then I would become an anchor and drag her down. In the end, she would hate me. That idea hurt deeply.

I wouldn’t be able to live thinking I had destroyed the only decent, good person to have loved me. Kate and I had not become sexually intimate, thanks to her discipline, but at the rate our passion seemed to be growing, it was bound to happen in the next year. What would that lead to? I thought about how my father had destroyed our family and a normal teenage life for me. Did I not both love and hate him in the same breath? When you truly love someone, don’t you do everything possible to make his or her life better? Did I want Kate to look at me the same way I looked at my father?

The answer was no. What I feared more than losing Kate was not making Kate happy and joyful and having her love for me turn to hate. Years later, I would learn that this emotional reaction is characteristic of children of alcoholic parents. They hold themselves responsible for the behavior of the alcoholic parent and will do anything to make that parent love them.

Then I heard Mrs. Page say, Neal, have you considered joining the army? The army would provide you some experience and training that may help you decide what you want to do. You could save up some money while in the army, which would help you and Kate if you decided to get married. It would give Kate time to finish high school and college.

I don’t know what the expression on my face was as I listened to Mrs. Page. She had given me a scary option that I hadn’t thought of before. I heard myself saying, That’s a good idea, Mrs. Page. I’ll think about it. The conversation was getting uncomfortable now. Mrs. Page was laying on the table the requirement for me to make a decision and take some action. In my immaturity, I wanted things to remain status quo. I was afraid of leaving the small comfort zone I had developed.

Fortunately, Kate returned and ended the conversation between Mrs. Page and me. Kate asked, What’s going on?

Before I could answer, Mrs. Page said, Oh, Neal and I were just talking. That seemed to mean Neal, we don’t need to tell Kate what we were talking about. I never told Kate. I don’t know if Mrs. Page ever told Kate. If she did, Kate never mentioned it to me.

Throughout the rest of the day, I kept thinking, What am I going to do? If I stay around here, I am going to screw up Kate’s life. If I join the army, it will separate us. Oh, how I hated the pain that leaving would bring. An earlier experience had taught me how bad the feeling of losing someone could be.

I am not sure exactly how I met Kathy. I was around fifteen and working at a concession stand on the boardwalk at the time. Kathy was fifteen going on twenty. Why she became interested in me I don’t know. We never dated but would meet at my house or somewhere on the beach. A big storm had knocked down many sections of the boardwalk, and the big slabs of broken concrete formed perfect places for young lovers to find seclusion. There, we would talk, kiss, and get into some heavy petting. She kept hinting that we ought to do more. She was ready, but I wasn’t. I knew little about sex. She was the first girl I kissed, and being with her was the first time I touched a girl’s breast. Though I played dumb, I knew what she kept hinting at. Like most teenage boys with raging hormones, sex was constantly on my mind. But for some reason that I never understood, I was afraid to go any further than what we were doing. I felt that I didn’t know what to do, and if I did, she might get pregnant. What would I do then? After a couple months, I began to like her, and the feelings of first young love took hold of me. One day she invited me to her home for dinner.

Her parents were well off and lived in a nice apartment. I rang the doorbell, and the door opened. As I walked in, something hit me and fell to the floor. It was a bar of Dial soap. Kathy had thrown it at me as way of telling me I needed to do something about my body odor. I guess she had been planning this for a while. I didn’t know what to do. I took showers but didn’t know anything about underarm deodorant. Nobody in my family used deodorant, so I guess we all smelled and didn’t notice it. I wanted to run from embarrassment, but I didn’t. I swallowed my embarrassment and pride and stayed. I was hungry, and the food smelled good. I felt like a trapped animal on display as I ate dinner with them.

Her father either owned or managed a liquor store. He was blunt and made it clear that he didn’t like me and wanted better for his daughter. He looked at my tattered clothes and ragged appearance and judged me to be a lesser person. Because I worked at a concession stand selling hot dogs, hamburgers, and french fries, he called me a carny. He said, That kind of work gets in your blood, and that’s what you’ll always be. I didn’t know what carny meant, but I was smart enough to worry about what he’d said. I also was hurt by what he’d said. I was working hard to feed my family, and I would take the job that paid me the most money at my age. I was glad to leave that night.

As I walked the two miles home, I kept telling myself that I didn’t ever want to see her again. The pain I was feeling wasn’t worth it. However, two days later, when she showed up after school, the desire to kiss and pet her made me forget the pain I had felt earlier. The good thing was that her throwing the soap at me opened my eyes to the need for better personal hygiene. Most kids learned this information at an early age from their mother and father and not in such a traumatic way. The next day, I bought some Dial soap and some deodorant. I have used Dial soap since that day. I would often wonder why she didn’t just tell me I had an odor problem. Now I realize how hard that would have been to say to my face.

I endured a lot of abuse in thinking that I was in love with her. Of course, I was used to mental abuse and hurt brought on by trying to live in the aftermath of my father’s alcoholism. I had no way of knowing that it wasn’t my heart that was in love. It was my surging hormones that were in love. However, I still felt the pain and heartbreak that comes when someone you love betrays you. I foolishly thought I was the only boy involved with Kathy. She led me to believe that. When I found out she was doing the same thing with several other boys, I was devastated. I found out from my friend Bobby. Kathy had met him through me. One day Bobby said, Neal, is Kathy your girlfriend or not?

I said, She is.

Bobby said, Well, you need to know she’s running around with two other boys in her class, and the other day after school, she stopped me and wanted to know if I wanted to kiss her and feel her breast. I don’t think she’s a very good girlfriend. I think she’s crazy. I think you should drop her. I could have probably gotten over her messing around with the two boys in her class, but I couldn’t get over the fact that she was going after my friend. I wasn’t mad at Bobby. He was going steady and had no interest in Kathy.

After thinking about what Bobby had said, I decided I didn’t want any more hurt associated with being involved with Kathy. Furthermore, I vowed that I would never let my feelings for a girl get to the point where I could be hurt. The next time I saw Kathy, I told her I didn’t want to see her anymore and why. She didn’t take it easily. For a couple weeks, she would try to talk to me in school, and I would dodge her. She came by the house several times, but I wouldn’t come out or let her in. About a month after this, she moved with her family to Miami, and I never heard from her again. I thought of her often and missed the fun we had petting. To this day, I still don’t understand why I was afraid to go all the way with her. The experience robbed me of what little confidence I was gaining with the opposite sex. I developed a mental barrier that isolated me from a romantic relationship until I met Kate.

Now, three years older, I had to face the same pain and heartache. Only this time, if I left Kate, the pain would be a hundred times worse than with Kathy. That night after my talk with Mrs. Page, I lay in bed and cried like a baby. I gave in to the utter frustration of my life, and the tears flowed like rain.

The next morning, the weather was stormy, cloudy, and windy, with a light rain falling. It looked the way I felt inside. I got dressed and walked in the blowing rain the two blocks to the boardwalk to see the ocean. The boardwalk was empty, and I had it to myself. I walked to a spot I knew where the corner of a building provided a little shelter from the wind. From that position, I could watch the angry ocean pounding the shore. There, with the rain hitting my face, I let the tears come again. I felt alone and lost. I didn’t know where I was going or what I would do. I was eighteen years old and at rock bottom. My soul felt like the raging ocean pounding the shore in the windy rain—angry but going nowhere. I shut my eyes to pray. Dear God, help me though this hurt. So far, my life has been a terrible ordeal. You can make it better. I know I am not much now, but I will change that, and from this day, I will trust you to guide me.

I don’t know how long I stood there in the wind and rain, praying, but then it was over. The emotional grasp the wind, rain, and ocean had on me ebbed away, and I felt better. I knew that this was the last time I would ever feel sorry for myself. Two things have stayed with me all my life: I have never felt sorry for myself since that day, and whatever course my life took, I had complete faith that it was under the direction of God. Now, two months later, I faced the problem of telling Kate that I had joined the army and would be leaving on Monday.

An hour after I got back from the recruiter’s office, my mother had calmed down somewhat. She was still asking what she was going to do without me. My father said, Son, if you make the army a career, think about spending ten years as enlisted man. Use this time to learn the military and perfect your skills. Then try to become an officer. Being an officer is the only way to go. It puts you in charge and earns you recognition and respect. I didn’t know it at the time, but my father had just described what was to be my career path in the army. I never forgot what he said, and I am not sure if I did it that way because I was still blaming myself for his being an alcoholic and still trying to earn his love or because God’s guidance led me on that course. Either way, the outcome was the same.

I told my family that I had to call Kate and tell her what I had done. We didn’t have a phone, so I left to find a pay phone. It was noon by then, and I hoped Kate would be at home.

When she answered the phone, I said, Hi, Kate. Can I come by? I need to tell you something.

Sure, she answered. I’ll fix us a sandwich.

Sitting at her table, I told her I had joined the army. As usual, she was supportive, but she asked why I hadn’t talked it over with her. I told her how Les had come by and how it had been a spontaneous decision on my part. When she asked when I would have to leave and I said Monday, things got a little tense.

Neal, how could you do that? That only gives us two days before you leave for basic training. There were tears in her eyes.

I know, Kate. Let’s go down on the beach tonight and just watch the ocean and hold each other. That is what we did. We held each other and worked through the emotions we felt. I repeated some of the things her mother had said about how the army would provide me training that would compensate me for not going to college. My enlistment was for three years, and then we would be together again. I would have a one-week leave after two months of basic training, so we planned what we would do during that period. Young love is the most optimistic love. However, it is also an untested love. I found after three years in the army that separation tests love the hardest, whether it’s a young love or a mature love.

Later that night, when I took her home, our emotions were back under control, and things didn’t seem as bad as they had been. I kissed her good night, and she entered her house. I got back into my car. I could still smell her perfume and taste her lips, which brought tears to my eyes. My heart was breaking because I knew we had little time left together. She had started to focus her thoughts on how we were going to maintain our relationship, and my thoughts were on how I was letting her go.

We spent Sunday afternoon and evening together. Our mood was a little better than it had been the night before. Kate, in her usual positive and upbeat mood, was already planning how we would work everything out. As I listened, I kept thinking about how beautiful she was and how after I left, every boy in school would be after her. The thought hurt, but eventually, she would compare them to me. She would quickly see what a loser I was. I just hoped that the one she picked would love and honor her as much as I had. We stood at her front door for a long time, holding tightly to each other. Then, after one last kiss, she turned and entered her house. I could hear her softly sobbing as I turned and walked to my car.

When I got home, my mother was still up. She was upset because I had spent so much time with Kate and no time with her, so I sat with her for about an hour, making small talk. She gave motherly guidance on what to do and what not to do. I sensed how much she loved and depended on me. I was her firstborn and somehow her favorite. Now, in a flash, I was leaving. I think she knew in her heart that I would never return to the beach to live. I started thinking about tomorrow morning.

Mom, did you find my birth certificate? I remembered that the recruiting sergeant had said to be sure to bring it.

She got up, took it out of the old cabinet in the living room, and handed it to me, saying, Make sure you don’t lose it.

As I looked at it, I noticed that my name was listed as Wimberly Neal Griffin. Mom, I said, is my first name Wimberly? I thought it was Neal.

We always called you Neal, but your first name is Wimberly.

I put my birth certificate with my little writing pad in the bag I was taking with me. I also had a change of underwear and toothbrush in the bag. I had two pictures of Kate and twelve dollars in my wallet. I was ready to go.

Chapter 2

Basic Training

A time for sadness, a time for regret.

I didn’t sleep well that night. All I did was toss and turn. As a result, I was happy but sleepy when the alarm sounded at five o’clock. I was glad the night was over. I dressed and gathered the few items I was taking with me. I looked slowly around my room. I guess it was my way of saying good-bye to the memories living there. I didn’t know if I would ever see it again. I felt a little pang of fright and, at the same time, excitement. I opened the door and left.

My mother was fixing breakfast when I got to the kitchen. Dad was sitting at the table, drinking coffee. I could hear my brother and sisters getting ready. Dad asked me if I was ready to go. I said yes, and I heard my mother mutter, Yeah, in disappointment. One by one, my brother and sisters came in, and we sat down to a breakfast