The Colored Boys: Inspired by True Events

By John Hunter Parker

The Colored Boys is Top Gun II with all the thrills, dangers, and aerial exploits of the first, only better. This is the story of aviators who fly F-14 Tomcats, amazing, complex, and phenomenal machines possessing technology that was light-years ahead of their time. Two black men from very different backgrounds believe that they can break into the demanding world of naval tactical aviation and learn to fly, operate, and master these machines and the technology they possess. While young and naive, these men are also amazingly confident, determined, and driven type-A personalities who take on the challenges that their chosen profession and dynamic careers demand. Told through their eyes, their personalities, and their experiences, we follow them as they evolve from terrified aviation officer candidates to commissioned officers into seasoned aviators. The Colored Boys follows them from their induction in Naval Officer Candidates School, through the myriad of challenges, terror, and joys of flight school, the demands of the replacement air group, and then to the demands of squadron life in the fleet. They train, develop, teach, and grow, and then they are thrust into the life-and-death struggles of war in the Persian Gulf. There, they enter combat and must fight for their survival in a war that tests their mettle as human beings, as aviators, and as men.

The Colored Boys is also about the navythe real navy, a beloved but highly traditionalized institution that must grapple with the integration of these men into its culture, into its strict caste system of officers, persons commissioned and positioned to command sailors, and the men and women they command and serve who sometimes unconsciously, sometimes quite consciously, resist change and have deeply ingrained revulsion, prejudices, and aversion to black men that they sometimes dont even recognize or believe exists within themselves. This is the story of how these two men face, tackle, and overcome the invisible and mostly covert but highly prevalent racism and still excel in the already highly demanding world of naval aviation.

This is the story of these phenomenal flying machines, the amazing men who fly them, and the demanding missions that they perform daily as they serve this nation as members of the United States Navy. Two African American men who fight to prove to others, to the navy, and ultimately to themselves that they do indeed belong, that they can hack it, that they too have the right stuff. They are many things to many people but ultimately they prove that they are not merely black men, not just commissioned officers, and not just Americans. They are naval aviators.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524587109

John Hunter Parker

LCDR John Hunter Parker is a twenty-year Naval Officer who retired in 1996. He visited or served in 52 countries while serving on ships, a submarine, and aviation squadrons. Using his unique voice and keen eye, he has written numerous stories, articles and books detailing the joys, the pains, and the humor of life in the United State Navy. He has written a novel, published several articles in Proceedings Magazine, various newspapers and has always told unique and sobering sea stories, amazing aviation tales, and depicted the sacrifice and true heroism of persons and situations he observed and experienced. His short stories, articles and books eloquently, humorously, honestly and often quite insightfully tell the story of life in the United States Navy and of the men and women with which he so honorably and proudly served. “The Colored Boys,” (A Naval Aviation Novel ), is his second book

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Inbound

The sun rose just as it had any other morning, but it wasn’t any other morning. This was the day that he had thought of everyday for the last two hundred and fourteen and now magically, inexplicably, unbelievably, it had finally arrived. That morning nothing seemed quite real as he went about his day in another world, doing everything by rote yet about to explode inside.

At the prebrief he honestly tried to pay attention but his mind kept wandering and he was in and out as flashes of his wife and daughter torpedoed through his brain. He knew this was dangerous and tried to redouble his efforts to compartmentalize and concentrate but it simply was not possible. He heard but didn’t hear, he tried to pay attention but couldn’t and the next thing he knew he was walking across the flightdeck. He shook hands and body-hugged some of the flightdeck personnel as he walked to his jet, Skydancer Two Zero Niner the second as she gleamed in the morning sun.

Even though he had flown Tomcats for over a year now he was still totally enthralled by her sleek lines and dangerous curves. The F-14 Tomcat was a looker, one beautiful aircraft. The epitome of a fighter, she was fast, sleek and powerful. She packed a punch and had the bonafide looks of a killer. To his mind, she looked like what a fighter should look like and one not to be fucked with. With her sweptback wings, twin tails, and menacing shark-like snout she was every bit as dangerous as she looked. Their plane captain, Airman Ensinger met him with his usual aw-shucks, Howdy-Doody smile and shook his hand as they preflighted.

As it had been for the last two hundred and fourteen days, everything was as it should have been. He thanked him again for the superb job he had always done as their plane captain. Ensinger smiled his yokel smile and shook his hand as he climbed the boarding steps and settled into the rear cockpit.

This was his office and he was at home. While the myriad of switches, gauges, knobs, breakers and indicators might overwhelm a layman, he knew every one of them and could work them blindfolded. He had sat in these cockpits for over a year and on this deployment alone had logged over two hundred and forty flight-hours. Now he was about to log his final flight of this deployment. They were heading home.

As his pilot set up the aircraft, he set the tacan and turned on the radio and prepared for their taxi and takeoff. The deckcrew, the Airboss, the launch and cat officers, and the director were all on their game and in minutes they were spotted and positioned, locked and cocked and then took their shot.

As they were catapulted down the deck he felt his heart beat twice as his ass went from zero to one hundred and forty-five miles an hour in two seconds. As they thundered forward his eyesight dimmed to gray momentarily and then he saw the azure blue that God only puts in a Pacific morning sky. His sixty-third and final catshot of this deployment sent shivers down his spine as they cleared the deck and began a right-turn climb.

Now here they were, the VF-125 Skydancers were on their way. They were flying home, back to the United States of America, back to his wife and daughter, back to Miramar Naval Air Station, back to his life, sex, civilization, football, a real bed, home cooked meals and home. His home. This was the launch he, that they had all been waiting for, the one they all had been dreaming of for so long.

In fifty minutes it would be over and they would be home. Back to the real world, back to all that really mattered. Still he had trouble accepting it, really believing it. As they blasted through the skies at two hundred and forty knots he checked his instruments, heading and engine parameters and once satisfied, he relaxed and looked outside.

The morning was bright and beautiful as it had to be on a day like today. He was a lucky man in so many ways but one was that he was blessed to live here, to work here, and to be here. This is my life, my office, my vocation he thought as he looked up at the heavens adorned with a brilliant sun, mushrooming clouds and glorious skies. Thank you for this God.

He smiled as they effortlessly whisked through the billowing clouds and brilliant sky. He looked out admiringly but his mind was racing. Deployments were always dynamic learning experiences but this one, this one had changed his life and changed him and he wasn’t sure if it was all for the better. These past few months had been indelible and it was hard to believe all that had happened. At times, it seemed like a dream, at others more a nightmare. It was so hard to believe, yet the grim reality of it all was firmly imprinted in his mind. The faces, the impressions, the smells, the memories and vivid emotions had been seared into his consciousness forever. There was no way to even attempt to deny it. No, it was, it had been, and it was now all real, all true. It had happened. The last seven months had been the best and at the same time some of the worse days of his young life. Mixed feelings and emotions bounced around and flooded his mind as he thought of people he had come to know now thousands of miles away, people who had touched him and his life in a way he would not and could not ever forget. He remembered those who had taken him in, helped him, sheltered and protected him, a foreigner and stranger to them, some at great risk to their own lives. No, he would never forget them or ever look at the world or the people of Iraq or the Middle East in the same way again.

As all of these thoughts churned inside him, he slowly realized that the most overpowering feeling that he was experiencing was one of gratitude. He was one lucky son-of-a-bitch and he was ever so thankful to be so. He was thankful to God, to his shipmates, his squadron, his ship, to all of those people, to the Navy. He was thankful to his pilot and best friend sitting five feet in front of him. He was thankful to a lot more people than he would ever be able to rightfully or properly thank. Grateful to have survived this deployment and the incredible ordeal that had so profoundly changed his life.

Some thought and even called him a hero and he cringed whenever he heard those words. He cringed because he knew the truth even if they didn’t. If they only knew that their supposed hero was often scared shitless and reacting rather than bravely confronting the danger he faced. If they knew the truth, they might not hold such a lofty impression of him. The truth was that he and his pilot and his squadronmates simply did their jobs to the best of their ability and had survived through hard work and by the grace of God.

Tears began to well up in his eyes and for some reason he was overcome with emotion. Surprised, ashamed, overwhelmed, he felt drained and he hadn’t even made it home yet. He had to get his shit together, but it was just that he was just so thankful, it was so good to be alive. Through streaming tears, he looked out at the formation arrayed around him. Here they were, him and his brothers-in-arms and now they were headed home. The Skydancers and all of Air Wing Fourteen had gone to war and done amazingly well. Despite intensive fighting and all-out war against a formidable army and air force, they had been blessed and only lost one man. They had flown over three hundred sorties in every imaginable weather condition, had shot down eleven enemy aircraft, put tons of ordnance on target and had significantly contributed to one of the greatest routs in all military history. They had been part of a force that had destroyed the fourth largest army in the world and freed the people of Kuwait and changed the dynamics of the Middle East hopefully for the better. Now they were on their way home.

Home…the very word, just the thought of it shot a supercharged surge of electricity through his body. It would be so good to get home. He thought about life, the life he had almost lost and now more than ever he realized how precious it was and vowed that he was going to spend the rest of the days that God gave him living it to the fullest. He felt giddy, almost lightheaded with elation but his mood was tempered by memories of the death and destruction, of the human misery and wanton devastation that he had seen and been a part of. He remembered too the bravery and triumphs he had witnessed. He shook his head ashamed of his tears and the flood of emotions that he could not control as even more tears flowed down his face. He never knew that he could feel so many overwhelming emotions at the same time and truly hoped that his pilot in the front-seat could not see the tears running down his face. He had his sun visor down so he didn’t think he could but the guy always seemed to have a sixth sense about him and what he was thinking. He didn’t know how it was possible but the guy was even more quiet than usual. He wanted to say something to him but he was kind of choked up and couldn’t take the chance of trying to speak, he couldn’t find the words anyway and the tears were still flowing down his face. He lowered his head and raised his visor and wiped his eyes. He rechecked their heading, two two zero, altitude eighteen-thousand feet, ETA forty-two minutes. He turned and looked out at the rest of the squadron glistening in the morning sun. Even though tears were still falling, he knew that life was perfect.

LCDR Jameson S. Jackson, the Catman, flying in the front seat of VF-125’s Tomcat Two Zero Niner (II) scanned his instruments and satisfied all was well, leaned over and looked out at the formation arrayed around him. They looked good and were on time. He was on his way home and in a few minutes, would be able to say he had successfully completed his fifth deployment and a hell of a deployment it had been. They were always life-altering experiences, but this one, this one was even more than that, this one was different, tremendously different. The difference was at once painfully obvious yet in some ways inexplicable. Surely it was the fact that this time he had fought in an actual war, that he had been shot at and shot down and that he and his RIO had run for their lives on the ground in Iraq for seventeen days. Hell, who knew or even cared why? The only thing that really mattered was that they had survived another deployment and came back alive. He only knew that this time it was different, tremendously different. It was better and he realized that it wasn’t just him. It was the whole ship, the entire squadron, everyone he had seen or come in contact with.

Only a couple of days before the unmistakable signs had presented themselves. It seemed to him that most of the crew and squadron had come down with a severe case of channel-fever. He, unlike so many others had always been able to contain himself, to check his emotions and control his feelings. He never showed his hand and had had no trouble whatsoever sleeping. But the closer they got to the fly-off and return home, the more noticeable it became among the crew and squadron. Even as he lay in his rack at night, all around him he could sense the excitement, the anticipation, the giddiness in the air. That morning as he walked into the readyroom, the expressions of ship’s personnel and even his squadronmates were animated with expectation. Many of them seemed almost giddy with excitement, a lot of smiles, high fives, even some tension as if some were worried that it might be snatched away from them at the last minute. He had never been much of a talker but his mood seemed almost sullen compared to the jubilation going on around him.

The squadron muster began at zero six-thirty with the homecoming fly-in brief on Indy–TV. The CAG, Captain Bill Beatty, was as he always was; direct, warningly guarded and deadly serious. After the section leader’s brief, the CAG returned to the podium and looked directly into the television camera.

This is it gentlemen. You have earned this day through endless hours of hard work and the blood, sweat and tears that every man on this ship and in this Air Wing has shed. Well done to each and every one of you. But I want you to realize, to know and to pay fucking attention because now is one of the most dangerous parts of this deployment. You need to get and keep your head out of your ass and in the game and stay ahead of your aircraft until you are shut down on the ground at Miramar. I need, this squadron needs, this Air Wing needs and you need to pay special attention because a day like today is a day that can very easily kill you. Aviate, navigate, and communicate. Pay attention. I want it done by the numbers, I want this Air Wing looking sharp on our return home. I………, we lost one sailor and this close to home, don’t let there be another. We’re close, let’s finish this in style. See you on the ground at Naval Air Station Miramar.

As he stepped off, the Wing Operations Officer took his place and briefed the fly-in. The flight-plan called for a fifty-minute flight, then a missing-man salute, a parade break and then thirty second spaced landings. They would fly in a mass-parade formation over the field and then turn starboard for final. He wanted good spacing, sharp breaks, and all crews paying attention to their flying.

Aviate till you are on the ground and shut down, the OPSO warned. The squadron’s entrance would be preceded by a four-ship section designated Dragon Flight, that would be performing the missing-man salute in honor of their one lost sailor, Airman Cornelius Frazier. LCDR Jackson and Lieutenant Ware of VF-125 had been given the honor of being the salute aircraft. After the salute, they were to rejoin the squadron for the fly-over and breaks. The OPSO finished the brief and ordered man-up for zero seven-thirty.

The flightdeck was crisp and efficient and aircraft were quickly turned and spotted. Preflight and man-up went as planned and at zero eight oh four LCDR Jackson snapped a sharp salute to Chief Bronkowski, the cat two shooter.

Two seconds later he and his radar intercept officer, Lieutenant Jesse J. Ware, callsign Cricket blasted down catapult two and into the beautiful morning sky. As they came off the cat, he retracted his gear, slats and boards, turned starboard and began to climb. As he slid into his position in the delta, LCDR Jackson scanned his instruments and found everything looking good. Seven minutes later all aircraft were airborne and in formation and the CAG turned them toward the California coast.

Now they were inbound for sunny Miramar Naval Air Station, Fighter-Town USA, ETA fifty-four minutes. He glanced into his mirror and looked at his RIO in the backseat. Beneath his mask, he smiled. It was good to have Cricket back there. There was no other man in the world he would have rather have in his backseat and as his RIO. Despite his small stature and fragile looks, that little black SOB was one tough hombre and had more than proven his mettle. They had been through hell together but had helped each other to survive and they had become a team and so much more than the Navy’s heralded two-man crew concept. They were as close as brothers in a very real sense. They had left together, trained together, fought for each other’s lives and he was proud that he had kept his promise to Cricket’s daughter to bring her father back alive. Now they were returning together and both knew all too well that others had not been so fortunate.

Now, so close to home, LCDR Jackson’s mind was also racing as his whole life seemed to flash before him. He remembered people and places and events of long ago and especially of the last seven months. He was a product of the cotton fields and yazoo clay of West Point Mississippi and yet here he was flying over thousands of miles of seemingly endless ocean. He wondered how and why he even became a fighter pilot and why on God’s green earth, a Navy fighter pilot? There were no answers now, and even if there were, what did it matter? He was on his way home. He smiled as he thought about his parents, his home, his car, Miramar, San Diego, the United States, and a woman, a woman he hadn’t seen in a long time, but one he yearned to see, a woman he had thought a lot about and was determined to see again and soon. He had surely missed them all but he was about to get another shot at everything and this time he would make it all count.

As the warm morning sun beamed down on him through the rounded canopy he looked up into the brilliant morning sky. The future lay before him like the wide-open skies but his mind kept stealing back across the years in his wake and he remembered. He remembered how this madness began.

CHAPTER 2

Ulysses and Jenni Mae

He had been working in the cotton field since before dawn and had pulled three fourths of a bag already. He quickly wiped his brow to keep the stinging sweat out of his eyes as his hands moved with accuracy, speed and grace as they grabbed at the never-ending white strands. He suddenly stopped in midgrab and closed his eyes. He felt something inside of him and he slowly opened his eyes and looked up. He didn’t know what he was looking for but he felt a presence. A strange feeling slowly enveloped him and he didn’t know what it was but it was calling to him. He shaded his eyes as he looked up into the broiling Mississippi sun. Even before he saw them, a strange tingling sensation slowly descended through his body and told him they were near. It was as if his soul felt a majestic presence, his body sensed something, acknowledged it, and all of his senses quickened in their search for it.

A minute glint of light to his right caught his eye and drew his attention to them. In the distance he saw two thundering streaks shining in the morning sun diving and coming directly at him. Instead of fear a sense of awe came over him as he looked at them. In his mind, he had never seen anything so beautiful, so powerful, so graceful and controlled, yet so free. The two jets swooped down and screamed over him barely fifty feet above his head. Just then a huge explosion shook the very earth where he stood as the jets roared by. To his amazement there was a thunderous explosion of sound, a whirlwind of dust and the ground actually vibrated with the power of the unearthly visitation.

Several of the terrified pickers screamed and dove for the ground as others scurried away in every direction. But he stood motionless, entranced as he watched as they screamed back into the sky from which they had just descended.

Ulysses Stone Jackson watched the jets flash by. A-4 Skyhawks, Navy, probably from NAS Meridian he thought as he closed his eyes as the dust storm engulfed him. He felt the sonic boom and the wave of hot exhaust as the two jets screamed over him. In that instance his mind returned to Vietnam and he saw flashes of napalm and could smell it and the bodies that the bombs had just roasted in the jungle. A shudder went through him as he remembered. Dear God I hope my son never has to go through what I did, do the things I did, see the things I saw. As he reopened his eyes and came back to the reality of the day, his hands never slowed or missed a beat as he continued to pull the endless bolls of cotton. As he looked behind him he saw his son standing in the middle of a row like a statue watching the jets as they disappeared back into the morning sky. His son appeared frozen in place and anyone looking at him would have thought the boy had just seen Jesus riding on the clouds to glory.

Little did Ulysses realize that the boy’s soul had just been possessed. Those two jets blasting through the morning sky had seized him and become a part of him that would never let go. He had fallen in love with the power, the grace, the agility and the speed of those fighters. In the boy’s mind, it was almost incomprehensible, the thought of being so free, of being part of the sky, of wielding control of such awesome machinery. He thought of the men who flew those machines. What must it be like to be able to reach out and touch the clouds, to be among them where angels flew, to look into heaven and come face to face with God? His son was mesmerized and in that instant, had become uncontrollably and inconsolably hooked.

Get your head out of the clouds son, Ulysses called to him. This is what puts food in your stomach, he said as he held up a handful of cotton. Called back to earth Jameson immediately started regrabbing at the endless strands of cotton. But from that day on, try as he would, he never would again be able to get that image or his head out of the clouds.

They had been picking cotton since before day. Jameson at nine years old was an experienced hand and had picked three fourths of his row. He was way ahead of the other pickers all except one. His father, Ulysses Stone Jackson had completed his row and started on another. Jameson paused for a moment to watch in admiration as the broad strong shoulders of his father bent to the wearisome task.

Ulysses stood six foot four and two hundred and forty pounds but seemed much larger. Big and strong, fast and efficient, he and his wife Jenni Mae Jackson had taught their only son Jameson out of the Good Book, Whatever work thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. Ulysses easily outdid any other man at just about any job and that was not just the idle boast of a proud son.

Well known for his honesty, industriousness and quiet demeanor, Ulysses Stone Jackson was a quiet man who worked hard, kept to himself and loved his wife and son. He had served four years in the Army and had been decorated twice for valor in combat in Vietnam although he rarely talked about it. Known for being direct, he valued his word and reputation. If Ulysses Stone Jackson gave you his word, you could count on one of two things; it would be fulfilled or he would die trying. The Jacksons were a proud but humble family and as long as Jameson could remember his father had worked from sun-up to sundown six days a week rarely taking a break to rest except on the Sabbath. His huge brown hands were worn and calloused from years of hard manual labor and working with backbreaking determination all his life.

To the naked and uninformed eye, the Jacksons didn’t seem to have much. Their land however was paid for, their house and barn which Ulysses had built with his own hands were free and clear. The car, the truck, and even their old Ford tractor were paid for. Ulysses Jackson believed in certain things but carrying debt was not one of them. He worked hard and saved and for the most part paid cash for what he bought. Frugal as he was industrious, he taught his son his ways and Jameson learned early on to apply himself to his chores and to his schoolwork. From birth, he was trained to work like, act like and to be a man. His mother Jenni Mae worried that Ulysses worked the boy too hard and long, but Ulysses drove him and never let up. When she questioned his methods he always gave her the same answer. Momma, he would say with his face set like flint, I’m gonna raise him a man if I live.

Ulysses was a straight arrow, quiet and soft spoken. He didn’t talk a lot but he would discuss various topics with his son telling him what he believed but always emphasizing to the boy that he had to make up his own mind and develop his own beliefs about people and life. And while he was a serious, introspective man, Ulysses also had a humorous nature that came out from time to time. Sometimes he surprised his son, like the time Jameson got into his first fistfight.

Ulysses always taught Jameson that fighting was wrong and that the Bible said that if a man slapped you, you were supposed to turn the other cheek. One day Jameson came home from school with a note announcing his suspension for three days for fighting. When Jenni Mae read the note from the principal she became very upset and even though Jameson tried to explain, she sent him out to do his chores and then straight to his room.

Jameson was terrified about how his father would handle the situation and for the first time worried that the big man would really spank him good. He had never been in any kind of trouble before and after seeing the reaction of his mother to him being suspended from school for three days, he wondered if this might be the end of his education forever and possibly even him. Ulysses had never hit him, but surely an infraction this serious would usher in a new era in punishment. That thought coupled with his father’s impending disappointment in him tore at his soul. He completed his chores and walked past his totally miffed Mother and went to his room. He sat quietly on his bed dreading his father’s return and listening for him to get home. When he came in that evening, Jameson could hear Jenni Mae going on and on about the note from the principal and how fighting could not be tolerated and how he had better get up there and rectify his son’s attitude. Jameson could hear his mother’s ministrations but not what his father was saying. He listened and cringed inwardly when he heard Ulysses’ footsteps as he slowly came up the stairs and knocked on his bedroom door.

Silent and calm Ulysses loomed larger than ever in the doorway. He looked down at Jameson who was sitting on his bed with his head down. He stood there for a full minute just staring at the boy. Get your fishing pole.

Neither said a word as they walked down the stairs and then to the barn where they picked up their fishing poles and slowly walked to the pond. They sat on the bank and threw their lines in. For a long time, Ulysses sat in silence watching his cork float on the tranquil waters. Finally, Jameson could take no more.

Dad, he blurted out, I did not start the fight. I tried to walk away twice but Tommy, Tommy Moore just kept coming after me and then he got in my face and he hit me. I kept walking but he hit me again and then he slapped me!

It had all come out in a single breath and Jameson stopped to catch his breath. Ulysses just kept staring at his bobber the water.

The third time he slapped me, something just came over me and without even knowing it I balled up my fist and hit him as hard as I could. I mean I walloped him right in the cheek and he went down like a mule kicked him. He was surprised and I was too when I looked down at him all sprawled out on the hallway floor. I think it surprised both of us. Everyone was standing around watching but when I hit him they took off in every direction. I knew the teachers were going to come so I just picked him up and drug him to the principal’s office with me and I told Mr. Abercrombie what happened. He was pretty upset and told us he wasn’t going to allow fighting in his school, so he wrote the notes and suspended us both for three days. He wouldn’t even let us go back to class, we had to wait in the office till the bus came.

Ulysses adjusted the placement of his hook slightly keeping his eye on the cork in the water. Jameson looked at him and then out onto the waters.

After a long moment, Ulysses spoke. The Bible says if somebody strikes a man, that man should turn the other cheek. Jameson hung his head crushed at his father’s judgment. But then, I reckon God only gave a man two cheeks. Slowly Jameson’s face morphed into a grin.

Now I don’t condone fighting, if there be a way around it. But there comes a point when a man has to stand his ground. I taught you never to start a fight, but never run from one either. And if you have to fight, fight with your fists and hands and no weapons and make it quite apparent to the fella that you’re tangling with that you are one bobcat he doesn’t ever want to tangle with again. Comprende?

Jameson smiled. Comprende Dad. Ulysses stood up and reeled in his line. We better get back for supper, we sure ain’t catchin’ no fish. As they walked back, Ulysses looked even bigger to Jameson, bigger than ever before.

As he grew, Jameson became more and more like his father. He never questioned or complained, he never quit, he accepted his lot in life and did whatever Ulysses required of him. He worked the fields alongside Ulysses, herded cattle, did his chores, maintained and repaired the vehicles and farm equipment and tended the livestock. In the blistering summer heat, in the drenching rains, in the cold winter wind, he was right there beside his father. On the other hand, for as long as he could remember, Ulysses had always treated him like an equal, like another man. In the summer when he hired two hands to help bail the hay, he paid Jameson the same wage he paid the two men. Of course, Jameson being all of fourteen, actually outworked both of the hired hands. One day as they took a break by the barn, one of the men told Jameson to go to the well and fetch him a jar of water. Ulysses handed him a Mason jar and pointed to the well and told him, Go fetch it yourself.

Jameson S. Jackson grew up fast and he grew up strong. His body developed and matured as did his mind. Despite his run-in with Tommy Moore he was still an excellent student and excelled academically. Because he stayed busy working with his father he did not go out for school sports until he was in the twelfth grade. Then one day he told his father, Dad, I’d like to try out for the football team. I’ll do my chores in the morning before school and the rest when I get home from practice in the evening. I’d like your permission sir.

Ulysses never stopped stacking the bales of hay. Jameson too continued to work, knowing full well that his father had heard and was considering his request. They finished the bales and drove out to feed the cattle. Neither said a word. As they were heading back to the barn, Ulysses looking straight ahead said, Alright son, you have my permission.

Jameson rose each morning at five AM and religiously performed his chores before school. He made the football team and became a starting defensive back. The team did well and went eight and one qualifying for the regional playoffs. That night it seemed half the town of West Point cheered from the stands. The West Point Greenwave fought hard but lost on a last second field goal, 30 to 27 to their archrivals the Starkville Yellow Jackets. After the game, Ulysses went into the locker-room and found the team agonized. The coach had tried to cheer them up but to no avail. Ulysses walked up to his son and put his hand on his shoulder.

A man who tries his best and fails has no business hanging his head. We’re proud of your efforts son as you and this whole team should be of theirs. Come on now, your Momma is waiting outside.

Ulysses didn’t give a lot of advice, but when he did, it was often golden. During his senior year for the first-time Jameson fell head over heels for a new girl who had transferred to the school. Her name was Sarah Thompson. She was small and fine-boned with long black flowing hair and huge moon-pie eyes. She looked like a tiny and demure Diana Ross. For Jameson it was a case of love at first sight. Sarah was shy and always hung with a gaggle of girls. She noticed his attention toward her, but she certainly did not reciprocate it. She always held her books in front of her and looked at the ground when he approached or tried to talk to her as the other girls stood around giggling. Try as he did, he made very little headway with her and she paid little if any attention to him. As a matter of fact, and to the delight of some of her girlfriends, at times she seemed to go out of her way to ignore him. He tried repeatedly to get her attention, but to no avail. Finally, one day in frustration he decided to ask his father about her and women in general.

Ulysses put down the hammer and looked at him. What’s her name?

Sarah Thompson.

Is she pretty?

I think so. But she won’t give me the time of day. She seems to ignore me and she’s always got these goofy girlfriends hanging around her when I try to talk to her. Girls can be so, so, difficult.

Ulysses started measuring the board. Boy, women are one of the true great mysteries of the universe. God made man but then saw that Adam was lonely so God decided to give him a mate. He created woman and there ain’t been no real quiet in the world since. They both laughed.

Ulysses looked at him and turned serious. "Jameson, women are a special gift. You won’t ever understand them because they’re different and I don’t mean in the obvious ways. They are different in ways you will see and feel and a smart man can learn to appreciate and if he’s lucky and blessed, learn to love her when the right one comes along. Now when it comes to courtin’ Lord knows I’m no expert. How I was lucky enough to catch a woman like your mother was the work of the Maker. But I have noticed some things that might be helpful to you. What I have noticed about women, even the shy and bashful ones is that they are often a shrewd and sneaky bunch. I mean when it comes to courtin they’ve got all kinds of ways and tricks to turn a man inside out. It seems to me the way it really works is, a man chases a woman, till she catches him. That’s the way I’ve seen it work. How they do what they do, I haven’t got a clue and most men don’t. They’ve just got these powers. These advantages we can’t figure out. They just open up your nose. They just do it. Even though you don’t know it, you don’t expect it, hell many times a man don’t even know she’s chasing till he’s caught. Men usually don’t have a clue what is truly going on but women do. They are in control and they know it. But if they want you, hey then they’ll arrange to be caught. You think you’re the hunter. No sir, in the real scheme of things you are the prey. Sometimes the secret to courting is not chasing so hard, or not chasing them at all. If a woman doesn’t want you, then she’s not the right one for you and there’s plenty more fish in the sea. Believe me if a woman wants to be caught, she’ll arrange for it to happen."

Jameson looked at him and shook his head. He decided that Ulysses was right. He didn’t know anything about courting, but what did he have to lose? He took his father’s advice and quit chasing Sarah Thompson. Two weeks later she lost her shyness and came chasing after him and a week later, she caught him.

As he grew and matured Jameson asked his father more and more about the war and his days in Vietnam. Although he sensed a sadness and reluctance in his father’s voice when he did so, he loved to hear Ulysses talk about his days in the military. Ulysses had served four years in the U.S. Army and spent eighteen months with the First Infantry Division in Vietnam. He told Jameson that the military was a fine organization and that a fellow could do a lot worse, especially if he was just starting out but he warned him too.

The military is not perfect because nothing made up of and by men ever is. In boot camp, they break you down and destroy the civilian in you. Then they build you back up into their idea of a soldier. The process is and can be mentally and physically demanding but it’s mostly physical training, repetition, discipline and head games. If you know who and what you are, believe in yourself and your convictions and can follow orders, then you’ll be fine. You must be mentally strong, above ego and petty self-righteousness and be confident. They are going to be all in your face and try to get into your head. Mindless lack of self-control has been the end of many a potential soldier. Be able to look a man in the eye and know you are no better but no less a man either. Call you what he may, as long as you know yourself, then you can survive and even thrive in the military. Once you’re through boot camp and move onto the regular Army a lot of the rigorous formalities and needless bullshit relax.

Dad, what was combat and war like?

Ulysses looked up into the sky. Combat is not the glorious, wonderful and clean stuff you see on TV. It is the most horrific, terrifying, and senseless thing you can imagine. In Vietnam I had to grow up fast. What I saw, I wish no other man ever has to see. The nature of war leaves its mark on you and it’s permanent. It is too unbelievable, too horrific to believe, even when you see it with your own eyes. You have to accept and believe that you are part of a greater cause and that you are contributing to a greater good. Combat is horrific. To kill a man is a terrible thing until you realize that you are at war and that he and the rest of your enemy are looking to do the same to you and your buds. In a war-zone and during combat you must develop a sixth sense. You have to concentrate and be attentive. Your life and those of your company depend on it. You all depend on each other. But most of all you have to be disciplined and learn to depend on yourself. Your life is in your hands.

He looked at Jameson. I was in the First Infantry Division, the Big Red One. A proud, talented and tenacious outfit but we had to learn quickly. We were in the jungle and Charlie was fighting in his element and on his own home turf. So we studied, we adapted, we learned how to survive and fight in those jungles. I learned very quickly that a man in the military can have too many friends so he has to choose them carefully. Let them know they can count on you and when they learn to trust you, they will, but in the end you must always remember that you are responsible for your own safety, your own equipment, your own decisions and your own life. The years I spent in the Army were some of the best and the worst years of my life. It’s not for everyone, but anyone with their wits about them can survive a four-year hitch, grow up and earn some benefits toward their future. The military is not a bad way to start out in life and some enjoy it enough to make a career out of it. But each man must choose his own path.

As Jameson grew and considered his own plans, he kept his father’s war stories and military adventures in the back of his mind. It was a given since he was a child that he would attend college and as his senior year drew to a close he began to consider where he would go. Ulysses had said it would be Jameson’s decision and that he could go where he wanted. Jameson realized the financial burden that college would be to his parents and considered the military as an option. One night he spoke to his father and told him that he did not wish to burden them with the cost of college and was considering joining the military. An Army recruiter had come to the school and told him that he could join the Army and earn college credits and even attend a college near whatever base he was stationed at. He told him that there were a lot of bases where he could earn a college degree in four to six years while on active duty.

Ulysses told Jameson to finish his chores and to come to the house so they could discuss it with his mother. When he walked into the kitchen he saw Jenni Mae holding some papers and a checkbook. She had him sit down at the table.

We started this before you were born and no matter how tight things got, we put money into it every month. We did it because first of all we love you and want only the best for you. We did it too because we know the absolute importance of an education and how far it can take you. This is for you Jameson. Use it wisely and make us proud.

She handed him a savings check register that showed eleven thousand and twenty-six dollars in an account in his name. He was speechless as he stood up and hugged his teary-eyed mother. He turned and looked at his father but couldn’t speak. Ulysses stood up and took some dishes to the sink.

Jameson that is the blood and sweat of your mother’s and my brow for the last eighteen years. We did it gladly and know that you will make the best of it. Jameson walked over to shake his father’s hand but then grabbed and hugged him. Thank you, thank you both. Surprised by the gesture, Ulysses patted him on the back.

Determined to make the most of their hard work and diligence, Jameson studied the schools and what each had to offer. Finally, after weeks of studying his options, he made his decision.

Sir, I’ve carefully studied all the offers and with your permission, I’d like to attend Mississippi State University in Starkville. Momma looked at Ulysses who continued to read his newspaper. Slowly he lowered the page and peered over it.

It’s your decision son, if you choose Mississippi State, so be it, he said and resumed reading.

Jameson entered Mississippi State that fall to study journalism and heartily threw himself into his studies. Between his classes and studying and his two work study jobs he had little time for diversions. His mother worried that he studied and worked too hard but Jameson assured her that it was necessary.

One weekend Jameson went home with two duffel bags of dirty laundry. He left them in his room and went out into the field to work with his father. When he returned to the house an hour later, he found his mother in tears. He tried to find out what was wrong, but she jumped up and raised her hand but did not slap him. She was distraught and sent him to his room. Mystified, he went to his room wondering what he could have done to upset her so.

As he heard his father come in Jameson put his head to the knothole in the floor to try to hear. Jenni Mae, still crying explained that she had found a pair of women’s panties in Jameson’s duffel bag. Jameson’s face went ashen. Oh my God he thought.

Obviously, the boy’s been fornicating with some girl, she sobbed. You better get up there and set your son straight about the facts of life. You go up there and explain to him the difference between love and sex and marriage and what the Word says about fornication and adulterers. You go set him straight!

Ulysses never said a word as he dutifully trudged up the stairs to Jameson’s room and knocked on the open door. Jameson looked up and answered in a low voice.

Come in. He had heard Jenni Mae’s raised voice through the hole in the floor and he wondered what his father would say to him. It was his own fault. It had to be Dorothy’s panties from the night she spent in his dorm room. He wanted to kick himself for not checking his bag but why on earth had she left her friggin panties in his hamper in the first place. He looked up at his father half expecting to hear the same hellfire and brimstone lecture that his mother had just preached to him but he also knew that that was not Ulysses’ normal style.

As he sat on the edge of his bed, Jameson watched as the big man walked over to the dresser and picked up one of his high school pictures.

I know we have talked but I need to speak to you some more Jameson. You are grown, his father said quietly. I think of you as a man, a very fine man. A man that your mother and I are extremely proud of. But as I’m sure you already know, there’s much more to being a man than having a penis between your legs. A real man is careful and responsible for his actions. Boy you have your whole life ahead of you and I pray every day that it is a life full of love and wonder. Your mother and I have always wanted only the best for you and your life, so all I am going to say is be careful. I won’t tell you not to have sex, but I hope that you’ll be careful and protect the young lady that you lie down with. He turned and looked directly at his son.

Now I hope that you’re taking precautions to prevent the planting of any seed. Sex is a wonderful blessing from God and it’s always better when it’s with someone you care about and sex with someone you love is the best it can get. Your feelings and attitude about sex will develop as you do. I hope that you will always respect yourself and your body and the woman you choose to be with. Remember too that sex can become addictive and it can be abused or it can be a wonderful part of a great relationship. Respect the power of love, the magic of sex, and always think with your head, the one on your shoulders. Now I wouldn’t ask another man about his private life so I won’t ask you about yours. Who you lay with is your business. Just be careful son.

He sat the picture down and walked out of the room. As he walked down the stairs, Ulysses looked drained. Jenni Mae approached him. Well.

I spoke to him Jenni Mae, he said as he opened the door and departed for the barn. Let it be.

Embarrassed Jameson returned to school and worked and studied with the same drive he had employed on the farm. But even within his rigorously self-disciplined regimen college life had its moments. One of them was the first time he laid eyes on Sharice Chambers. He was on his way over to Butler Hall, one of the girls’ dormitories to study with a couple of his biology classmates. As he waited at the lobby desk, he noticed one of the football players run to the door. It was Sam Nichols, a rather large, bald-headed, foul mouthed and even fouler-tempered offensive tackle from the football team. He waited by the lobby door and as this girl walked in, he grabbed her. She yelled and slammed her fists against his head and shoulders, fiercely squirming and trying to free herself, but the big galoot just laughed and held her tightly in his massive arms. Although he knew it wasn’t his fight, hell he didn’t even know the girl, something compelled him to step in. Jameson walked over to the door where they were struggling.

Hey man, turn her loose. The football player flung the girl around and turned toward Jameson and as he did they stumbled over to the lobby desk. This between me and this heifer nigga, so you need to back the fuck off.

While Sam was distracted addressing Jameson, the girl leaned over and reached behind the counter with her free hand. She grabbed a large, black cast-iron skillet from underneath the receptionist’s desk and without hesitation she turned and swung it as hard as she could. She caught Sam as he turned back toward her, smashing the flat side of the skillet squarely against his suddenly peculiarly-expressioned face. Instead of the expected clang he heard a hard thwump as blood, spit, and bits of broken teeth went flying. Sam screamed as he clutched the pulpy remains of his broken nose and severely bleeding mouth. Another thwump electrified the air and Jameson watched amazed as Sam suddenly flew backwards rocketing through the door in an explosion of glass. Everyone in the lobby ran to the door only to see big bleeding Sam laying among the shards of broken glass holding his nose and mouth as blood gushed profusely from beneath his cupped hands. As a crowd gathered Jameson stepped outside and heard the campus police sirens approaching. He looked up to see the co-ed step out and look at Sam the skillet still in her hand. He was about to tell her not to hit him again and that he would be a witness for her and that she was just protecting herself after he attacked her but he couldn’t say anything. My God he thought as he stared at her. She was stunning.

She suddenly turned to him. Hello, she said, extending her hand, And thank you so much. My name is Sharice, Sharice Chambers.

You’re so welcome, he said. Are you ok?

I’m fine. Sam might need some assistance, she said looking back at him.

The campus police and an ambulance arrived and hauled what was left of Sam away. After interviewing them and several witnesses, the police left and things quieted down. Jameson and Sharice sat down at one of the picnic tables in front of the dormitory and talked. He tried not to stare, but God she was beautiful and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was just as intelligent as she was beautiful and he wondered how he had not seen this woman before. Jameson would have talked to her all night but realizing he had to go to work, he walked her back inside to the foot of the stairs and bid her a good evening.

She thanked him and headed up the stairs and as much as he wanted to turn and watch her, he kept his eyes straight ahead. He had taken about three steps when he heard a cat-call like whistle. Do you always walk like that or have you been riding a horse?

He turned around to see Sharice at the top of the stairs looking down at him with a mischievous grin on her face. Jameson who had been told throughout his childhood that he was a little bow-legged looked up at her. She winked at him and turned and walked down the hall.

He called her that night and met her for lunch the next day. He quickly found himself infatuated and wanting to see her more. That was the beginning of their quickly developing whirlwind courtship that grew into a powerful relationship. They quickly fell in love with each other and became inseparable. They also developed a habit of brutal honesty with each other that hurt as well as nourished them. They were alike, perhaps too much alike, but different in many ways and they came to depend on each other whether they liked to admit it or not. Sharice considered Jameson the finest and most decent man she had ever met, but also the most opinionated, stubborn and pigheaded. If he felt a certain way about something or someone and his mind was made up, there was no changing it. It was a quality that she found both endearing and at the same time madly provoking.

To Jameson, Sharice Chambers was the closest thing to perfection he had ever laid eyes on. She was the most naturally beautiful woman he had ever seen or he could ever imagine. At times her beauty overwhelmed him and he found himself just staring at and marveling at her. She was magnificent in every sense of the word. That she was physically stunning was without question. It was noticeable to men and women the moment they saw her. Had she been dim-witted or even plain, that might have helped to balance her radiance, but she was also blessed with a tremendous mind and an unquenchable intellect. She had it all and that had proven to be a problem for her in some of her former relationships. She was too perfect, too beautiful, too intelligent and in a word, too much. She simply overwhelmed a lot of men and many just gave up and ran feeling they weren’t up to the challenge. She was a handful and didn’t suffer fools lightly and many men felt that she was just out of their league.

Even though awed by her, Jameson was so naïve or as she called him, simple, that he didn’t know enough to even think that way. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have a clue. He was simply mesmerized by her, enjoyed her, enjoyed looking at her, being with her, listening to her, and just being around her. She filled him with great joy and on occasion even greater despair. When he was with her she could make him feel sophisticated, suave and intelligent one minute and completely foolish the next. She made him feel like a God and the ultimate man one minute and then sometimes a country bumpkin. She kissed him and made him a man then chewed him up and spit him out like a bug. He felt every feeling a man could feel for a beautiful woman, love, lust, envy, joy, jealousy, respect and confusion were all emotions and thoughts that spun in his mind when he thought of Sharice Chambers.

Early in their courtship she discovered something about him that would plague their relationship throughout. In the first weeks she felt that he was cute, that his bow-legged walk was sexy, but that he was too quiet, too shy. She chided him to open up more and to tell her more about himself. She found that he was unlike most guys she had met, sextroverts, trash talking, egotistical, air-heads trying to talk their way into her panties. Jameson was always quiet, respectful, reserved and very reluctant to talk about himself.

One night he walked her out to the lake and asked her a thousand questions seeming happy just to hear her talk. He loved to listen to her, but rarely offered many insights about his life. As they walked around the lake, she demanded that he open up and tell her about himself. Jameson looked at her and simply said, There’s not a lot to tell. I am me. If I tell you I’m going to do something, then I am going to do it. I’m a man of my word.

Okay, mister man of your word. Like what? Tell me some specifics.

He looked at the sky for a moment, then skipped a rock across the lake. I am going to make the dean’s list, I am going to learn how to fly, I am going to make love to you and I’m going to make you fall in love with me.

For once in a long time she was caught off-guard and was momentarily speechless. Stunned, she half-laughed, Oh yeah cowboy? We’ll see about that.

He turned and looked at her. Oh, I’ve already seen it, he said. In my mind. For the first time a hint of a smile crept into his face. He picked up his books and turned to leave. She couldn’t resist. Well, since you’ve seen it, how was it?

I don’t kiss and tell, not even with you, he answered. You’ll have to wait to find out. With that he took her arm and walked her back to her dorm.

Shortly thereafter they did find out and it was more wonderful than either of them could have ever imagined. Their fierce competitive spirit embroiled their passion and their love and lovemaking became a defiant battle between gladiators. They were both consumed. They came to love each other deeply, openly, and profoundly. But try as she might, Sharice could never get to the deep part of Jameson’s heart that for some reason he seemed to hide or hold in reserve. She felt that he never completely opened up to her, as if he was not hiding exactly but unwilling to share himself fully with her. She never felt the closeness, the intimacy,