A Soldier’s Pen Pal

By Joan Lewis

Marshall is a soldier in the army, and Joan is a seaman apprentice in the navy. Both are in uniform when they meet on a Greyhound Bus. They exchanged addresses and the two of them write one another for a year; it is their only form of communication. They never speak nor meet again during their year of writing.

Their letters, as far as Joan realizes, are simply ways of trading positive inputs regarding military life. However, the soldier has other thoughts regarding their correspondences. To Marshall, the contents of the seaman apprentice’s written word shows that she has a caring and kind quality. Somehow, he has fallen for her. But how can he let the lady know that he is hopelessly in love with her? Afterall, he had only met her in person for one hour on a Greyhound Bus ride.

But the soldier does confess to the navy apprentice in his next letter; and she admits her love for him as well. After his tour in Vietnam they married.

This story tells of their initial meeting and all of the challenges they go through to secure their place in the world. With their love for children, relatives, friends and even strangers, they never fail to show a dedication for helping those in need. It is a heart-warming chronicle that will display how the couple’s love help navigate them through their marriage and many unforeseen obstacles. This book is dedicated to the author’s husband, Marshall Lewis, and all of his descendants as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781796093537

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Copyright © 2020 by Joan Lewis.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

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without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/21/2020

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1 Meeting

Chapter 2 Pen Pal

Chapter 3 Paratrooper

Chapter 4 Germany

Chapter 5 Return

Chapter 6 Visit

Chapter 7 Lunch

Chapter 8 Thanksgiving

Chapter 9 Letters

Chapter 10 Evacuation

Chapter 11 Confusion

Chapter 12 Wedding

Chapter 13 Family

Chapter 14 Home

Chapter 15 Generosity

Chapter 16 Lessons

Chapter 17 Illnesses

Chapter 18 Renewal

Chapter 19 Hospital

Chapter 20 Birthday

Chapter 21 Acceptance

Epilogue

Acknowledgement

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Soldier

Marshall W. Lewis

U.S. Army / 1966-1968

DEDICATION

This story is dedicated to my husband, Marshall W. Lewis, the soldier who loved me, according to him, from the moment he saw me. He was 23 and I was 18 years old; and we both were in the U.S. Armed Forces. I owe so much to this extraordinary man. And I know, since his passing, never will I lay witness to another human being that will come into my life as he had. I was bless to have Marshall as my husband for an incredible fifty-one years before he passed. He made life spectacular for his family and friends. He was a Faithful Servant of God, giving help to all that needed it with no monetary expectation. The service which he generously gave, he provided with kindness and love straight from his heart. Marshall W. Lewis was phenomenal. I will miss him every day for the rest of my life.

PROLOGUE

It’s poetic how one simple question can unlock a world of magnificent memories. Often times when my husband and I would be amongst other people, no matter what their age, someone would ask, You’ve really been married for all of those years? Wow, how did you two meet? My husband was always proud to inform people of our initial meeting. I missed many an opportunity to join him in telling of our chance meeting. Happily, he would tell the story of how he saw me in my navy uniform sitting on my red suitcase in a Greyhound Bus Depot. And of course, he would have to add that he was in his army uniform to heighten their interest.

Many times I found myself wishing my husband would just say we met on a bus and leave it at that. I felt that was our own bit of happiness that we should keep to ourselves. All through our younger age, middle age and finally our old age, my husband received such happiness in telling the story of our exceptional encounter. Now, I will no longer hear his narratives. I won’t see the happiness on his face as he tells of our initial meeting, because now he is not on this earth anymore. He had just turned seventy-six when God called him Home.

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I wished I had shared telling the story with him. I could have laughed at the points that he thought were so humorous. It would have been nice of me to smile as I heard him tell others how he, his mother and his father noticed me in the Greyhound Bus Depot. And I could have even blushed when he revealed to them that he told his mother he was going to sit with me on the bus. Marshall always told his captivated listeners that he loved the way I looked in my navy attire. Easily, I could have pointed out how dashing Marshall looked in his army uniform. And my adoration of his pride of us both being military personnel should have glistened in my eyes like the brightest of stars in the universe.

But now those opportunities have faded away; gone forever with the passing of my wonderful love, Marshall W. Lewis. Just as I’ve been telling you, there is a lot of things that I should have said, and a lot of things that I could have done. Now my earthly time is on the downside. And I am hoping by writing this book, I can ease the pain of his passing. We were loving and affectionate to one another; and I truly miss him. As I revisit the life I shared with my dear husband, I hope it will make the rest of my life a little more bearable.

My husband passed away right before my seventy-first birthday. Now my life is so lonely; and God, do I miss his stories. I would love to hear Marshall once again tell his wonderful chronicles. God, if I could only have that experience, I swear, I would join in and help him relive the moment. I’d be delighted to laugh at his points of humor. I could even see me adding some of the things that I remembered about our meeting. Like how kind he was as we shared conversation while traveling towards our destinations. And I would not forget to include how the soldier tried to convince me to ride to Washington, D.C. with him and then catch a connecting Greyhound Bus to get to my base. It certainly would be wonderful sharing the feeling of happiness along with him as we both told the account together. Because then the two of us could relive those loving times. Those moments which we will never again experience in this life. Those flashes of seconds when we were young and the story was fresh in our minds and hearts. What magnificent times those were; and I barely realized it. But Marshall W. Lewis always realized it. For he allowed himself to experience his life, our life, as he lived it. Never did he take living for granted. He realized the magnificence of his life from his younger age, his middle age and into his old-age. And even upon his deathbed Marshall knew it had been a magnificent life for us. It had always been magnificent to him.

I am going to write this story of how Marshall and I met and some of the great things this wonderful man accomplished during his lifetime. He was, and in my heart, he still is the kindest, bravest, most-loving man I have ever known. My husband was my lover and best friend. Those fifty-one years went by so quickly. And without my Marshall W. Lewis here upon this earth, I hold his magnificence close to my heart. For the love we shared was magnificent; a most magnificent love, indeed.

CHAPTER 1

Meeting

Some of the following story that you will read is from my memory, and accounts which I have heard from my husband, Marshall Lewis. During our marriage I have listened to him tell episodes of his and our life so many times, to so many people. I am pretty sure that I know most all of them by heart. I may be a little off on some of them, but please be assured I will tell the chronicle as best as I can remember from his and my point of view. I apologize upfront because there are a few facts of our life which were extremely personal, and I will not share them with you. And some of the incidents that I do tell have been altered, along with name changes. Then there are those sagas which never happened; they have been woven into the story from my imagination. However, I am sure the accurate accounts that I do share, I can hear my husband from heaven above saying, Yes, Joan, tell them about that one too. I will gladly start our story.

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In the year 1963, Marshall Lewis, a twenty-year-old young man, moved from his hometown, Cumberland, Maryland, to Rochester, New York. He worked for three years at Delco Products, a Division of General Motors. At the age of twenty-three, during his third year of working at the General Motors facility, he was drafted into the army. Marshall was a man of honor, integrity and of high moral character. It never entered his mind to head for Canada in order to escape the draft. This is what many men of that era did. But even with the Vietnam War in progress, Marshall felt if his country called upon him, he would be there for his country. In his heart he knew it was his duty to be a soldier in the army and to do his part, whatever that part may be. He was a brave man, and there was no man, nor situation that frightened nor intimidated him. He would go to war for the nation with no questions asked. I am proud to say, I married this warrior of a man.

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During our life together, many people have asked us how we met. If they’d ask me, I would give them the Cliffs Notes version by simply saying we met on a Greyhound Bus. Marshall on the other hand would go into an elaborate detailed saga of our meeting. And he never tired of telling anyone who wanted to know.

But the story actually started three and a half months prior to that Greyhound Bus ride. Our chance meeting was strictly coincidental. You see, in July of 1966, at the age of eighteen, I joined the United States Navy. I was Seaman Recruit Joan Hope, of the U.S. Navy. I took my basic training in Bainbridge, Maryland to become a navy wave. WAVES, I soon learned, stood for Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service. WAVES Boot camp was an eight-week intensive regiment of education, exercise, and becoming conformed to navy life. I felt that I was doing great in boot camp, but I was wrong. I failed the health portion of the curriculum. I would not be graduating boot camp with my unit, Company Six. I had to leave Company Six and report to Company Seven. Failing the health class had added an additional two weeks onto my training. This was bad, but it was not as bad as some of the other recruits’ experiences. There were recruits that did not graduation at all. They never made it in boot camp. Consequently, they faced the awkwardness of returning home because they could not adapt to navy standards. There was the academic portion and the physical portion. You had to pass both segments. The physical part required the recruit to be fit and to keep their weight under control. The lady recruits that could not manage their weight were assigned to the Pudgy Platoon which entailed additional intensive workouts and reduction in their caloric intake. I weighed all of ninety-four pounds, so I did not have to worry about the physical part of the training. I knew I had to do well within the extra two weeks and pass the health course.

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Ruthie York of Company Seven took me under her wing. She helped me get through the health class and some of the other tough times that I was having. When her family arrived on Visitors Day, she made sure I was included in on her socialization with them. My parents never made it to see me during that special day. I wasn’t very concerned about it because I knew they didn’t have the money to travel from Ohio to Maryland. Ruthie’s family lived in Cumberland, Maryland. I was happy to be included as part of their family on Visitors Day.

Mrs. York was very nice to me. She treated me as though I was one of her daughters. I remember her telling me, Why Hope, you and Ruthie look just like sisters. Mrs. York had even brought a special gift for me. She was just that wonderful, and I knew that she was a godsend. My visit with Ruthie’s family really made me feel fantastic. I owed a lot to my friend for her dedication of aiding me. I also had a grateful heart towards her family for including me in on their visit with Ruthie. It was such a great day of visit. Because though they were not my traditional family, I felt right at home with them.

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With Ruthie’s guidance and quizzing me relentlessly, I was finally able to graduate from boot camp with Company Seven. We got our orders for permanent duty stations. I was disappointed to find out that the choices I had requested, San Diego, San Francisco and Los Angeles were not granted to me. Instead, I was going to be stationed at the Naval Air Station in Patuxent River, Maryland. I thought, Maryland? But I’m already in Maryland. My friend, Ruthie, was happy that I would remain in the state of Maryland. That’s great, Hope, Ruthie said with excitement in her voice. You can visit my family in Cumberland, Maryland. That Patuxent River naval base is not too far from them. Ruthie gave me her mother’s address and telephone number and I promised her that I’d visit her family as soon as I could. How could I not make that visit one of my main priorities? Ruthie and her family had done a lot for me. I knew I would make the journey.

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Upon my graduation from boot camp I received two weeks of vacation time. I returned home, sporting my beautiful navy uniform everywhere I went. My mother was so proud of me. She took me all over showing me off. My father? I can’t even remember him saying anything at all regarding my accomplishment. I thought that it was extremely odd, because he was a navy man himself. It didn’t matter because I was very pleased with myself.

As soon as my two-week vacation was up, I reported to my duty station, Naval Air Station, Patuxent River, Maryland. I was assigned to the air traffic control building. My office was Operations Admin. It was one floor below the air traffic control tower. On my first day of working in the Operations Admin Office there was a horrific crash landing. The pilot of the jet died. Through the panoramic view of the oversized windows, every officer, sailor and myself witness the crash-crew trucks blaring onto the catastrophic scene. With the sense of an innocent newcomer, I asked one of the sailors, Does this always happen? He assured me that it did not. I was so happy to hear that it was not the normal routine of things at the control tower. The accident had truly rattled me. I worked for two weeks learning all that I could so I’d be great at my job. Once I completed two weeks at Operations Admin I took off for a weekend liberty. I had to fulfill the promise that I had made to Ruthie York. It was first and foremost on my agenda. I called Mrs. York to let her know when I would get to her home.

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Right outside of the base is a little town called, Lexington Park. I went to the small Greyhound Bus Depot and caught the bus to Cumberland, Maryland. When I got to Cumberland, I had to take a cab to Ruthie York’s house. The cabbie let me off in front of Mrs. York’s home and I paid him the fifty-cent cab fare. Mrs. York greeted me and I must admit it was very good seeing the woman again. Once inside, I met Ruthie’s step-father, her sisters and brothers. There were about five kids in the household, and they were all very nice to me. I had a great visit with the friendly family for almost two days.

I was restless the night before I was to leave Mrs. York’s home. Sleep did not come easy. When I finally did doze off, it was bittersweet. I awoke tired and anxious to get back to my duty station. I thought, I’ll catch a nap on the bus. As I showered and put my uniform on, the smell of eggs and bacon drifted into the bathroom. Mrs. York had made a large Sunday breakfast of eggs, bacon, grits, toast and pancakes for her family. There was a plate and eating utensils on the table for me. I placed a small portion of food onto my plate and ate very little of it. Mrs. York said, Why Hope, no wonder you just as skinny as a stick. You don’t eat much at all, do you?

No Mrs. York. I just don’t seem to ever have much of an appetite. I got up from the table and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek then said, Thank you for being so wonderful to me. I feel like I’ve always known you and your kind family. After saying my goodbyes to all, I waited for the cab in her living room. She stood at the screen door with me. The nice woman told me how happy she was knowing that I had befriended her daughter, Ruthie. Then she took hold of my hand, and in a voice of sincerity, she added, Child, just don’t forget, if you ever in these parts again, you got a place to stay with us.

I’ll remember, I assured her. I was a little sad to leave Mrs. York. She had been so much like a mother to me while I was going through this journey of young adulthood. I knew I would definitely miss her. I left with happiness knowing that I had honored Ruthie by visiting her family. Now I could get back to my naval air station and continue with my life as a navy wave.

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When the cabbie dropped me off at the bus station, I paid the fifty-cent cab fare and headed into the building. Cumberland’s Greyhound Bus Station was located inside of what appeared to be a post office. I had never seen anything like it. There was one bench in the makeshift waiting area. It was taken up by a man and wife, and their two little boys. There was nowhere to sit, so I sat on my red suitcase. When the bus finally rolled up, I was relieved. I was tired and ready to get back to my base. I got on the bus and took a seat midway. I wasn’t in my seat for any more than a minute when a man in an army uniform sat down in the seat ahead of me. Seconds after he had seated himself, he turned around and asked, Do you mind if I sit with you. Being flattered that the soldier would even think of wanting to sit with me, I told him that I did not mind at all. The soldier positioned himself into the seat, then turned and glanced at my nametag, Hope? Is that your last name?

Yes, it is, I answered.

He let out a hardy laugh. I felt a little uneased knowing he found humor in my surname; it must have shown on my face.

What’s the matter? he asked.

I guess Hope is an odd last name, I casually admitted.

With a gleam in his eyes, he asked, What is your first name?

Joan, I answered.

Joan Hope. That’s a very nice name. Two first names, I kind of like that. He was quick to add, You know, I have a sister-in-law whose name is Hope; but it’s her first name. Sometimes I’ve heard people call her Hopeless.

Yeah, some people call me hopeless too. Deep down inside, I knew it wasn’t some people. It had only been Ruthie York who would call me hopeless whenever I did something she deemed incredulous. I can hear her now, Hope, you’re hopeless. But I would shrug it off and laugh with the other recruits as they laughed at her comment and at me. Yet still I felt indebted to Ruthie for the nice things she had done for me. And that was the only reason I ended up in the small town where her people resided.

The soldier smiled, then said, I can’t imagine anyone ever calling you Hopeless. I’m going to call you, Hopeful. It was an icebreaker and I had to laugh at the soldier’s quick wit. Anyway, Joan Hopeful, it’s very nice to meet you, my name is Marshall; Marshall Lewis. I actually have three last names.

Three last names?

That’s right. My full name is Marshall Williams Lewis.

I thought to myself, Williams is a last name? Why would his parents name him Williams for a middle name instead of just plain William? He pointed to an older white couple standing on the sidewalk. That’s my mother and father, the man proudly announced. He leaned over me and gave the elderly couple a hardy wave. They waved back to their son as the Greyhound rolled away from the curb. You know, I was drafted about four months ago, the soldier said to me. This is the first chance I’ve had to come see my parents since I’ve been in the army.

Oh, I replied, as I looked at the man sitting next to me. He was a big guy, and looked as though he could easily have been someone of great importance in the army. But since I didn’t know what the badges and insignias on his army uniform represented, I had no clue as to what his army status was. He continued, I don’t mind being in the army. I look upon it as great experience for me. I nodded as he continued on. As a matter of fact, I’m in Morse Code School right now. His conversation seemed to be non-ending.

I came to the realization that this was not going to be the peaceful bus ride I was looking forward to. The soldier was talkative and I was tired from lack of a good night sleep. My portion of the friendly conversation soon dwindled. The soldier realized it, so he became quiet too. As the bus turned onto the expressway. I noticed the soldier pull something out of his jacket pocket and examine it. I glanced over at the item. I couldn’t quite make out what it was. He caught me looking at the odd object, smiled and then stuffed it back into his pocket. I guess he had made the gesture to recapture my interest. It worked. Once again he had my attention. He gave me a friendly smile, then asked, Where’s your post, Hopeful?

My post? What is a post? I asked the soldier.

You know, where they sent you after boot camp? Where are you headed to?

Oh, you mean my duty station. I had to admit the jargon between the army and navy was completely different. I’m stationed at Naval Air Station, Patuxent River, Maryland, I rattled off to him.

Umph; a naval air station. How impressive.

At this point I knew the soldier was not going to sit quietly and enjoy the ride of the Greyhound. It seems as though he had been in a talkative mood from the moment he took the seat next to me. A friendly guy, full of conversation, I thought. Oh well. I