Enemies in Love Instantly smitten, two souls are torn by overpowering love of an enemy they were born to hate A Tailgunner’s Diary Unable to penetrate the barriers, he volunteers to die in the skies over Germany - Life Expectancy is eleven missions What am I doing in Chicago Separated by his family’s move to LA, he yearns for his highschool sweetheart That’s All Brother The ‘flip’ name they Christened their B-24 bomber . The Box in the Attic Diary stored in the Attic for fifty years
2010 by Wesley Carrington Greayer All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publishers, except, by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper or magazine. First printing. This story is true, only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. It chronicles the author's youth through his return from combat after flying thirty-five missions over Germany with the Eighth Air Corp during WWII. It covers his romantic and aerial battles until he completed his tour and returned home to find his highschool sweetheart . . . 'married'. Dialogues are a product of the author's imagination but are in keeping with events reported. Mission log entries are from the author's actual ‘Mission Log', which he recorded upon his return from each mission on a 4' x 4' piece of drywall next to his bunk. The log entries record mission targets, bombs dropped, flight times, crews lost, and other significant events during each mission. Descriptions of other events are the author's recollection of his experience; any resemblance to real incidents or persons, living or dead, is entirely intentional .
Dedication
To the airmen of the Eighth Air Force who suffered the highest casualty rate of any US combat group in WWII and who died solitary deaths in the frigid skies high above Europe. To our children, Gregg, Dawn, and Robert, who would not be here had I perished with my comrades. To my granddaughter, Amanda, who offered me sage advice on my first novel. To my granddaughter, Meredith and my grandsons, Daniel and Isaac. A special thanks to my wife, Susan, who was six-years-old when I enlisted and who rescued me from bachelorhood when she became my wife.
Acknowledgments
I am indebted to the men and women who struggle every day to produce meaningful art, and who sustain one another in countless writers’ groups throughout the country. Without their support and encouragement, none of us would have the courage to face the blank page day after day. The following is but a short list of authors, editors, writing instructors, and agents who have provided hope. Ruth Adams, Shaye Areheart (Editor), Louise Glynn Barr, Loretta Barrett (agent), Sandra Blanton (Agent), Drucilla Campbell (Editor), Sally Conley (Agent), Ray Corn,, Helen Duggins, Lilian Gafni, Bob Gifford, Helen Gorey, Robert Gorman, Gil Hamblet, Ray Harris, Russ Herrington, Julie Jeffery, Mary Ann Joyful, Dave Kenney, Jack King, Beverly Knudson, Bill Lashbrook (deceased), Mary Liz Lowe, Ludmilla Luckevich, Jean C. Mangels, Greg Miguel, Dave Milam, Tom Mooney, Janette Moote, Martha Morehead, Eleanor Nicholson, John Nursall, Jean Shriver, Cat Spydell, Dave Turner, Dr. Ross Winterowd (Writing Professor).
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Prologue
The Box in the Attic
Two years ago, on a bright, sunny, California day, Brian, Helen, and Alex returned to the old homestead, a huge white house on a hillside overlooking the slate-blue Pacific, to do the necessary. It comes to each of us . . . eventually, . . . one day you must dispose of your parents' belongings; that is a given. This was that day. The ache of their passing had long since passed and they were in high spirits as they confronted their chore. There was little to do; they had made all the major decisions. Helen would take the jewelry, silver, and china; Brian wanted the sculpture and paintings, and Alex would take Pop's books. They only had to divvy up the memorabilia and then turn the relatives loose. What the relatives Greayer Enemies in Love 4 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] didn't want, they could give to Goodwill. When Brian and Alex arrived at the house, Helen came bounding over and gave each of them a hug and a peck on the cheek. She said, "Hi Alex. Hi Brian. The place looks great. Mom's Agapanthus and Impatiens are in full bloom." Basking in the morning sun, their birthplace welcomed them. They felt the first pang as they climbed the brick staircase between the cool, green lawn on their left and the flower beds, ablaze with color, on their right. They could almost see Mom and Pop greeting them from the upstairs family room balcony. Pop had hung bird-feeders all round the eaves. A red, See-Rock-City birdhouse sat on the balcony railing, and a hummingbird was feeding at the bird feeder. . . . This wouldn't be easy. Like old times, they gravitated to the octagonal game-table in a corner of the huge family room; the oak surface worn smooth by the many wild games of quadruple-solitaire they played there. Helen slipped quickly through a French-window onto the balcony and refilled the bird feeders. When she peeked inside the birdhouse, a red-crested finch, sitting on the jacaranda tree, put up a hell of a ruckus and flew at her. Fleeing indoors and hastily closing the door, Helen said, "Cranky little devil." Gazing out over the red tile rooftops, toward the sea, Brian said, "This always was my favorite spot. Can’t you see Mom and Dad lounging here sipping their breakfast tea?" Alex nodded. "Adding the birdhouse and bird feeders was a great idea. Too bad none of us can afford to live here." Helen said, "Don't need any reminders, thank you." Then, with a faraway look in her eyes, she said, "I couldn't live here anyhow; . . . I'd get too weepy." Turning toward Alex, she said, "We know what we came for, let's get this over so we can get out of here." Then, in a more spirited voice, she kidded them. "Which one of you sports is going to treat me to lunch?" Helen was much too optimistic. They got no lunch that day. How do you divide thirty-eight photo albums, sixty-seven teapots (all with date and place of purchase carefully noted), and enough needlework to fill a museum? Pop owned every tool and gadget known to man, but neither Brian nor Alex had a clue, so they left them for cousin Tom. After that, there was just junk left, stuff with no value. But each item they tried to toss had invisible tentacles; memories attached to each inanimate object. Their stacks of worthless memorabilia grew larger: an ancient doll, a worn out Derby, a chipped baseball bat, a broken cane. Helen said it first. "What are we looking for?" "Nothing." Alex said, "We know life isn't forever. . . and, let's face it, we had a lot to be thankful for." "We were lucky." Brian said, "They were always happy and healthy." "And don’t forget, wealthy." Alex said, "We didn't have to think about them too much; they let us live our own lives." "Yeah, right." Brian said, "Especially if you lived on Mars." Alex laughed. "I only did the necessary, such as sending birthday and Christmas cards." Brian said, "You were always out of the country; what else could you do from Siberia?" Greayer Enemies in Love 5 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Helen said, "And as with most parents, they were always, parenting. It was their job, after all." Alex nodded . " And though "we children" were all grown with families, professional degrees, and successful careers, we still received advice on every aspect of our lives." Brian called him Father, Helen called him Dad, and Alex called him Pop. In a way, these differing titles reflected their different relationships. Brian seemed to handle it best, but he had to go through ten years of therapy to overcome Pop's excessive parenting when he was just a kid. Anyhow, that morning before Alex set out to meet his siblings to divvy up the booty, he was reading the comics over a cup of coffee and he saw Mel Lazarus' witty strip, Momma. It captured the essence of their relationship with their parents perfectly. Momma's daughter Lucy was visiting, and said, "You know, Momma, when some girls spend time with their mothers like this, they actually find it dull, boring, very, very monotonous, and even unbearable." . . . After a pregnant pause, Lucy said, . . . "I don't find it unbearable."
Alex shared this with Brian and Helen and they all laughed heartily, . . . as their parents would have done. Yes, that cartoon said it best. They had them pigeon-holed. Like most children they could easily believe in the immaculate conception; that's the only way they could explain their presence. No way could they envision their parents ever copulating. Oh, their Mother was a charmer, . . . no mistake, . . . with her soft southern accent she was always the life of any party. She had suitors lined up from here to Kalamazoo, but she rejected them all until that day she saw their Father. She snagged him at a St. Patrick's day dance. They all had heard her tell the story a thousand times, . . . how her girlfriend asked if she saw anyone interesting and she replied, "Only that charming older gentleman over there." How she could call him charming was a mystery to them. A block of marble had more charm. But, he didn't put up much of a fight; three days later they were married! Now that definitely wasn’t their Pop. He couldn't order dinner from a menu in three days unless he'd consulted C onsumer Report ahead of time. And, they never could see how a twenty-three-year-old dish could see anything in Pop who was almost twice her age. He was handsome they supposed; . . . after all he was their father. At twenty he looked like Cary Grant, but he was no Cary Grant at forty. Alex got out the photo’s to check. "This is Cary Grant." Then he produced another picture. "And this is Pop before he went into combat and lost all his hair, hmm, . . . not bad. . . . And here’s a picture of Clark Gable in Gone With the Wind. He was the major heartthrob in his day. I don’t know; perhaps I’m prejudiced . . . but I can’t tell which one is better looking." Then Brian came tripping down from the attic carrying an old battered box. "Look at this, guys. Dad stuck it up on the rafters where he hid the silver whenever they went on a long trip." Helen cleared their cold pizza away and Brian set the box on the table. Carefully opening the flaps, Helen lifted out Pop's 1939 high-school-annual and opened it to Dad's picture. "Can you believe Dad ever Greayer Enemies in Love 6 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] was that young? He looks like a twelve-year-old from an ‘Our-Gang" comedy. . . . And, look at the caption!" Brian read, "In he comes, one vast, substantial smile." "Makes me sad," Helen said. "I really miss his smile." Meanwhile, Alex was emptying the box and placing items on the table. It was all innocent looking stuff: Ancient photographs, a toy wedding ring, Pop's track and swimming medals, his military records, honorable discharge, and Air Medal citations. "Here’s a photo of Dad in uniform." Helen gushed. "Sure was a handsome devil. Must have driven the girls crazy." Brian picked up a framed certificate. "This Lucky Bastard Club certificate says he completed thirty-five missions over Germany." "Never talked about the war," Alex said. "Didn’t even know he was in the Eighth Air Force. I hear they had the highest casualty rate of any combat unit in WWII." Brian said, "Tom Brokaw called them ‘The Greatest Generation.’" Helen said, "Really! Wow." She lifted out several shoe boxes. "There must be two-thousand letters in here." Checking the addresses, she said, "They’re all postmarked during the war. I feel like we're invading his privacy. Should we dump them?" Just then, the Box yielded up something else. Brian laid Pop's diaries on the table. "There's a letter taped to the cover. Our names are scrawled on the envelope." Greayer Enemies in Love 7 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] === Greayer Enemies in Love 8 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 1
Christmas Morning
And when the thousand years have expired, Satan shall be loosed out of his prison, and shall go out to deceive the nations which are in the four corners of the earth, Gog and Magog, to gather them to battle: the number of whom is as the sand of the sea. (Revelation 20, 6,7)
On 21 May 1935, Adolph Hitler stood before the Reichstag and pounding his fist on the lectern in his usual bombastic style, he raved, “Whoever lights the torch of war in Europe can wish for nothing but chaos.” From that day the world held its breath. Sixteen-million American boys put their private lives on hold for ten years Greayer Enemies in Love 9 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] while the drama on the world stage played out. It was the Biblical prophesy come true. The war that followed cost 55 million lives, but the true number of casualties would be as the sands of the sea. At the exact moment of Hitler’s oratory, halfway round the world in Spotswood, New Jersey, Winfred C. Grant awoke from a fitful slumber. Reaching down, Winfred petted his dog, Nip, lying beside him on the bed. Nip, a black and white mutt was a mix of boarder-collie and a half- dozen other breeds; he was Winfred’s constant companion. Rolling out of bed, Winfred yawned and stretched. The scar, where a hunter’s misguided bullet grazed his forehead, showed white against his young, sunburned face. Stepping to a window, Winfred looked eastward. Dark clouds on the horizon matched his mood. A low-rumble and bright flashes on the horizon, like distant gunfire, quickened his pulse. Swiftly pulling on a pair of cutoff trousers, Winfred slapped Nip on the rump, and said, "Come on, old-buddy, it’s time for us to get moving; I see a storm brewing off of Atlantic City." With Nip at his heels, Winfred hurried downstairs and out into the warm spring air. He jogged across a cow pasture, hurdled a stream, and reached the top of a small mound that folks in these parts called Molly Pitcher Hill. Blood had spilled on this soil. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he gazed at a hawk swooping low overhead. The hawk’s shadow, like a swastika , sped over the ground and panned across his face. A shudder rippled down his spine as though he had stepped on his own grave. Fearing a snake was nearby, Winfred withdrew a knife from its scabbard and . . . looking around cautiously, he tested its edge against the stubble on his chin. A trickle of blood ran down his neck and chest. Grimacing, Winfred pressed two fingers to the wound. Greayer Enemies in Love 10 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Returning the knife to its sheath, Winfred marched grim-faced down the narrow trail, leaving just the imprint of his toes and the balls of his feet in the dust. No sound marked his passage, a habit formed from solitary years spent in the woods with Nip as his only-companion. Not yet fifteen, he looked every-inch-a-man, his sunburned- torso-and-legs offering an image of an Indian warrior stalking his foe. Winfred’s schooling had begun early. He was only three and on the verge of tears after breaking his toy when he heard his father’s voice, like the voice of God, booming down from above, "Winfred, be a man. . . . Men don’t cry." Winfred didn’t cry, . . . he was too terrified to cry, . . . he never cried, . . . not even on this frightful day.
Upstairs, in Winfred’s home, his sisters, Ann and Beth lie in bed whimpering. A year and Greayer Enemies in Love 11 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] two years younger than Winfred, respectively, they have blue eyes, milk-white skin, and the prim, well- scrubbed look of young girls from a Jane Austin novel. The bright yellow, daisy-covered wallpaper on t h e i r bedroom walls contrasted with their mood. "We may as well stop crying, Beth, there's nothing we can do about it." Red eyed, Beth said, "But gee, shouldn't Mom and Dad have told us what was happening?" Ann looked disgusted. "Why? So we could worry about it for six months. Look at us, for gosh sakes, we’re dressed in cast-off rags from our cousin’s trash, we've been on Relief for two years, and we’re eating nothing but boiled potatoes and pork rinds. If we had half a brain, we could have figured it out for ourselves." Beth looked puzzled. "I'm not much good at figuring things out. Tell me what's going to happen now." Ann walked to the window and raised the sash, letting in the spring breeze. "What Mom and Dad said. We’ve lost our home and they have to sell everything at an auction to pay off our creditors." "What are creditors?" "Oh Beth! People we owe money, like Mr. Applegate, the grocer, who fed us for a year before Mom applied for Relief." "Why did he do that?" "Because he's a kind man and knew Dad would pay him someday, . . . I guess. Gee-whiz, how-the-heck-do I know?" (Beth knew all this but now that it started happening she realized her whole world was crumbling.) Voice trembling, she said, "Where will we go?" Exasperated Ann said, "We'll move to New York City, what else? After Greayer Enemies in Love 12 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Dad lost his last job in Kalamazoo, it was up to Mom. She must have a job; she’s been at Aunt Baby’s for the last month. We were so busy playing house, we never wondered why?" "Didn't Winfred know? He runs everything around here." "Winfred! . . . hah. He’s in a daze half the time. Never know if he's playing Tarzan with Nip, or writing one of his poems. I’d like to kick him in the slats, to wake him up." "Why is Dad acting strange, sitting around every night with his head in his hands while we-kids clean up and put ourselves to bed?" "Dad was a ‘big wheel’ before the Depression hit. Golly, we had servants and everything. Now look at us. Pop has been everywhere looking for work. When Mom applied for relief, it hurt his pride. He’s worn out and humiliated. I heard Uncle Roddy say he’s lost his manhood, whatever that means." Beth walked to her bureau and got out some clean underwear. "Why didn’t he let Dad do it?" "Guess he figures Dad has enough problems so he has to be a man and do it himself.” Glad I’m not Winfred.” “Yeah, poor guy. . . . At least we get to cry."
Downstairs, in the billiard room, a Churchillian head sat atop a blacksmith's shoulders. This was Percy Grant, Winfred's father. The picture of John Bull, it was a picture that did not deceive. Born a Cockney, within the sound of Bow Bells, he had communed with spirits since he was a child. Though only a corn-chandler’s son, he had read all the classics and by the age of eighteen he was a self-taught engineer determined to become a country gentleman. In 1925, Percy bought a small homestead called, Bide a Wee Cottage, located on twenty-acres of land halfway between Spotswood and Jamesburg, in New Jersey. Then with hand tools and a missionary’s zeal he transformed the cottage , brick by brick and joist by joist, into a modest Manor House. Filled with the wonder of creation, Percy never slacked his pace. He sang hymns while he worked and greeted each day with his favorite ballad.
(Author unknown) Oh me father is a backer and he slaps along with me Each morning in the wintertime he has to rise at three And as he stands a’shiverin’, a’puttin’ his trewsers on I bobs me head beneath the clothes and I begins to hon
Oh it’s nice to get up in the morning, When the sun is beginning to shine, At four or five or six o’clock In the good old summertime.
But, when the dew is dewing And it’s murky overhead, Oh, it’s nice to get up in the morning, But it’s better to lie abed. Greayer Enemies in Love 13 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
All this while Percy spoke to the spirits and their guidance made him an irresistible force. By 1929, the Gods had smiled on him. He had made a fortune and was able to hire servants to care for his estate. Fancying himself The Great Gatsby , he began throwing lavish weekend parties. His prosperity lasted six- months, at most. First the stock market crash in '29 wiped out his small fortune. Then, after fifteen- years as Chief Mechanical Engineer at the Diamond-Electric Corporation in Elizabeth New Jersey, he was jobless and penniless. When the electric company shut off their power, they were reduced to kerosene lanterns, using an outhouse, and fetching water from a spring. Percy tried to carry on, living out of a suitcase for months at a time, and traveling to the far corners of the nation to find work, but it was his wife, Rose, who delivered the coup de grace .
Percy withdrew her letter from his inside coat pocket and read. 4 May 1935 Percy, YouYouYou may be happy to sit by the window communing withwith sspiritspirits and remembering your past triumphs while the house falls down around you, but I can wait no longer for you to recover your manhood. I'mI'mI'm tired of living in the wilderness a mile from thethe nearest neighbor and three miles from a grocery store. I'mI'mI'm tired of walking to town to call the doctor whenwhen tthehe children are ill or wasting an entire day traveling to the dentist in NewNew Brun Brunswickswick whenever someone has a toothache. I'mI'mI'm tired of fetching water from a spring, heating it on a kerosene stove, andandand hauling it upstairs to fill the tub for each persoperson'sn's bath. I'm tired of washing clothes in a galvanized tub, drying them on a clotclothesline,hesline, summer and Greayer Enemies in Love 14 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] winter, and of ironing them with a flatiron heated on the coal-stove. I'mI'mI'm tired of making beds, preparing meals, cleaning hohouse,use, burning trash, andandand feeding the animals. I'm tired of gathering berriberries,es, of canning vegetables, and of baking bread, pies, and cakes. I'm tired of killing chickens, plucking feathers, and removing their heads, feet,feet,feet, and innards to prepare Sunday’s dinner. Sit and mmmournmourn if you like, Percy, but I’m tired and I’m movimovingng to New York with the children. Rose ... Returning the letter to his pocket, Percy blew his nose on a freshly laundered handkerchief and gazed wistfully out the window. Tears were leaking from his eyes as he surveyed the scene taking place out on the front lawn. He murmured, “The vultures are gathering. They’ve come to pick my bones .”
The Dukes' brand-new 1935 Chevrolet, Mrs. Derby's old Model T, the Walters' 1930 Model A, along with several horse-drawn buggies, were all parked under the maple trees on the front lawn. Children spilled out onto the Grant estate, followed by their parents, . . . everyone eager to see how far the mighty had fallen. A green-ribboned-sunbonnet said, "Mr. engineer ain't so high-and- mighty now, him with his hoity-toity accent, showin' off, - buying sodas for all the riffraff hangin-bout at Kumka's Creamery." A chin-high starched collar said, "Came plumb from New York by taxi, they did.” He chuckled. “They'll not be leavin' that way." Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Corncob pipe wheezed, "Weren't ‘portant enough for their parties or playing on their tennis court. Strictly for their New York City guests." Corncob junior said, "Looked out back Paw. Cain’t find the tennis court no- more. All covered with chickweed and crab-grass." Sunbonnet huffed, "Those weekend guests with their Pierce Arrows, Stern’s Knights, and Essex town cars are just memories now." Mariners’ beard scratched his chin. Greayer Enemies in Love 15 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Shouldn't gloat, but we farmers can still put vittles on our tables." Parrot nose said,"His Mrs. never fitted in here. Hear-tell she was raised in some South American country with servants and all. Sure got her comeuppance when she had to apply for Relief." Sunbonnet said, "Hold on Maud, what else could she do? Had three younguns to feed.” Mr. Sunbonnet, cleared his throat and said, "Now, give her, her due, Maw. That Mr. of hers was too proud to apply for charity." "Sunday-school-teacher said, "Felt bad seeing that old man with his crooked leg pushing wheelbarrows full of cement on a WPA road gang. Hardly seemed ‘fittin’ for such a dignified gentleman." Handlebar-mustache laughed. "Whatever he gets, ‘tain't exactly charity. When all is said and done, he’s not earnin’ five-cents an hour on the WPA." High-collar said, "Hold on there. . . . May-be slave-labor, Earl, but we're paying for it. My taxes jumped to twelve-dollar and twenty-three cents last year." Mariner's beard said, "Thinks he's a Senator or somethin', always struttin’ round in a three-piece suit and tie, even when he’s pushin’ that wheelbarrow."
Train-conductor said, "Sakes alive, give the man credit. Only man with book learnin’ in these parts. Remember when Penn Rail wanted to cut their service because they was losing money? Went door to door
getin' signatures, he did, for that petition. Stopped Penn Rail cold. Would be no trains in this town atall, otherwise. No one could've done it 'ceptin' him." After a pause he said, "And don’t fergit last year when the younguns were on summer holiday. Those old desks in school were so covered with carved initials that my Nancy claims her pencil point snapped cz she got her test paper on the wrong spot and she checked the wrong box. . . . Miss Birtchal wouldn’t believe her. . . . Anyhow, last summer, he planed and sanded those Greayer Enemies in Love 16 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] old desks and they’re all good as new. Nancy says her pencil glides over her paper so smooth, her handwriting’s even getting better.” Black Derby looked pensive. “Felt real sorry for him last Christmas Eve. Was clumping home on that gimpy leg through two foot snow drifts, carrying an axe and dragging a small spruce for their Christmas tree. Looked plumb wore out.” Derby took off his hat and wiped the sweat band with his red kerchief. “Gave him a lift. . . . When I dropped him at his front door, he thanked me and asked if I’d give him three nickels for his pocket watch. Wanted his kids to have something Christmas morning besides the string of popcorn his wife decorated the tree with.” Sunday school teacher said, “They’re precious chiren. Memorized their catechism like little angels. Earned their Bibles for perfect attendance at Sunday school.” A purple dress with a large brimmed hat placed her hand alongside her mouth and whispered, "Hear-tell they're devil worshipers." Anxious to confirm the rumor, parrot-nose said, "My Ambrose followed them home from church one Sunday. Peeked through a window and saw them sit round a table, join hands, and sing hymns with their eyes closed. The table began a'rockin' and Mr. Grant started speaking to the dead. My Ambrose skedaddled right home, white as a ghost."
Ducking under the limb of an oak tree, Winfred entered a small clearing in the surrounding wilderness. Mr. Schmidt, Red faced and dripping with perspiration, was chewing tobacco and cutting logs into two-foot lengths with a buck-saw. He said, "Looks like somethin's frettin' you, Winfred." "Need to borrow your twenty-two rifle, Sir, . . . if I may?" Mr. Schmidt placed another ten-foot log on the sawhorse, and continued his long, easy strokes with the buck-saw. Menfolk often cut wood over the summer months. It took five cords of oak and a cord of pine to see them through the winter. They worked outdoors from sunup through mid-afternoon. The New Jersey mosquitoes owned twilight. Mr. Schmidt ejected a large, black stream of tobacco juice, and wiped his lips on his shirt-sleeve. "You're no hunter, Winfred. Gunter asked you pheasant huntin', . . . once’d. You claimed killin’ a livin’ creature ‘twas ‘gainst your nature.” Mr. Schmidt chuckled. “Claimed even vermin had a right to live." Winfred made no response. Nip flushed a rabbit and gave chase. Winfred's sharp whistle brought him back quickly. Reaching down, Winfred grabbed Nip's muzzle playfully, and said, "Good boy." A newscaster's voice cackled from Mr. Schmidt's huge radio, powered by two six-volt automobile batteries propped on a sawhorse, nearby. Reaching for the volume knob, he muttered, "Damn noise." He turned off the voice prattling on about Franklin Delano Roosevelt's latest Fireside Chat. Giving Winfred a knowing look, Mr. Schmidt said, "Anythin' I can help you with, Winfred? Winfred grimaced. "No Sir. I need to do it. He’s my friend." Mr. Schmidt laid his saw aside and unlocked the shed. He said, "Sure you don't need the twelve-gage?" "No Sir, I couldn't use a shotgun." Mr. Schmidt opened a chest filled with ammunition boxes and guns of various sorts. Withdrawing a twenty-two-rifle, he ran his palm down the barrel. After checking the magazine, he handed Winfred the empty gun. "How many shells?" "One, Sir." Winfred held out fifteen cents. “I can pay.” Greayer Enemies in Love 17 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Mr. Schmidt ignored the money and handed him the shell. Winfred jammed the shell into his hip pocket next to the fifteen-cents Mrs. Brush had given him. "Thank you, Sir." Winfred marched off with the gun cradled in the crook of his left arm.
Yesterday, before sundown, he had earned ten-cents for stacking a cord of wood for Mrs. Brush. She liked Winfred and always gave him an extra nickel, saying, "Winfred, promise you'll save this for college." Mrs. Brush wrote short stories for Collier’s and read all Winfred’s poetry. She felt he should be a writer. As he entered a cornfield, Winfred recalled the first time he stumbled into that magic placeI . was four and we'd moved to Spotswood only a week before. Mother had just read us ‘Alice in Wonderland’ and I felt I had walked through the looking glass. Corn-silk perfume filled the air and a gentle breeze rippled the corn-stalks. Sunlight filtering through created hypnotic patterns of dancing light and shadow on the undulating hills and furrows of my enchanted land, and the swishing blades whispered a song to me. Then I happened upon a grove of pumpkins and was sure of it. Can still feel the thrill as I selected the largest pumpkin I could carry and lugged it back home. Couldn't wait to see Mom's face when I gave her my treasure. Mother lauded her brave little man. I was in heaven. Winfred laughed. Then, God lowered the boom. There was a loud banging on the front door and an irate farmer demanded payment for my thievery. I plunged from heaven straight into purgatory. Felt I'd committed a mortal sin. He charged a king’s ransom for my innocent blunder. It was unjust of Mother to make me pay the farmer’s demand from my meager hoard. Mom said I was being taught a lesson. Some lesson. She got the pumpkin and I was branded a thief.
Winfred's mother, Rose, sat in the potting shed, gazing vacantly at the broken flowerpots. She had the proud look of the aristocracy. Her diminutive stature, delicate features, and sleight build belied her strength, stamina, and iron will. Her swarthy complexion, dark brown eyes, and black hair reflected her Portugese-Madeiran ancestry. Rose fretted, thinking how easily duped she was. When I met Percy, he seemed my dream come true. He took me everywhere by taxi: the museums, the Metropolitan Opera, Carnegie Hall, and all the Broadway plays. We dined at the best restaurants, and he tipped lavishly including the head waiter and the Maitre d’. With his cultured British accent and free spending ways, he charmed me and my entire family, but, after our three children were born, he deposited me here in the wilderness so he could realize his childhood dream. We worked like Coolies. The hard work finally paid off and we became the envy of Middlesex County. It was wonderful. But, then the stock market crashed, the Depression hit, and we were plunged from luxury to Greayer Enemies in Love 18 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] poverty. Too proud for charity, Percy kept up appearances by going into debt. We lost everything. I had to find work or we would starve. Going into the city, to find work was terrifying. Thank heaven ladies in Trinidad learned to make their own clothes. Ten-dollars a week isn’t much, but we’ll get by until Percy gets a job. Rose got up and looked out the window. She sighed as she thought about her predicament . The children know nothing of city life. Hope they’ll be all right. They've never even seen a newspaper, except that one Percy brought home from the city about Lindbergh flying the Atlantic. Winfred still has it tacked to his bedroom wall. Says he’ll soar like an eagle, one day. Poor dear, he’s such a dreamer. Rose put her hand to her forehead as she continued to reminisce. The girls have one-another, but Winfred is on his own. Sometimes I feel we push him too hard. He's so tall and grown up I forget he's just a child. With Percy only coming home on weekends, Winfred has been the man of the house. He's been my little-man since he was six. I don’t know what I would have done without him. Ann says he’s so serious, his classmates call him Grandpa. That can't be good. . . . Breaks my heart that he wouldn't allow Percy to do it. Oh well, tomorrow we'll be in New York and he'll get a new start on life.
Winfred bounded through a field of golden, knee-high wild rye. Whirling around quickly, he hugged Nip to his chest and rolled about in the hayfield, playfully. When Winfred released Nip, the old dog ran around like a puppy, he was so happy. Entering a small forest bordering the West side of the pasture, Winfred closed his eyes and breathed in the musky smell of oak and pine and decaying vegetation.
Pensively he thought, . . . This is my favorite wood. . . . As a preschool lad I oft did climb-- up into space and backward in time. Clinging to a branch I would sway to and fro, and, like an eagle on high, observe the chipmunk, the hawk, the robin and the doe. I was Tarzan as I swung through a tree, and climbing to the topmost branch, checked how far could I see. Ran through fields chasing hare and deer, and developed such speed their escape was near. Greayer Enemies in Love 19 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Made friends with the tortoise, dove, fox, and bobtail, and watched fish, pheasant, thrush, and quail. Could mimic sounds of wolf, coyote, whippoorwill, and loon, and kept myself company by whistling a tune . . . .
I grew up among these trees beside this river. I came here to dream and to pray. After today I’ll never return. Digging the shell from his pocket, Winfred inserted it into the magazine and propped the gun against a tree. Shrugging off his gloom, Winfred turned and watched Nip roll about on the turf, scratching his back. Nip was a wild dog, a creature of the forest . Recalling how he and Nip became friends, he said, "I chased you many times, old boy, but you always vanished, like a ghost.” Looking somber Winfred, mused, “I started believing you were a ghost, . . . perhaps an ancestor who came to watch over me.” He scowled and shook his head. Then one day, on this very spot, I found a ball of black and white fur covered in blood. A hunter had shot you full in the face, with a load of buckshot, and left you for dead. Had to pick the pellets out . . . one by one. Made me sick, it did, ‘poor darling’ as Mom said. How anyone can get pleasure out of killing, I’ll never understand. Our parents try to teach us love and respect for all living creatures, but man only seems to have learned about hate. He slapped Nip on the rump, playfully. "Nursed you back from the dead, didn't I old fella." Nip looked up and licked Winfred's hand. "No need to thank me, boy, you've repaid me a thousand times. You're my true friend, . . . perhaps my only friend, aren't you, boy? sitting in the middle of the road every day, waiting for me to return from school.” Nip wagged his tail. "Since that day you've never left my side, except to chase every car that happens down our road. Thought I’d lost you the day you got ahead of yourself and let that fool-car run you down. Ran over you with both . . . front and back wheels, but, you're a tough little bugger, . . . you pulled through." Winfred got up and brushed the seat of his trousers. "You just lie there, Nip, and take it easy. I've got work to do." Winfred took his hunting knife and loosened the soil at the base of the tree. He dug deep, scooping out the soft, loamy earth with his hands. He lined the bottom of the pit carefully, with twigs and moss, making a soft bed. When he finished, he said, "OK Nip, help me find some rocks." Winfred picked up an eight-inch bolder and set it on the ground in front of Nip. "Help me find this kind." Nip sniffed at the rock. Then they ran along the riverbank and gathered a huge mound of boulders and piled them alongside the pit. Now Winfred was ready . . . as ready as he ever could be. Winfred sat at the base of the tree with Nip on his lap, and poured out his lament. “Oh, God, will I ever learn to expect nothing but pain in this life? Mom raised us on fairy tales and Bible stories; she filled our heads with sugar and spice, . . . the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, . . . they lived happily ever after, . . . Santa Claus will come on Christ's birthday and reward all good little children. . . . Nothing seemed too far-fetched, to us kids. . . . Greayer Enemies in Love 20 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
If Christ fed the multitude on two fish, surely Santa could zip around the world on Christmas Eve and fill the stockings of all good little girls and boys.”
Winfred paused, . . . and then continued his rant. “When I was six, I tried soooooooooo hard to be good. For months, I got up at dawn and did my chores: hoed weeds in the garden, . . . cleaned the rabbit hutch, . . . left them fresh water and carrot greens, . . . fed the chickens, and checked the outhouse for toilet paper. Then I sat here, by the river, with you, Nip, and the Sears Roebuck catalog, dreaming of baseball bats, outfielders’ gloves, and electric trains.” Winfred laughed. “They don’t call it the ‘wish book’, for nothing, Nip. What does a six-year-old know of depressions and breadlines and such? Parents try to protect kids from all that, but, you know . . . they can only do so much . . . if wishes were horses . . . Eventually, the grim truth comes crashing through. For me, it happened on that Christmas morning . . . the truth came through loud and clear. I dashed downstairs with my heart full of hope, . . . then I saw the Christmas tree decorated with Mom’s popcorn streamers and candy-apple ornaments, . . . my heart sank. Poor Mom, . . . she saw my disappointment when I opened my present and found only a white handkerchief . . . an orange, and Dad’s nickel.” Winfred patted Nip on the head. “And, that’s not the half of it, Nip. Mom told us the bank has repossessed our home. . . . We have no place to live, old friend, . . . we’re moving to the city with streetcars and automobiles. You wouldn’t know what to do in the city, old friend, . . . any more than I will. You’re a wild dog, Nip. You’d never be happy there. . . . This is your Christmas morning, Nip. Our fairy tale is over and I have to set you free. . . .” As Nip looked up with his trusting . . . blind eyes, . . . Winfred picked up the rifle, . . . placed the muzzle of the gun on Nip's temple, and . . . sent a bullet crashing through his
skull. Greayer Enemies in Love 21 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 2
Banished
Once creditors had appropriated or sold all their worldly possessions at auction, the family walked down the dusty road toward the railway station. The tears had stopped, but not the ache. Their father, Percy hobbled on his stiff right leg carrying two thin-suitcases, the sum-total of a lifetime of effort. He was a victim of the Great Depression, the detritus of unbridled greed . . . a system called Capitalism. Like Nature, Capitalism assures the survival of the fittest. In nature the strong take what they need ! Unfortunately Capitalism brings out the worst in man’s nature; unlike Nature, greed drives man's appetite, not need . For Percy, a ‘self-made man who had risen to great heights as Chief Engineer of the Diamond Electric Corporation, it was a precipitous fall. The sixty-two-year-old engineer wore an expression of shame, the ultimate shame of a man unable to support his family. When the wolf arrived at their door their forty-three-year-old mother, Rose, never recognized her savior . . . but . . . this was her day of deliverance. She had been a ‘housewife’, bowing to her husband’s will, but once Greayer Enemies in Love 22 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
she applied for ‘ relief’ , she discovered the checks were addressed to . . . her . . . ! Suddenly, she was in control of the finances and she became ‘head of the family’. It was a position she never relinquished.
She marched in tri umph toward the Pennsylvania Railroad Station. The train transported her and her family from the stone age of Spotswood, New Jersey, to New York City and the twentieth-century.
The children walked meekly , their minds in the ‘chaos’ of hope and fear , wondering what sort of challenges awaited them in the ‘big city.’ Winfred carried Nip's collar: Ann carried her book of poems: Beth carried her doll.
The Grants found a two- bedroom flat at 8005 Myrtle Avenue, in the Borough of Queens. It was located three- hundred yards East of the Mount Lebanon Cemetery, in the Ridgewood- Glendale area of Long Island. An ethnic community inhabited primarily by German immigrants and families of German ancestry. This was middle-class-poor, not the desperate poor of the ghettos or of the rural areas of America. They had enough food and clothing, could pay their fifteen dollar a month rent and attended a weekly movie, . . . but very few families had any money to spare for vacations or other frills. The purchase of a three dollar pair of shoes was a major family decision. Percy soon landed a job as a diemaker at the Arnesen Electric Company, a manufacturing plant on Canal Street in downtown Manhattan. With his thirty-five-dollar a week wage he was able to send five- Greayer Enemies in Love 23 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] dollars a month to their Spotswood grocer, Mr. Applegate, to begin working down his debt. Mr. Applegate had accepted Percy’s hand-crafted billiard table in lieu of payment, so Percy had no legal obligation, but to Percy it was a debt of honor . In Queens, the high-point of the week for the Grant children was the Saturday matinee at the Acme theater. For a nickel they saw two movies, a cartoon, a newsreel, and an episode of the latest adventure serial. Each episode ended with the hero in deadly peril and the patrons held their breath as they waited anxiously ‘til next week to find out what happened. Ann always came home excited, and would relate the entire feature movie to her parents at dinnertime.
As fall appr oached, Winfred h a d to enroll in High school. With some trepi dation, Winfred enqu ired about enro llment. Winfred disc overed he was requ ired to present his birt h certificate , and since his mother, Rose, kept all the important p a p ers, Winfred went t o her to get a copy. Whe n Rose handed him his birth certificate he almost fainted. His middle name was Carrington! Whoa, . . . ‘Carrington’, can you believe that!! . . . Holy Cow, that English bloke, Shakespear, couldn’t have been wronger when he said, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” What if . . . ???. . . I . . . shortened it to . . . Cary . . . what then?? (Winfred was no mental giant but even he realized immediately that by registering as ‘Cary . . . GRANT’, he would smell a whole lot sweeter than if he registered as Winfred Grant .) While he wasn't “ the ” Cary GRANT, when the name Cary GRANT was announced, . . . heads turned . As if by magic he had acquired CHARISMA!
One evening in late September, just before dinner, Winfred . . . err, . . . Cary, went to the A&P for a quart of milk. When he returned, a few minutes later, he reported that, Mr. Rosen’s shop window was smashed. Rose handed Ann her meal, and said, “Who is Mr. Rosen?” Ann said, “I think he’s the tailor on the corner, Mom, . . . near Frank’s barber shop.” Rose said, “Do they know who smashed the window?” Cary shrugged. “No, . . . but a swastika is painted on his door.” Beth said, “What’s a swastika?” Greayer Enemies in Love 24 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cary tapped her on the head with his knuckle. “Knock-knock, wake up, Beth, Remember the newsreels about Hitler ?” Rubbing her head with one hand and jabbing Cary in the ribs with the other, Beth said, “What about Hitler?” Looking grim, their Father, Percy, said, “I was afraid of this. Since Hitler decreed his Nuremberg Laws, no Jew can feel safe in their bed.” Rose said, “My God, Percy, what are you saying. This is America, after all.” (Percy was a political activist. In the months he had spent working in the far corners of the nation, he had spent his evenings typing letters to all the world leaders. He had written Roosevelt, all forty-eight Senators and ninety-six Representatives in Congress, advocating government programs to put people to work. He had also written Mussolini, Chamberlain, Hitler, Stalin, and all the other heads of European nations.) Silently smarting since Rose had become the uncrowned head of the household, Percy couldn’t resist. “You women want to take over the world, but you are all so naive. New York isn’t America, it’s a collection of European satellites. Every neighborhood speaks the language of the country they emigrated from.” Ann’s wisecrack, “Like you speak English ,” was lost as Rose snapped, “That’s nonsense.” Percy retorted. “Half the adults in this neighborhood just got off the boat from Europe. They were all our Enemies and the Enemies of each other in 1914; I may have fought some of our neighbors in the trenches, back then, and If war breaks out in Europe, there’ll be trouble, mark my words.” (Percy was never in the army. His stiff right leg was obtained when he was hit by a trolley car while riding his bicycle and an incompetent doctor in the hospital poured Iodine into the open wound. But when some strangers assumed he was a war veteran he discovered he could use his handicap to his advantage on some occasions.) Rose never corrected Percy and Percy let it go at that. Nothing more was said, but that thought put a damper on the conversation as the family settled down to their evening meal. The incident was soon forgotten by the children as they settled into their new life. They were Americans . . . they didn’t understand the world . . . but Percy, . . . with his broad English accent, . . . living in a neighborhood of German accents, . . . shuddered. With Hitler in the world, . . . he felt like a stranger in a hostile land. Hitler was a ruthless savage; a merciless murderer, a demonic lunatic, determined to assassinate all the jews, blacks, mentally retarded, etc. to keep the ‘Aryan Race’ pure. Greayer Enemies in Love 25 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] One day Cary was walking down the hallway in Richmond Hill Highschool when two girls walked by in the opposite direction. ‘His’ eyes locked on ‘hers’, . . . momentarily, . . . but then they were gone.
When she saw him, and he her, they were stricken, Neither aware the other was instantly smitten. It was a year, more, ere a word was ever spoken, And then ‘twas she, while he looked barely woken.
Can lovers, hiding their love from the start? Withstand the forces prying their lives apart. Depression, separation, and war conspire To crush their love and cause it to expire
Cary leaned against the yellow-brick wall outside Mrs. Beery's office, . . . dreaming of her. He gazed vacantly, . . . Catherine’s blue-eyed, brown-haired visage blazoned in his mind. Placing his left foot on a brass-plated fire hydrant protruding from the wall, Cary looked at his worn knee-high boot. Damn, nothing works out right, . . . not girls, . . . not school, . . . nothing. Spent all year searching for her. Even took German hoping she’d be in my class. The hubbub created by the high-spirited voices and tramping of feet on concrete hallways and iron stairs, roused him. Glancing down the hall, over the heads of the students, he wondered if she were near. Too many kids. Such a tiny thing, she wouldn't come up to my chin; could be buried in there, somewhere. God, will I never stop looking for her? Cary nudged his friend with his knee and said, "Alex, make yourself useful. Dash down to the basement and get my junk out of my locker." Uncoiling from the floor, where he was squatting, Alex dusted off the seat of his tan cords. His voice croaked as he said, "We're on the fourth floor! You dash down, you're on the track team." Dash, no one could dash on this the last day before summer vacation, Friday, 17 June 1938. Students jammed the wide halls of Richmond Hill High, laughing, talking, shouting. The morning shift had completed their semester and the afternoon students were arriving for their final day. Five-thousand students crawled along the hallways and stairwells saying last minute goodbyes before departure. Moving inch by inch, they paused to chat with those struggling in the opposite direction. Vacation was a mixed- blessing: The joy of freedom and escape from routine, tempered by anxiety, anxiety about separation from friends, . . . and . . . something subconscious . . . some vague foreboding . Alex yawned and stretched. "How come you’re signing up for summer school?” Cary grimaced. "Took German last semester and shot my average. Be kicked off the track team if I don’t pull it up.” “You flunked? Thought you were a brain.” Gesturing wildly, Cary said, “Criminy, everyone was talking German the first day: more Germans in this area than in Berlin! . . . with Dad born in London and Mom born in Trinidad, Gesundheit was the only German word I’d ever heard.” "But, why Speech? Why not pull up your German grade?" "Holy cow, in four months all I learned was 'der fusboden' and you think I'll be fluent in German Greayer Enemies in Love 26 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] in six weeks. My only hope is Speech. Once Miss Shlichter is off my back, I think I have a chance." "What gives with her anyhow? She was on your case all year. Even criticized your sideburns. . . . Asked if 'Cary Grant' wasn't enough, were you trying to be 'Ramon Navarro' too?" Cary leaned against the fire hose. "You don't know the half of it. Tried to ditch her class the first week and she took it personal, which it was. I hated her." "I'd hate to cross her, she can be really nasty." "Don't I know it? She hated me from my first day. Nothing pleased her. That's why I tried to ditch.” Alex laughed. “She really gave you the business.” “Got me up in class just to ridicule me. My riding breeches, my boots, my sideburns, my bushy hair.” “You must admit, you are a bit peculiar.” Cary punched Alex in the shoulder. “Then I told Ed Gerlach that with her red hair and butch haircut she looked like Kaiser Wilhelm,. After that, whoa Nelly.” “He snitched?” “Nah. Was in the shower with a bunch of guys. Could’ve been anyone.” “Bet it was what’s-his-name - Dudley. He’s been out to knife you ever since . . .” “You’re paranoid. He’s O.K. Anyhow, Kaiser Wilhelm got the last laugh. I’m off the track team if I don't pull up my average.” “Could’ve been Lorraine? You’re in her dog house right now.” Cary laughed. “Didn’t see her in the shower.” “O.K. scoff. You trust everyone. You must have grown up in a Monastery.” ”Worse. Lived in Spotswood, New Jersey for ten years.” “Come again.” Cary waved his hands. “Way out in the boonies. Dirt roads, no electricity, no plumbing. A town so small the city-limit-signs were back to back” “That bad, huh?” “Are you kidding. Daniel Boone had more company than I did as a kid. Contacted our neighbors with smoke signals.” Alex laughed. “Neat. Just you and your bow and arrow.” "Freezing your buns to the outhouse seat at midnight in January was no fun. Had no playmates except my dog, Nip, and my gooney sisters.” Alex bristled. “What about your sisters? They’re gorgeous.” Cary snorted, “Sorry, but I can’t see it. . . . but about Spotswood, Dad only came home weekends, so I was the man of the house.” “Bet that made you a serious little bugger.” “You know it. First day of school, my teacher, Mrs. Michael, said, ‘Oh you're an old Grandpop.’ That did it, Grandpop became my name.” Alex made a wry face. Lowering his voice, Cary said, “Was better than Winnie, which is what the kids called me before that, . . . so I didn't mind. But my sister, Ann, became Grandma . Never call her that or she'll never talk to you again . . . and she’ll kill me.” “Winnie! Where did that come from?” Greayer Enemies in Love 27 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cary looked around, to make sure no one was listening, then whispered, “My first name is Winfred. Never knew my middle name till I registered here in ‘35.” Alex mumbled something but he had lost Cary. Cary spied the flash of a smile way down the hall. Other bodies quickly blocked his view, but keeping a wary eye, he finally said, "What?" "Who knows? Why did you duck behind that fire hose?" With the thump-thump of his heart still pounding in his ears, he raised his right eyebrow, trying to use facial contortions to convey a message. "You know. Thought I saw . . . " "Saw who? Make sense Cary." "Wake up Alex. Thought I saw . . . her ." Alex started rolling his eyes and acting faint. "For Pete’s sake Cary, not that again. Never thought you’d moon about over some girl." Crossing his eyes with his mouth hanging open like a punch-drunk boxer, Cary mocked back. "You should talk. You think every girl is a knockout . . . even my gooney sisters." Alex grimaced. “No girls stepping on their tongues drooling over me." The line stirred. Students shuffled forward two spaces, and sat back down. Some guy passing by in the crowd yelled, “Hey, get a horse.” Cary ignored him. Alex said, “Guys rib you all the time. How come you wear those gooney riding breeches anyhow?” “Economics 1A. Slacks cost five bucks and riding my bike makes them wear out in two weeks. These whipcord breeches cost three bucks in the Sears Roebuck catalog and last forever. “Why ride your bike?” “Saves fifty cents a week, carfare.” “You’ve got guts. I couldn’t stand the ribbing.” “I tune them out. In Spotswood, Mom cut my hair. She was a Jackie Coogan fan. I was the only kid in town with a Buster Brown haircut. Couldn’t tell me from my sisters.” “Bet that was rough. ” Cary laughed. “Look on the bright side. With every guy in school trying to bash in my skull, I learned to run like the wind. Now I’m a track star.” Glancing down the hall over the heads of the throng, Cary said, “Look at all these kids; both shifts must be here. There's no room to walk. ” Putting his hands on Cary's shoulders, Alex boosted himself up to look down the hall. "Here comes your sister, Ann, with some knockout I never saw before.” "Must be her pal Isabelle Yeager. Ann hangs around after class to see her. She’s in the second shift.” Ann and Isabelle walked up. Ann still had the innocent look of a child but Isabelle dressed to the hilt, trying to look like Jean Harlow. She was a passable likeness. Ann said, "Hi guys. Why are you standing in the hall?" "Cary is signing up for summer school. . . . Why I'm hanging around, I don't know." Alex, Ann, and Isabelle began chatting but Cary's mind was elsewhere. That girl he spied earlier was walking toward him with her girlfriend. Girls were alien creatures. He knew heroines from books. Guinevere and Ophelia, he knew them, but not the real world variety. But now, he was petrified. His hands were trembling. He’d seen her once before today and that one electric moment had captured his Greayer Enemies in Love 28 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] heart. . . . He loved her. . . . Chastising himself, he thought, Jeepers, quit acting like your gooney sisters, . . . she’s only a girl. Then he realized. Oh, oh mustn't let her see me wearing these stupid breeches. Look like a six-foot jockey. Turning his back, he feigned an interest in how the fire hose attached to the wall. God, I hear their steps. They’re walking this way. They've stopped. They’re just standing there! Can feel her eyes boring holes in the back of my head. Cary turned to look. Gazing up at him with her cool blue eyes, she said, "I'm Catherine Wagner." He turned as his heart flipped, and did the tango. The heat he was radiating should have singed her brows, but she kept smiling that paralyzing smile while he tried in vain to untangle his tongue. The conquest was complete. She had hooked her Cary . . . again. He stood, . . . mind-blank, feeling like he'd been kicked in the balls.
Three years earlier he’d suffered these same agonies as the auctioneer chanted, "Going once, going twice, sold to Mr. Appleby for ten dollars." Cary was transported back to Spotswood on that day when he said goodbye to Nip. After laying Nip to rest in the carefully prepared grave, he used the stones he had gathered to build a crypt to keep coyotes from disturbing Nip’s remains. Then he sat by the grave until mid-afternoon, . . . mourning. Finally, he collected himself and slogged back to return Mr. Schmidt’s rifle. “Everything taken care of Winfred?” “Yes Mr. Schmidt. Thank’s for your help.” “Any time Winfred, any time. Sorry you wouldn’t let me do it.” (Like Nip, Cary was a creature of the wild. The city wasn’t his element. . . . But, after seeing Catherine, meeting her became his constant wish. She filled an inner specification of ethereal beauty. His need was an ache in his soul, not his groin. She was the Madonna, untouchable.) But now meeting her became his worst nightmare . . . panic seized his heart . . . he fled. Shoving students aside, he tore through the crowd and dashed down the stairs. Outside he ran, blindly . . . running was what he did, . . . the one thing he seemed born to do . . . it cleansed his lungs, . . . cleared his mind, . . . soothed his soul. He ran on; he was a kid again. When finally he stopped, he was alone in Forest Park. He sat on the soft loamy earth beneath an oak tree. A squirrel scampered up and nibbled a nut next his left foot. This was home. He was free.
Poor Cary, he was such a romantic. When he loved Nip, love was simple: Nip loved him back, . . . no questions asked. Nip would lay down his life for him, . . . but . . . Cary sensed loving a woman wasn’t that easy. Love was dangerous . You loved a woman at your own peril. You were handing her a weapon she could use to destroy you. Loving any woman meant she could use that love to slice his heart into tiny pieces...... But life without love? . . . what else is there? Money? Power? Who needs that? Cary needed love . . . he would die for it. Greayer Enemies in Love 29 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 3
The Concert
With the sun still low on the horizon, Cary's mother, Rose, exclaimed, "Ann, Beth, are you still in bed? God, give me the patience of Job. You’d better get a move on if you’re going to Aunt Baby's. I'm leaving in ten minutes." After they left, Cary started his six-mile jog around Forest Park. Thank God I’m not a girl. Poor Ann and Beth are stuck at Aunt Baby’s all day. Mom, Grandma, Aunt Carmen, and Aunt Emma meet every weekday at Aunt Baby’s to make men’s ties. What a madhouse. They’ll have a field day lambasting men. If they hate men so much, it beats me why they shower more love on their sons than on their daughters. Circling the pond and heading home, Cary spotted Alex aboard the trolley. He sprinted the last hundred-yards to the trolley door. Alex jumped down to greet him. Threading their way through the early morning traffic, they crossed Myrtle Avenue and sat on a bench in the park. Tossing a pebble at a duck waddling by, Alex said, "Where are your sisters?" Cary avoided the question. No way would Ann and Beth want Alex to know they were up at dawn to go to Aunt Baby's to assemble men's ties at eight-cents apiece. He said, "Ah, so you came to see them. Which one are you in love with now? Thought we were going to Flushing so you could line up a job at the World's Fair for next summer. . . ." Alex blushed. "Don't give me a hard time. Your sisters are knockouts, ask anyone." Cary made a sour face. "Seem like a couple of ugly runts to me." Alex looked downcast. "I sure goofed on that trip up the Hudson last summer.” “You got that right. You didn’t score any points by going to Indian Point with Ann, and necking in that lifeboat with Beth, all the way back.” “You should talk. You were necking with Lorraine, in the same lifeboat.” Cary grimaced. “Was I ever in hot water. By the time we got back, Lorraine thought we were engaged.” Alex laughed. “Can’t say I blame her.” “Wasn’t my fault. She jumped on my lap.” “Yeah, I’ll bet.” “Honest. I was just being a gentleman." “Is that what you call it? You sure fooled me.” Greayer Enemies in Love 30 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Gee whiz, I’m always getting into trouble with girls. Once, in Spotswood, my sisters caught me necking out behind our barn. They told Mom. Next thing I knew, Pop asked if I wanted to get married! Scared the be-Jesus out of me. I was only fourteen." “My folks are the same." Alex struggled with some inner debate. After a long silence, his voice croaked as he said, "Never had a girlfriend. Don't know what's what in that department.” Alex pretended to be savvy but Cary always wondered what Alex knew. His act didn’t quite ring true. Cary said, "You’re not alone. Sex talk is taboo in my house too. Jeepers, the way people shun the subject you feel it must be something disgusting.” “I guess. How did you find out?” “My older sister Adelaide got married last year. Her doctor gave her a marriage manual. Good thing too. Her boyfriend didn’t know anything either.” “She gave it to you!" “Fat chance. She loaned it to my sisters. They left it lying about . . . probably on purpose.” Alex remained silent. Cary said, “It’s written by a doctor. Makes sex sound as exciting as dissecting a frog." Crimson faced, Alex stood up and turned his back. "Can you get it for me?” Alex sprawled face- down on the grass. "Asked my father about sex, once. He just said, ‘You'll find out when you get married.’" Cary said, “Let's see, this ought to be worth something." Seeing Alex's crestfallen look, Cary added, “Just kidding.” Jumping up from the bench, “I know where Ann has it hidden. I’ll get it now, if you like.”
Returning from the fairgrounds, the two friends sat at the back of the bus where they had more room. Alex seemed deflated. "God, they only pay eight dollars a week." “You’re lucky to get that. Last summer I bagged groceries for fifteen-cents an hour at the A&P.” “That’s not too bad. I realize that’s only six dollars a week, but it’s on the corner near your apartment. You walked to work. If I worked at the Fair it would cost five cents for the trolley and five cents for the subway . . . EACH . . . WAY. That’s twenty cents a day or a dollar a week! . . . plus, it would take an HOUR each way. I’d be working ten hours a day or fifty hours for seven dollars. That only nets me fourteen cents an hour.” “Oh yeah. Only worked part-time, so I never realized.” “I only work part time too. When you only work part time you get to live ‘rent free. Once I get a real job, Mom will expect five dollars a week. After lunch and carfare, I’ll make less than I do now at Kurt's pharmacy. Golly, only my parents will be better off.” “Tell me about it. I earn two-bucks a week. After clothes, haircuts, carfare, and movies, there’s no money left for dates.” Alex exclaimed, “Dates! The way Ann and Beth’s girlfriends flock around, you never need dates. You’re always beating them off.” Cary sneered, “Ann and Beth’s girlfriends. Who wants them?” Waving his arms, Alex said, “Wait a minute, don’t tell me you’re still thinking about Catherine. Criminy, you moon about for over a year, then when you meet her, you sprint away like the goblins were after you.” Greayer Enemies in Love 31 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Next day, Thursday, two girls, one slender, one well upholstered, walked East on Myrtle Avenue, the main commercial artery joining the German communities of Ridgewood and Glendale. Dressed in the typical schoolgirl garb, white tailored blouses, gingham dirndl skirts, and saddle oxfords, they were laughing and romping like a couple of puppies. Walking briskly past the Mount Lebanon Cemetery, they stepped carefully over the trolley tracks and cobblestones between as they crossed to the north side of the street. Checking the addresses as they walked along Catherine Wagner pointed, and said, "I think he lives down there a few blocks." At the corner of Seventy-third Place, in front of the library, she grabbed Doris Wolf by the arm and said, "Wait, I have the address." Reaching down she pulled a slip of paper from her brown and white saddle oxford. “It's beyond the eight-thousand block, near the A&P. We still have six or seven blocks to go.” The young women walked close to the buildings, keeping under the green awnings shading the display windows of the stores lining Myrtle Avenue. By scooting from one shady patch to the next, the girls stayed in the ‘cool patches’ and escaped the full brunt of the summer heat. Doris asked, "Does he live upstairs or downstairs?" Catherine shrugged. Doris grimaced. "Will you go into the vestibule and ring the bell?" Catherine made a face. "How about you? Will you go?" "Are you nuts? He looks sexy in those tight riding breeches, but I'm not the one with the hots." "What do I do if his mother or father answers the door?" "Great. We walk two miles, and now you have cold feet. After he bolted last time, I thought you'd show this pony the gate. How come you're still dogging his tail? " Catherine grimaced. “Stop giving me a hard time, Doris.” "He spooks at his own shadow. Better corral this stallion before he spots your lasso. Last time I thought he stepped on a rattlesnake." "Next you'll suggest I get a bit in his mouth and mount this bronco." "Isn't that the general idea?" "Doris, how you talk. Now I'm blushing." Doris giggled. “Get a tight grip. He probably bucks like crazy.” They stopped and looked around. “Where are we? I’m lost. Every block has a delicatessen, a bakery, and a beer garden.” “Why not? Didn’t you know? This is Berlin. Never can tell where I am.” Catherine batted Doris on the butt. Checking the address again, she said, “Still a couple of blocks to go. He lives just beyond the barber shop. If we pass the pharmacy, we’ve gone too far.” The whole area was a sea of nutmeg-brown, brick buildings, all of a kind and joined, with no break in the facade. As far as the eye could see, homes were identical. The apartments along Myrtle Avenue were all railroad flats with parlors in front, dining rooms and kitchens in the rear, and windowless bedrooms sandwiched between. The front of each two-apartment unit had six equally spaced openings--three windows above, Greayer Enemies in Love 32 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] and two windows and an entry-door below. Each apartment was an airless enclosure in which the inmates existed. On side streets, the houses were more habitable with the bedrooms on the second floor. Catherine said, “When I was three I visited my aunt down here. Couldn't tell the houses or the people apart. Someone called out, 'Dinner is ready,' and I went in and ate with the neighbors." Doris laughed. "Tell me about it. When I was small, I stayed with my aunt for a week while my parents went to the Catskills. One day, I went into the wrong house. I went upstairs to the bathroom, pulled down my bloomers and tinkled. “ ”What was so bad about that?” “Nothing, I guess, except this man was standing there in his underwear with shaving soap all over his face. I thought he was my uncle.” Catherine screamed with laughter “It’s a wonder one of us hasn’t been molested or something.” Doris said, “You know that flowerpot Mom has on our front stoop?” “Uh huh.” “Once, she took it inside to change the plant, and I was lost. Our neighbor, Mrs. Koch, found me down at the corner bakery, . . . crying.” “At least down here they have parks and cemeteries to break up the monotony. All Ridgewood needs is a high wall all around and it would look like Sing-Sing.” Just past Frank's barbershop, Catherine grabbed Doris gently by the elbow and pointed. "This is it.” Wrought-iron handrails bordered a stone staircase and a three-foot high wrought-iron fence enclosed the paved area between adjacent staircases. Green awnings, shading the ground floor windows, provided small cool patches within the enclosure. Catherine sneaked-up the five steps and entered the vestibule. Gone only a moment, she ran back gushing excitedly, “He lives on the ground floor. Their name was on the mailbox.” Guiding Doris over to the railing, near a window, she put her hands on Doris's shoulders and began jumping to look into the front room. Catherine whispered, “He's in the parlor reading a book!” She continued jumping and the girls started giggling.
Sitting with a book on his lap, Cary was berating himself. Heck fire, I surely screwed up that time. Now I’ll never find her. All I know is her name is Catherine. Don’t even remember her last name. He shrugged. Makes no difference anyhow, no one can afford a phone. Trolley cars, automobiles, and pedestrians made Myrtle Avenue a busy, noisy street. Distracted by the noise outside, Cary sprang up to close the windows;. . . . he saw a head bob into view! . . . There it was again! Sneaking a peek, he saw Catherine, who was only five-foot-two, jumping in the air to look through the other window. God she's stunning. Blue eyes, shoulder length, wavy-brown-hair, and . . . perfect teeth . Cary rushed outside. Dressed in a dark-blue-knit-shirt, white shorts, and blue sneakers, Cary Greayer Enemies in Love 33 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] looked his best. Thank God I’m not wearing my riding breeches . Cary took little notice of Doris, but he was glad she was there. Screwing up his courage, he said, “Hi. What brings you ladies way down here?” Getting caught in mid-jump flustered Catherine. Doris noticed Cary drifting off into a trance, and Catherine struggling to calm herself, so she came to the rescue. Opening the gate in the wrought-iron fence, she said, “Come on guys, let's get out of this sun.” With the spell broken, they took shelter under an awning. Catherine said, "Doris and I are going to the WPA concert tonight. We wondered what ‘you’ were doing?" Wondered what ‘I’ was doing? Hooray! . . . "Concert . . . ‘tonight’ . . . what day is this?" Doris shot back, "My, my, he doesn't know what day it is, Cat. Where can his mind be?” Addressing Cary, she said, “It's Thursday, June thirtieth, the year of our lord, 1938 AD.” Cary blushed. Fearing he might decide to hurdle the wrought-iron railing, Catherine interceded. "Every Thursday evening the WPA puts on a concert in Forest Park. Admission is free,. . . so the price is right. The amphitheater is just a half-mile from here." Cary tussled with his emotions. Strange feelings were surging: elation because she was here, wounded pride because of his flub and her jests. Happiness and terror. Girls flustered him. He had no experience. His sisters, Ann and Beth were . . . well . . . sisters. Struggling to control his inner turmoil before she decided he was a moron, he said, "Do you know what the program is?" He grimaced. God, what a stupid question. Feel like I’m sinking in quicksand. Who am I kidding? . . . If she told me the program, I still wouldn't know. Who ever knows what they play at a concert. It surely won’t be a Bing Crosby number and what I know about classical music wouldn’t fill a thimble. Doris pulled a paper from her purse. "It says here, Grieg, (Peer Gynt Suite number one), Bizet, (L'Arlesienne Suite number two), and after intermission, Rimsky-Korsakov (Capriccio Espagnol), and Rossini Overture, (The Barber of Seville)." Afraid to open his mouth again, Cary said nothing. He had heard of The Barber of Seville , but if he started discussing classical music he was in trouble. Catherine saved him. "Well, I don't know much about classical music, except I know what I like when I hear it. Does the program meet with your Lordships approval?" Holy-moley, now I'm back in the soup. Better come clean or I'll be forever posturing . Managing a laugh helped cover his embarrassment. He said, "Don't know a thing about classical music either. Was just making conversation. Heard of Rossini and Rimsky-Korsakov, but without a program I wouldn't know one from the other." Catherine was a very up front girl . . . about some things. She said, "So, are you joining us or not?" Cary blurted, "Will it be worth my while?" Wham ! Cary wanted to bite his tongue. His face turned crimson, . . . again. To say something . . . suggestive . . . was just not his nature. Surprised, but pleased that he wasn't as straight-laced as his bashfulness led her to believe, she decided he may have a sense of humor hidden beneath that formal demeanor. Turning to Doris, Catherine winked and said, "That all depends on how sweet you are. Doris, what reward will you bestow, if Cary is a sweet boy?" "Maybe he could escort me home after the concert, or maybe he could take me to that movie at the Acme Theater, Saturday? . . . If he's really sweet, perhaps he could kiss me on the cheek? What do you think?" Greayer Enemies in Love 34 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "A kiss on the cheek is much too familiar on a first date. Your mother would never approve. Maybe on your tenth date, he could hold your hand; . . . that is, . . . if he's sweet." His wit was no match for the two of them. Now they were pretending he was courting Doris. Deciding to be bold, Cary said, "That sounds great. Cisco Kid is playing Saturday. I know this soda- jerk, Tony, at the pharmacy on the corner. He could take Catherine, and we could double-date. Maybe we could snuggle in the balcony?" Oh, oh. Catherine decided things were getting too suggestive. She didn't want him expecting something she had no intention of delivering. "That won't do. I'm sorry we were pulling your leg, but it was fun. Seriously, your reward will be our pleasant company, that's all. We would love to have you join us at the concert. How about it?" "Sounds great. Should I get a blanket? The slats on those benches can get mighty hard. Or we could spread the blanket on the grass." He cringed. Oh, oh. Wonder how that sounded? Catherine’s heart was doing a rhumba. She had been dreaming about this guy for over a year and she didn't want to scare him off before she had him hooked. She decided to cool the banter until she knew him better. "It's a little early, now. We would have to wait a couple hours for the concert to start. What do you think Doris?" "Let’s do it. To walk home and back would take over an hour so we may as well sit in the park. Probably can find a spot under a shade tree if we go this early." "Makes sense. The blanket sounds great.” She pointed. “We'll wait on that bench across the street, under that tree, while you get the blanket.”
On the way to the amphitheater, Cary followed three paces behind the two girls, meekly carrying the blanket and feeling like a lackey. If they’re going to ignore me, what am I doing here? Selecting a spot under a Weeping Willow tree, Catherine pointed and said, “This is OK. Spread the blanket here, Cary.” Doris and Catherine sat side by side leaving space on one end for Cary to sit . . . next to Catherine. As Cary sat he thought: Phew, for a moment there I thought I was courting Doris . . . err . . . Doris was courting me . . . now it seems Catherine . . .is the one who . . . Cary sat and listened as the girls prattled on about recent movies. Catherine lowered her voice and said something to Doris. Cary’s ears pricked up. Cary couldn’t quite catch her words. Was that my name? Doris giggled uncontrollably. . . . She said something about men . . . something about . . . “They all expect . . . something . . . ?” Although they were barely whispering, Catherine’s next sentence came through loud and clear. “Believe me, I’m not going to be any little ole housewife with his dinner and slippers ready, waiting for hubby to come home.” “Me neither.” Doris said, “I have brains and I intend to use mine.” Catherine nodded. “I want to use all my talents and taste everything. Theater, . . . opera, . . . ballet.” Doris said, “I’m going to see the world. London, . . . Paris, . . . Rome.” Greayer Enemies in Love 35 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Me too. Won’t wind up like Mom. She’s never been outside New York City. The high point of her life was a trip to the top of the Empire State Building in 1923.” Cary groaned, silently. I have holes in my socks, and these girls want trips around the world. My sisters just want to get married and have babies. Catherine is way out of my league. She must be having a lark. She needs a rich man to satisfy her dreams. Cary sat back and wondered what he saw in this girl anyhow? Trying not to be obvious, he began studying Catherine’s right profile: Her shell-like ear, her unperturbed brow, the cute bump on her nose, the determined set of her square jaw, the curl of her auburn hair caressing her shoulder, the natural rosy glow of her cheek, her soft lips, the luscious curve of her modest breast. Oh, oh, I’d better stop this, I feel inner stirrings. As she leaned gently against his chest, he caught the fresh, clean scent of Lifebouy soap. Heat radiating from her body produced an uncontrollable reaction in his. Trying to regain his composure, Cary concentrated on the music. Thank God I’m sitting down . Catherine suddenly turned toward him, pointing, and said, “Someone left a program on that bench over there, Cary. Would you get it for me?” Unable to stand, Cary did the only thing possible. Looking like a deranged kangaroo, he loped over on all fours, picked up the program in his mouth, and loped back, dropping it in her lap. Catherine said, “What was that all about?” Regaining a semblance of control Cary got up, all hunched over, bowed awkwardly and said, “Your obedient slave, Ma’am.” Catherine laughed. Cary guessed he’d pulled it off. (He was well practiced in this particular charade. When his sisters brought a bunch of their girlfriends home he frequently found it necessary to travel on all fours.) When the concert ended, streams of people walked across the park in every direction. Walking toward Myrtle Avenue, Cary followed the girls like an obedient puppy. Across the street from his apartment, Catherine said, “So long.” He was crushed. Feeling completely deflated, he said, “So long,” and started across the street. What a bust this turned out to be. As he reached the other side, Catherine shouted, “Wait up.” She ran over and gave him her address. "I'll take you up on that movie Saturday, if you like. Forget about Tony and the snuggle in the balcony. Pick me up at seven." Cary noticed she had dropped all pretense of his dating Doris. His emotions soared. This was the start of an exciting new adventure. Preparing for bed he was singing, “I saw her eyes, . . . her wonderful eyes, with love light and tenderness gleaming. They filled me through, they filled me too, with wonderful dreams I am dreaming.” Greayer Enemies in Love 36 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 4
Trix
Cary awoke Saturday, drenched in perspiration. His heart was thumping. He’d had a nightmare. He fretted all day. What had he got himself into? Getting tangled up with her was asking for trouble. That Catherine had big plans. As Cary walked up Myrtle Avenue toward Catherine’s house, he was still stewing. He was furious about the way she ignored him at the concert. Thinks she can lead me around by the nose. He
looked at his ‘dollar’ pocket watch. I’m early. . . . Don’t want to look too eager . Cary crossed the street. Let her wait. He checked the time as he rang the doorbell. Good, it’s 7:0 6. Catherine almost knocked him down as she charged out like a racehorse from the starting gate and set a rapid pace toward the theater, on the corner. A faint trace of some perfume trailed behind. He saw that she wore no makeup. The glint in her eye and determined set of her jaw discouraged Cary from Greayer Enemies in Love 37 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] attempting conversation. Oh, oh. Seems like she’s in a foul mood. Don’t tell me she’s mad because I was five minutes late? Catherine berated herself. Calm down, . . . he won’t bite. God, . . . I’m so nervous you’d think he was my first date. He scolded himself. Dang it, slow down, . . . don’t chase her. Let her cool her heels in the theater lobby. When Cary strolled into the theater, she was waiting with blood in her eye. “You took your sweet time.” “Left my track shoes home.”. . . Walking casually to the ticket booth, he paid fifty-cents for two tickets, handed his tickets to the attendant, and as they entered, he said, “Shall we sit in the orchestra or the balcony?” Catherine gave him a withering look. He followed meekly as she found two seats on the aisle midway downstairs, in the orchestra. During the movie, he sat on his hands, with his arms glued by his sides. Neither of them dared put their elbows on the armrests; . . . they might touch one-another. Struggling to understand what was happening, Cary wondered where that sense of humor she displayed Thursday had disappeared to? Must’ve thought I was ‘the’ Cary Grant, suave and sophisticated. Discovered I’m the country hick, Winfred Grant. Her mind wasn’t on the movie either. Gave him the wrong impression. Thinks I’m a hot number. I’m not one of those floozies, like Lorraine . He continued to stew. Are there any brains behind that pretty face? At the concert, she talked to Doris the whole time. All girl-talk. She also agonized. Wish I’d talked to him at the concert instead of gabbing with Doris, the whole time. He’s so manly, all the girls drool, but I don’t know anything about him. . . .. He glanced up at the movie. This date has been a bust , . . . s o far. We haven’t said a civil word to one-another. . . . The Cisco Kid won’t provide much fodder for conversation during intermission. Why did I fall for him? Is it just his looks?. . . After all, he’s just a jock. . . . Does he have any brains at all?. . . Between the first and second features the Movietone News announcer talked of trouble in Europe. Vaguely, Cary heard him intone something about the Sudetenland, whatever that was . Something about Hitler promising that Germany would be satisfied with this German area of Czechoslovakia. Cary became uncomfortable. . . . Ridgewood is a German community. . . . Her folks are German! Are they secretly rejoicing?. . . Is she . . . proud of Hitler’s conquests? . . . Would I be proud if my parents were German? After the news there was a short intermission between features and much of the audience left for the rest room or the refreshment counter. Catherine crossed her legs. “Dr. Barnes said, that was liable to happen.” “Who? . . . Oh, you mean our history teacher.” “He says the harsh terms of the Versailles Treaty brought all this on.” Cary scratched his head. Oh, oh, that sounds like Hitler’s line. Does she expect me to agree with her? Cary said, “I guess. But, . . . it’s all bluff and bluster. Chamberlain will say anything to keep the peace. Nothing will happen.” “I hope. My father was wounded in World War I.” Greayer Enemies in Love 38 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Criminy, what is she trying to say? Was he in the German army or the U.S.? Cary said, “My father too. Wounded by a mortar in 1914. Has a stiff right leg.” (This wasn’t true but it gave him something in common to talk about) Catherine shifted in her seat. Nineteen-fourteen! Hmm. Had to be in the British army. America didn’t join until 1918. She said, “America won’t be involved, so there’s nothing for us to worry about, . . . right?” That jolted Cary. ‘Nothing for Us ’ to worry about? . . . Does that mean we’re a couple! ? I usually run when girls start talking like that. . . . Or is she just saying . . . we ‘Americans’ don’t have to worry? He said, “Pop raves about America being sound asleep behind its oceans. Says the isolationists are in control, so Roosevelt can’t do anything.” “Guess not. There go the lights. Time for the second feature.”
Leaving the theater they were both self absorbed. She thought: Seems to respect me. By now most guys would be grabby. While he wondered: So her old man was in the war. Probably fought for the Kaiser. As did she: So his dad is English, . . . so what . . . So What !!! . . . Mom won’t be happy. And on and on it went. She seems to be giving hints and throwing up red flags at the same time.
At the ice-cream parlor they sat in a shroud of silence concentrating on their sodas and occasionally throwing furtive glances across the table. Strolling home, the silence burst like a toy balloon when Catherine said, “Did you like the movie?” Startled, Cary said, “What movie?” (He truly was in a trance and remembered nothing of the movie.) Catherine looked annoyed. “So you had a lousy time.” “Never said that.” Stopping under a streetlight, she looked up at him and said, “Stop kidding around, Cary. Say something I can understand.” Cary looked into her eyes long and hard, forcing her to blush and look away. He said nothing. . . . he didn’t need to. Reluctantly, she resumed strolling toward her home. Following a yard behind, Cary said, “Last night I had this weird dream. We were crossing a field full of sunshine and flowers when suddenly the ground gave way beneath me. I fell into a deep well.” Cary stopped under a streetlight and reaching as high as he could with both arms, he said, “The water was deep and the slippery brick-walls were smooth . . . there were no handholds . . . I couldn’t climb out.” Looking and pointing up, he said, “All I could see was a small patch of blue sky above. Woke up thrashing about and yelling for help.” Catherine thought for a moment, then smiling and looking up at him she said, “Will you drown?” Boldly returning her gaze, he said, . . . “Probably.” They walked another half-block before she said, “I work at Woolworth’s, part time.” After a pause, he said, “Could we meet . . . after?” Greayer Enemies in Love 39 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “To do what?” “Nothing.” They walked toward her front door. Why does he want to meet me if he only wants to do nothing? On her stoop, with her hand on the doorknob, Catherine looked up at Cary and said, “There’s a park about a block from here. . . . Two-o’clock’s O.K.” . . . She ran inside.
Poised primly on an emerald-green lawn midst a bed of yellow and purple wildflowers with her colorful Gingham skirt gathered round, Catherine sat reading Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnets From The Portuguese. Sunbeams leaking through boughs of a maple tree splashed dapples of sunshine across the scene. She was a living replica of Monet’s painting, Springtime . Intoxicated by the incense of freshly mown grass and not wanting to disturb the lovely vision, Cary stood quietly, . . . holding Trix on a leash. Trix, standing bolt upright, with his ears vigilantly erect, stared at Catherine in case she might be a rabbit. Trix, his oversized paws and the typical black and tan color of a German Shepard, had the look of a mountain lion. Looking up, Catherine tossed her hair over her shoulder with a flip of her head, and said, “ She’s precious. What can she do?” Cary said, " He . . . came to help with my conversation.” Addressing Trix, Catherine said, "I hope you weren’t offended when I said you were precious.” Looking at Cary she said, “I take it he’s a good conversationalist.” "Very. Speaks several languages." Scowling, Catherine said, “So, you thought Saturday night lacked something." “Not for me, but I heard a deafening silence from my corner. He’ll nip my ankle when it’s my turn to speak.” Trix had a quizzical look, as though he knew they were talking about him. His big brown eyes shifted from Catherine to Cary as they spoke. Catherine said. "My, what pointy ears you have. What's your name?” Trix laid down at her feet and said, “Woof." Touching the dog affectionately on his right paw, Catherine said, "Do your friends call you Woof, or do you have a nickname.” "His friends call him Trix. Woof is his surname.” "I like him," Catherine said. “He’s so handsome and has such intelligent eyes. He must be related.” "He is. Looks just like me except my nose is bigger." "Don't listen Trix," Catherine said. "Your nose is just as big. Cary’s just jealous because I said you're handsome.” Trix canted his head toward Catherine and raised his ears slightly. He whined plaintively, as though asking for clarification. Cary said, “See what I mean. He just said you’re more beautiful than the Mona Lisa. And the way he just wiggled his nose means you smell delicious.” Trix got up and laid his head in Catherine’s lap, with his eyes rolled slightly upward looking at Cary obliquely. Greayer Enemies in Love 40 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Catherine said, “Is he asking permission to eat me?” “He’s asking for a hug. He loves a good hug.” Catherine smiled. “I love a good hug too. Problem is, one hug won’t satisfy me. It’ll make me ravenous for more.” “Trix says beautiful German- American girls can have all the hugs their heart’s desire. They have but to ask." Catherine patted Trix’s head and ears. "If Trix really understood this German-American girl, he’d realize she has infinite patience. She can control her appetite until the tag she wears says it’s legal to eat her fill.” Trix looked at Cary and barked. “Trix understands. Says he would never attempt to eat forbidden fruit. He too can control his hunger. He’ll wait forever, if necessary, . . . though it won’t be easy.” Catherine placed a hand on each side of Trix’s head. Looking deep into his eyes, she said, “I hope waiting forever won’t be necessary.” Looking at Cary, she said, “You were right. Trix is quite a conversationalist. He makes a lot of sense.”
Three weeks later Catherine’s mother, Helga, opened the door muttering, “My, it’s nice to be home.” Opening a parlor window, to let in some fresh air, she said, “It vas kind - you drive me home Otto.” Otto said, “When our child is born my sister helps my wife, Stella, and I should send her home on the bus?” “Get off your high horse, Otto. You’re not Mr. Rockefeller. I could ride the bus.” Otto shrugged. “Sit down, Otto, . . . I’ll make a cup of coffee.” Lifting his small case and gesturing, Otto said, “Sleep on the sofa as usual?” “Put your bag in the girls’ room Otto. Gladys is with William’s sister, in Kearney, New Jersey. She’ll be there for the summer.” Greayer Enemies in Love 41 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “What about Catherine?” “She’ll sleep with me. You and William can share the girls’ room.” “So now that Catherine is out of highschool and has a ‘full-time job, I guess she’ll soon be able to pay room and board. Then you and William can save enough money to buy your own home.” “Hah! William is too soft. Miss high-and-mighty is going to college. Will be years before she pays us a dime.” Otto raised his eyebrow. “Oh, college. Aren’t we getting up in the world. Still, she’s a good girl; not like my Sparky. He’ll never pay his debt to us, mark my word.” “Oh, she’ll pay all right. But how old will I be by that time?” Helga got up and looked out the front window. “Where can that girl be? ” Otto said, “Kids have it too easy, nowadays. We worked since we were twelve.” “You work? Hah! Mama always kissed your feet. You never did anything around the house.” “You girls always complain. Paid Mama every penny she ‘said’ I owed.” “Yeah, what Mama ‘said’. Mama took all my pay for ten years. When I married William and he moved in, he paid room and board for the two of us. Some honeymoon.” Otto laughed. “Poor William. Sleeping on the floor with his in-law’s. By the time he could rent his own place and unbutton his fly, it was bent double. Wonder he could ever get it in.” “Hush Otto. What if Catherine should hear.” “Women. When I married Stella, she thought babies came from a cabbage patch.” “The old ways are best, Otto. The wife learns from the husband. That way he knows he’s getting a virgin.” “Ugh. . . Takes a good whore to seem a pure virgin. The man is never the wiser.” “Stop this vulgar talk Otto. Don’t want to hear it.” “Why are you angry? It’s not my fault Mama was harder on you girls. How did you ever get free of her?” “William finally got enough backbone and we moved to a furnished one-bedroom, over Koch’s bakery. Never knew there was such luxury, . . . like in a movie. Still remember my first night on a bed. Thought, I vas in heaven, . . . like floating on a cloud.” “Felt better than sex, I’ll bet.” Helga laughed. “Hush Otto. Again with your sex. Is that all you men think about?” “Have to. Women never do. Been married sixteen years and never seen Stella naked. Once the lights are out, who knows what I’m sticking it into.” Helga hit Otto with her purse. “Go on with you Otto. Stella just had a baby.” “Oh, is that what caused it? Learn something new every day.” Glancing out the window, Helga saw Doris strolling by. She ran to the window and called, “Doris, where’s Catherine? I thought she’d be with you.” Doris hedged. “Hi Mrs. Wagner. Catherine works till two. Golly, what time is it?” “It’s after five. She’s supposed to be getting supper for her papa.” Doris scurried off calling, “If I see her, I’ll tell her you’re home, Mrs. Wagner.” Helga turned and faced Otto. “Something’s fishy. Doris always knows where Catherine is.” Running her finger over an end table, Helga said, “There’s an inch of dust on this table. I’ll give her what- for, . . . for neglecting her housework like this.” “She could be working longer hours.” Greayer Enemies in Love 42 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Doris said two o’clock, like I didn’t know already. She vas too smart, avoiding my question.” Helga put her hand on her chin. “I smell boy trouble. Before I left, she and Doris were giddy over something.” “Surely not Catherine. Stella wishes our girls were level headed like your Catherine. Stella never knows what our girls are up to. They’re both boy-crazy.” “Still, I say Doris knows something. When you took your bag upstairs was everything O.K.?” “How should I know? I wouldn’t snoop.” “Was her bed made?” “One bed was made.” “That’s not like Catherine. She’s as neat as a pin” Helga ran upstairs and came down with a sheaf of poetry clutched in her right hand. She riffled through the pages reading off the names. “Milton, Burns, Byron, Shakespeare, Keats, Tennyson, Shaw. Never heard of any of them, except Shakespeare, and I know he’s English. And here’s some handwritten poetry by someone named Cary . That has to be some boy. He doesn’t sound German either.” Helga handed the poems to Otto. He glanced through the stack. “These aren’t innocent little nursery rhymes.” Helga paced to and fro and started to rant. “Like Mama, Catherine is two-times as stubborn as a mule. Likes boys with fancy-schmancy manners like the Prince of Wales.” “Don’t jump to conclusions, Helga. Cary could be a girl.” “Nonsense Otto. Girls don’t write love poems to one another. . . . Well, I’ve heard of such things, but thank God, not Catherine.” Helga paused. Helga was working herself up. “Cary sounds English, like all those poets.” She picked a glass case off of the mantle. Handing it to Otto, she said, “William earned this Iron Cross when he was wounded in the Battle of the Somme. Should he live to see his eldest daughter marry an English boy?.” Otto said, “The boy is American, Helga. You’re American too; you were even born here. It’s time you gave up thinking of Germany as the fatherland. Anyhow, she’d never do that. Not after Mama.” “You don’t know Miss Princess. She’d do anything to spite me.” After a pause Helga said, “Besides, . . . I never told her about Mama.”
Cary and Catherine had been inseparable since that first day in the park with Trix. Cary walked her to work every day and they spent every afternoon together until she went home to prepare her father’s dinner. They were lying on a blanket watching the clouds drift by when Doris came running across the park and arrived red faced and panting. “Your mother just got back and is looking for you.” Catherine sat up. “Back already! Does she know where I am?” Still gasping for breath, Doris said, “No. Escaped before she trapped me.” Catherine jumped up. “Golly, I left Cary’s poetry on the dresser in the bedroom.” Doris said, “If you hurry, maybe you can head her off.” Catherine dashed off at top speed. Startled, Cary looked at Doris and said, “Hello. Remember me?” “Hi Cary.” “What was that about?” Greayer Enemies in Love 43 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Catherine’s mom just got home.” “I gathered that. Didn’t know she was away.” Trying to sound casual, Doris said, “Catherine’s aunt just delivered her fourth child. Helga, spent the last month helping out.” Putting two and two together, Cary said, “You mean her mom left town before the end of June?” “Yes.” “Was that before we went to that concert in the park?” Doris saw that Cary was suspicious. Reluctantly, she said, “Yes.” “Should I get the feeling I have leprosy?” “Not really. Helga doesn’t know you exist.” “So what? There must be something unsavory about me.” “Unsavory’s not the right word.” “What is the right word then?” “You’re putting me on the spot. Catherine should have told you all this.” “All what?” Doris was uneasy. “Catherine doesn’t date boys her mom doesn’t approve of.” “You’re saying her mom would disapprove.” “I never said she would disapprove, . . . you’re just not approved, OK. Better go. Bye.” Doris dashed off.
Walking toward Catherine’s house, Cary spotted a 1935 Chevy parked out front with Pennsylvania licence plates. Hiding behind the car, Cary listened to the loud voices emanating from within Catherine’s home. Catherine pleaded, “I’ve done nothing wrong Mother. Cary and I are just friends.” Cary heard a woman say, “You think life is one big party. You don’t appreciate the sacrifices your father and I make to give you a home and put food on the table.” Cary guessed the voice was Helga’s.
Catherine’s was near tears. “I know Mother. You’ve reminded me often enough.” Cary winced. God, that was the wrong thing to say. “You rude, ungrateful child. You think the world is unfair. You vant our support, but you should owe us nothing.” It’s getting ugly. Catherine pleaded, “I’m sorry Mom; I just didn’t think.” “And you vant to go to college. Hah! What good is college if you can’t think. Your father works two jobs to put clothes on your back. Think about that.” Poor Catherine; her folks are poorer than mine. When someone abruptly closed the window, Catherine’s response was cut off. Cary could only hear muffled voices. There was nothing he could do. He crossed the street and sat on the curb, well out of view. He waited. . . . He waited . . . all night. . . . As a red glow tinged the eastern sky, the front door opened. Catherine and an older man came out. Catherine got into the front seat. Helga called from the stoop, “Behave yourself and don’t give Uncle Otto any trouble.” Greayer Enemies in Love 44 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cary wanted to waive to Catherine or give her some sign, but he did nothing. After stowing their luggage on the back seat, Uncle Otto got into the car and they drove off. Feeling helpless, Cary waited in the park till noon. Then, he strolled listlessly to Doris’s house and knocked. “Mrs. Wolf, I’m Cary. . . . Is Doris home?” Mrs. Wolf gave him a quizzical look. “Doris went to Catherine Wagner’s house about ten minutes ago. I don’t know when she’ll be back.” “Thank you Mrs. Wolf.” Cary waited impatiently at the corner. He intercepted Doris on her way home. “Stop avoiding me, Doris. . . . Tell me what’s going on.” Doris tried to sound cheerful. Breathlessly she said, “Catherine’s vanished. . . . It’s a deep dark mystery. Isn’t that exciting?” “Don’t be dumb. Hanging by my thumbs is just painful.” Doris said, “I’m sorry, I don’t like it any more than you. Catherine’s uncle drove her to his farm in Pennsylvania for the summer. That’s all I know.” “That’s it? No explanation.” “You don’t ask Helga for explanations. My guess is, you’re the explanation.” “Me. What did I do?” “It’s not what you did but what Helga thinks you did.” Doris held up an envelope. “Oh, I forgot. Helga gave me this letter.” Doris ran her finger under the flap and removed the contents. It was another envelope. “This isn’t for me! . . . Here, this is for you.” She handed it to Cary. Cary opend the envelope and removed the letter.
Saturday, 29 July 1938 Cary, The fairy tale is over. I’m in Pennsylvania, and won’t return until the fall. I’ve promised Mother not to see you again. Please help me keep my promise. “And if I laugh at any mortal thing, Tis that I may not weep.” Catherine
Cary was in no mood for poetry. The bare signature, Catherine, at the end, devastated him. He reread Catherine’s letter looking for words of ‘hers’ that matched the voice inside his head whispering I love you. Doris was left standing on the corner, as Cary ran off tearing Catherine’s letter to bits , and muttering, I hate her . Back home, Cary dashed down the cellar stairs. Attacking his punching bag, barehanded, he beat his fists against the ceiling-mounted bag, setting the whole building to vibrating. Unsatisfied, he slammed his fists into the wooden planks lining the coal-bin, splitting the skin on his knuckles, and bloodying Greayer Enemies in Love 45 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] his hands. Nothing helped. Like a Knight in the heat of battle, he felt no pain, just a lump in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. Though his clothes were drenched with perspiration and his hands raw and bloody, he kept punching the bag and agonizing over Catherine’s apparent change of heart. It was all a game. Pretty little Catherine Wagner never loved me. Poor sucker. I went for her pitch like a rookie after a curve-ball. Guess I struck-out. Alex said something, but the racket Cary was making drowned out the sound of his voice. Gradually, Cary became aware that someone was there. He stopped battering the bag, looked at Alex and said, “What?” On his trip to the cellar, Alex had reviewed what Doris had told him. Seeing Cary’s distraught condition, he tried to snap Cary out of his gloom. He said, “Hear you and Catherine got caught smooching in the park.” The first words that sprung to Cary’s mind were bitch , and whore , but these words were not part of his vocabulary, so he rejected them. He said, “Well you hear wrong. Catherine’s strictly a ‘hands off’, kind of girl.” Alex looked doubtful. “During the last month, you and Catherine spent every waking moment together. Knowing you, a whole lot of necking had to be going on.” “Necking isn’t what it’s all about . . . but then, you wouldn’t know.” Alex winced at this unkind slap. Alex snapped, “Keep your lousy secrets,” and started to walk off. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you. What do you want to know?” “Were you and Catherine serious?” “What difference does it make? It’s over.” “She’ll be in school this fall. Her mom can’t keep her locked up forever.” Cary grimaced. “One smack in the kisser is enough for me.” “She wants you to ‘charge the fortress’. She’ll be disappointed if you don’t.” Cary was angry. “Then she’ll be unhappy. A man doesn’t crawl for any woman.” Greayer Enemies in Love 46 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 5
Exiled
Sitting on the front step of Uncle Otto’s farmhouse, Catherine watched listlessly, as ants carried bits of debris across the sidewalk. Stepping on an ant, she mused, we’re all insects. Fate can crush any of us at any moment. Catherine flicked an ant from her shoe with her finger. She was glad her mother had interrupted her headlong abandonment of her higher purpose in life. She was turning into a giddy schoolgirl, irrationally beginning to think of marriage. Sure she loved Cary and thought he was adorable, but what did that have to do with anything? Although Cary’s father made twice as much as hers, Cary had no career plans, as far as she knew. You can’t make a living writing poetry . . .well, at least . . . not a proper living. Catherine got up from the step, dusted off the seat of her green, cotton skirt, and walked to the dirt road at the front of the farm. She stood leaning against the trunk of a huge sycamore. And it wasn’t just that. They came from different worlds. Their parents would have nothing in common. Twenty years ago Mr. Grant was probably fighting her father on the battlefields in France. How could her dad, decorated with the Iron Cross during WWI, relate to a man who was wounded by a German mortar? Was she inviting disaster in a ‘Romeo and Juliette’ type love affair? Could they forget the hatred fanned by wartime propaganda? Even her mother, who was born in the USA, was imbued with hatred of the English. The only people the Germans hated more than the English were the Jews. Should she throw caution to the wind and let her infatuation with Cary overpower her common sense? Catherine gazed vacantly toward the main highway, about a mile from the farm. She was going home in the morning. She should stop torturing herself and kill the afternoon in the movies watching a double feature? If she hurried, she could catch a bus to town, and escape this midsummer heat.
The sun was still shining brightly when Catherine boarded the bus for her return trip from the movie, but by the time she debarked for her walk back to the farm, the sky looked ominous. I’ll have to hustle if I don’t want to get drenched. Walking toward the farm, she was still tortured by her semi-decision to abandon her love affair with Cary. Common sense was one thing, but her heart refused to obey her command. She found herself looking forward to seeing Cary when she returned home next day. Her stay at Uncle Otto’s had been pleasant . . . except for cousin Sparky. He’s a snotty little kid, always swaggering around like he’s John Wayne. After hearing about my exile, he assumed I’d lost Greayer Enemies in Love 47 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] my virginity or something. Figured that made me fair game. She shuddered, putting her hand to her forehead. Always laying in wait, trying to put his hands on me. Thank God the pimply faced little wimp is off somewhere today. What a strange day, the air is so still, like the world is holding its breath. The sky darkened and it started to drizzle. Catherine walked faster. A car roared past throwing up a fine mist, moistening her face and arms. Keeping her head down she started to jog. Passing a driveway, the stench from a dump where some farmer dumped his garbage sickened her. Dogs were foraging in the refuse and a flock of crows scampered about squawking, as they snared bits of trash. Lights from a farmhouse a quarter-mile from the road, flickered in the distance. How can people live in such filth? Approaching Uncle Otto’s farm it started raining huge droplets, mixed with hail. The farmhouse was still some distance off, so she dashed to the nearest barn and threw the door open. A kerosene lantern atop a refrigerator cast eerie shadows on the walls. A dragonfly followed her inside and took refuge on the fridge near the light. A teenage boy was sitting on a bale of hay drinking a bottle of beer. Greayer Enemies in Love 48 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Catharine said, “Hi. Who are you?” The kid stood up, bashfully, and took off his cap. “Silas Lurch. I’m waiting for Otto Keller.” H’m. He’s a lot bigger than I thought. Skinny though. She said, “Uncle Otto is probably at the farmhouse. Was he expecting you?” “No not him. I’m waiting for his son.” Oh, you mean Sparky. No one calls him Otto.” “His friends do. He doesn’t like Sparky.” Silas pursed his lips. She’s tiny, but doesn’t look like a pushover. Bet that . . . his mouth suddenly seemed to drool. He said, “Are you Otto’s cousin from New York?” Catherine didn’t like the tone in his voice. She hesitated. Deciding to put him in his place, she said, “I can’t think of Sparky as Otto Keller the third, he’s such a wimpy little snot. His dad is such a manly gentleman.” “He’ll be here soon. What if I tell him what you said?” Walking past Silas, she put her hand to her throat. The stench of urine was so overpowering, she almost gagged. The boys must be relieving themselves behind that bale of hay. Catherine shot back, “Tell him what you like.” That set Silas back. “You have Otto all wrong. He’s a great guy.” He burped as he took out another bottle from the refrigerator. “Want a beer?” She recoiled toward the door, waiving it away. “No thanks,” Silas checked her out. Looks like a hot number. Bet that city boy, Otto told me about, has been slipping it to her; why else would her mother send her away to Pennsylvania? Probably a real stud. Suddenly the door burst open and Sparky rushed in, almost knocking Catherine down. Trapped between the two of them, Catherine almost panicked. “Look who’s here Otto. Your cousin and me been having a chat.” Silas took another beer from the refrigerator. “Want a beer Otto?” Otto nodded and Silas tossed the bottle over. Otto removed the cap with a bottle opener hanging on a string tacked to the doorframe. Holding the bottle toward Catherine, he said, “Want a swig?” Catherine shook her head and reached for the door. Otto blocked her. “Sit down and stay awhile. Wouldn’t want to get your pretty dress all wet now, would you?” Otto’s presence made Silas bolder. He leered at her. “Otto says you had a run in with some boy. He your boyfriend?” Like I thought, Sparky told him about Cary. His creepy little mind is working overtime. She said, “Not that it’s your business, but we go to highschool together; he’s just a friend, . . . not my boyfriend.” Silas took a step toward Catherine. “Get fresh with you--did he? That why yo mommy sent you here.” She said, “You have the wrong end of the stick. Cary’s a perfect gentleman.” Otto decided to join in the fun. “Yeah--I’ll bet.” Otto ran his tongue across his lip. “What end of the stick did you get?” Silas guffawed. Catherine’s face turned crimson. This is getting ugly. Greayer Enemies in Love 49 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Playing the scolding adult, she said, “Sparky! Where did you learn such filthy talk. Your mother would be ashamed.” Meanwhile, Silas moved so close, she smelled his foul breath. “Pretty girl like you, . . . bet you’re a cock - teaser.” They weren’t big men, but she was no match for them and their physical presence seemed threatening. She edged toward the door. “Where ya goin’?” “I’m leaving.” Otto grabbed her wrist .“No yer not.” She jerked her wrist free. “Let go. I heard a car; your father must be home.” Otto sneered. “You and Cary doing it?” Her stomach turned queasy. She tried to dash past, but with one quick move Otto grabbed her from behind, his hands on her breasts. Elbowing him in the stomach, she broke away yelling, “Don’t touch me.” Rubbing his stomach, Otto said, “Feisty little kitten.” “Let me out of here or I’ll scream!” From the corner of her eye she saw an ice pick stuck into a bale of hay. She backed toward it. “Who’s gonna hear you?” Otto said. “We’re miles from a house.” Silas was enjoying himself. “Hey Otto, you said your cousin here was ripe. She looks ready for a threesome.” Otto said, “She’s ripe all right. Her stud, Cary Grant, picked her cherry for us.” Silas said, “Cary Grant! Her guy named after that Limey actor? Girl like her needs a he-man like John Wayne.” “Or how about, ‘Otto Keller’?” Catherine’s expression changed from fear to fury, but accidentally backing into the bale of hay she sprawled on her back, her legs and arms flailing. “Grab her hands, Silas, and I’ll grease her skids.” Seizing the opportunity, Silas pinned her arms with one hand, and reached under her skirt with the other, he ripped off her underpants. With all the energy in her tiny body, Catherine brought up her right knee, catching him on the chin. His teeth all-but-severed his tongue. Retreating to a corner holding his bloody mouth, Silas screamed in agony. Catherine sat up. Maneuvering her hand behind her she found the ice pick. “So you think a booze- swilling, barroom-brawling-actor is the manly image that women admire.” The ice pick firmly gripped and hidden in her hand, Catherine stood up. “You little snot-nosed punks don’t have any idea what it takes to be a man.” Otto moved forward threateningly. “Who you calling a snot-nosed punk.” Catherine stood her ground. “I’m calling you a snot-nosed punk Sparky. You don’t deserve the name, Otto Keller. You bring disgrace to all that name stands for.” Otto retreated as Catherine pressed forward. “Cary Grant is a gentleman. He doesn’t bolster his ego by drinking, and brawling, or collect women as trophies, like an Indian warrior collecting scalps.” Showing her contempt, Catherine turned her back on Silas. “Model your behavior after Cary Grant, Sparky, and perhaps, one day, you’ll deserve the name Otto Keller.” Greayer Enemies in Love 50 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Her eyes were shooting daggers. Arresting Otto with her eyes, Catherine advanced toward him. Cringing, Otto backed into a wooden crate and fell to a sitting position. Looking puzzled, he sat helpless as Catherine raised the ice pick high into the air. He watched, petrified, as she brought it down with all the force she possessed, driving it half-way through a two-by-four between his legs--not an inch from his penis. The color drained from his face. and Otto felt faint as Catherine withdrew the icepick, . . . turned her back, . . . ran out, . . . and slammed the door. Once outside, Catherine leaned against the corner of the barn feeling weak. She had spent her last ounce of courage. The warm summer rain pelted down soothing her jangled nerves as she paused to collect herself. They’re just a couple of fourteen-year-old kids, but they never knew how scared I was. They could have raped me. Gradually, feelings of power surged through her trim body. She felt ecstatic. She had faced a nasty challenge and emerged victorious. Her emotions soared. Heading for the farmhouse, she turned her face up, reveling in the refreshing summer shower. Those brats won’t cause me any more trouble. Two cowards acting out the pathetic Hollywood- image of a man. Stupid kids, they’re so confused. Wonder how many rapists and murderers Hollywood creates in pursuit of the almighty dollar? The contrast between Cary and the Hollywood image of a man struck Catherine. Cary was just naturally chivalrous. He was as refreshing as a spring shower. Would she ever find another like him? By the time Catherine reached the farmhouse, she had decided not to tell her aunt and uncle of her narrow escape. How could Aunt Stella and Uncle Otto believe they’d spawned such a monster? Drenched to the skin Catherine ran upstairs hoping to calm herself with a hot bath before facing them. When she joined Aunt Stella and Uncle Otto in their country-kitchen, they were listening to Amos and Andy on the radio. Aunt Stella said, “Soup’s simmering on the stove. Help yourself.” Catherine ladled a bowl of clam chowder from the huge pot, cut a slab of home-baked bread, and sat at the kitchen table, with a cup of hot coco, . . . eating her supper. During a commercial Uncle Otto said, “Guess you got drenched in that cloudburst. Should’ve called from town. I could have picked you up. ” “That’s O.K., the nice bath cooled me off.” What a bizarre scene. My aunt and uncle blissfully listening to Amos and Andy just after their son tried to rape me. They have been real nice during my stay. It’s a good thing Mom relented and said I could come home tomorrow, otherwise I’d have to tell them about Sparky. It would kill them if they knew. Aunt Stella said, “I made chocolate cake. It’s in the pantry. Cut yourself a piece.” “O.K.” Feeling she deserved a reward, Catherine cut herself a generous slice. My underpants will wind up as a trophy in Sparky’s collection of bragging memorabilia. Aunt Stella said, “Just leave your dishes in the sink. I’ll wash up later.” Catherine took her dishes to the sink, drew some hot water and commenced washing up. She said, “Where does this big bowel go?” Stella said, “Just leave that Catherine. I’ll put it away.” Greayer Enemies in Love 51 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Next morning, Catherine awoke to a clear, cool morning, the first relief from the oppressive heat of Indian summer. The events of the previous evening were still on her mind. Last night, during a Pepsodent toothpaste commercial, Uncle said he would drive me to town to catch my bus. I debated again about telling them about Sparky but nixed that idea. No need to sour my relationship with them. When your Mother packs you off to your uncle’s farm in midsummer, everyone assumes you’ve been rolling in the hay with someone. No wonder Sparky got the wrong idea. If your mother doesn’t trust you, who will. Catherine laughed to herself. After the storm subsided, Sparky slunk into the kitchen. When his parents asked where he had been, he became defensive and protested his innocence before realizing I hadn’t told them anything. His evasiveness convinced them he had something to hide. Catherine smiled. Good, let him sweat. He came out the loser all around. His parents clearly don’t trust him, but if I accused him, they’d blame the whole thing on me. By calling his bluff, I exposed him as the wimp he really is. Later, he whispered threats to me, under his breath. What can he possibly do to me now? I’m going home today.
Catherine’s first day back at school was agony. Her resolve to avoid Cary was rapidly waning. First she was afraid of seeing him, then she was afraid she wouldn’t. She found herself visiting their old haunts, keeping a wary eye out for him. The day dragged as hope waned. He must be avoiding me intentionally. After school, she waited out front for Doris. She was frantic to leave before Cary saw her and realized she was waiting for him. She fidgeted with her hair and paced back and forth with short, rapid steps. When Doris emerged with a group of giggling girls, Catherine said, “Come on, let’s go.” Doris said, “O.K. guys, see you in P.E. tomorrow.” Turning to Catherine she said, “What’s the Greayer Enemies in Love 52 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] rush. Thought you’d want to hang out with some of the kids.” “What for? So they can gawk and ask stupid questions? Everyone seems to know about my banishment.” “Gee, you’re in a great mood. Guess you didn’t see Cary today.” “Cut it out Doris. Don’t ever mention Cary to me again.”
A month rolled by. By now Catherine was in turmoil. She was desperate to see Cary. She began hanging out with the sports crowd, attending all the sports events. She became a fan of baseball, track, and swimming, the sports she knew Cary excelled in. Doris was her constant companion, and like a good friend she held her tongue. Finally, Doris felt the charade had gone on long enough. Standing in the hall between classes, Doris said, “There’s Alex. Why don’t we ask him where Cary is?” Catherine said, “Obviously, Cary’s been avoiding me. If he thinks I’m pining for him, he’s got another think coming.” “Yeah. And the dish ran away with the spoon.” “So you think I care? Good-riddance, it’s been much easier than I thought.” “So you don’t mind if I ask Alex where he is. I’d like to know if he’s ill.” “Do what you like. I have to powder my nose.” Doris sidled over to the group of boys and said, “Hi guys. ‘Alex’, Cary loaned me a book last semester. I want to return it. Where can I find him?” Alex split himself from his friends and joined Doris. Catherine was within easy earshot and Alex spoke loudly, for her benefit. “Hi Doris. Thought everyone knew. Cary is gone.” Catherine hurried over and said, “Gee, isn’t he coming back to school?” “Beats me. Last time I saw him, he said he was leaving town.” “Why would he do that?” Digging the knife in, Alex said, “Some girl was bugging him. You know how the girls drool over him.” Tears sprung to Catherine’s eyes as though she’d been slapped in the face.
Doris said, “When is he coming back?” “Who knows.” Digging the knife deeper, Alex said, “On a trip up the Hudson to Indian Point, he and Lorraine got it on real good. By the time they got back Lorraine thought they were engaged. I think he’s avoiding Lorraine.” Alex left and rejoined his group. Doris was sorry she had approached Alex. Crimson faced Catherine walked off, hiding her Greayer Enemies in Love 53 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] distress. Rick, one of the group of boys with Alex, caught up with them and said, “Alex is just giving you a hard time. That Indian Point thing was more than two years ago.” Still recovering her composure, Catherine said nothing. Doris said, “So where is Cary, Rick?” “He went to John Adams for the semester.” Catherine said, “So he has left town!” “I guess. His family moved to South Ozone Park, so he had a choice; . . . just rides his bike a lot further.” ”When is he coming back?” “Probably for graduation, but who knows? Maybe never.” Rick rejoined his friends. Catherine looked pensive. “So it’s not Lorraine he’s avoiding, . . . he’s avoiding me.” Doris couldn’t resist. “Good thing you don’t care?”
That weekend, . . . at a movie, . . . she and Doris sat open mouthed as the newsreel showed thousands of smashed windows of Jewish shops in Berlin. Nazis had ransacked and burned hundreds of synagogues and Jewish homes, killing several hundred Jews. The reporter called it ‘Crystal Night.’ Kristallnacht was triggered by the assassination of German diplomat Ernst von Rath by Herschel Grynszpan, a German-born Polish Jew. In a coordinated attack on Jewish people, and their property, 91 Jews were murdered and 25,000 to 30,000 were arrested and placed in concentration camps, 267 synagogues were destroyed and thousands of homes and businesses were ransacked. This was done by the Hitler Youth, the Gestapo and the SS.[2] Kristallnacht also served as a pretext and a means for the wholesale confiscation of firearms from German Jews. He also reported scattered incidents in New York. Some windows in Jewish shops were smashed in German neighborhoods, including Gardena and Ridgewood. On their way home from the movie the girls saw a swastika painted on a bakery. Catherine said “I’m ashamed to admit this Doris, but I’ve heard some of my relatives celebrating the Nazi atrocities. Makes me wish I wasn’t German.” “There are lots of Nazi sympathizers and Jew haters in America, and they’re not all German, . . . but I know what you mean. I have some of those creeps in my family too.” Catherine was dejected. This was one more nail in her coffin. Perhaps Cary didn’t fit her future plans, but she wanted to make that decision. But, maybe she had no choice. Cary was no dope . . . he may decide she wasn’t what he wanted. Greayer Enemies in Love 54 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 6
Babsie
Saturday, 5 August 1939. Beth called out, "Anna-banana, are you ever going to stop primping? The next bus leaves in ten minutes." Closeted in their airless bathroom for twenty minutes, Ann was preparing for their day at the World's Fair. Ann opened the bathroom door slightly and, fanning it back forth, she said, "Oxygen , oxygen , . . . any kind of gin will do." She collapsed in a spasm of laughter at her own humor. Beth had been ready for an hour. "Come on Ann, cut the comedy. If we miss this bus, it will be an hour before the next one. If you don't look out, the ice-man will be here before we leave." Ann shot out of the bathroom. On their last trip, Cary tagged along; . . . she didn’t want that to happen . . . again. "Let's get out of here." Grabbing their purses, the two girls headed for the door just as Cary came charging in from the back yard. "Mommamia, ain't you gals all gussied up! Where are you going?" "Never mind," Beth said. "Come on Ann, let's go." Cary teased. "Not so fast. You gals are up to no good. I’d better go along and chaperone." "You can't," Ann said. "The ice-man hasn’t come yet." "Mom changed her mind. Said there's plenty of ice to last till Monday." "Baloney. Don’t listen to him Ann." Ann and Beth left in a hurry.
After the ice-man left, Cary was closing the vestibule door when Babsie Riley, a big, blond, curly- haired Irish lad, walked up. The Riley family had three handsome boys, and two stunning girls. Babsie, a year older than Cary, was the baby of the family. No one knew him by any other name. Before the depression the Riley family escaped the Bronx every summer by renting a cottage in Spotswood. Mrs. Riley suffered from tuberculosis and had just a few months to live. Babsie, the only one left at home, took care of her. "Hi Babsie. You look beat." "Been sleeping in Central Park since Wednesday. Decided to look you up.” “Central Park! That’s more than twenty-miles. How did you get here?” “Only have two-bits. Couldn't afford to spend any. Hitched rides on the back of streetcars, . . . but I walked most of the way.” ”Cary looked puzzled. "Why were you sleeping in the park?" Greayer Enemies in Love 55 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Tuesday my old man was beating up our Mom, . . . as usual. I knocked him out with one punch. When he sobered up, he kicked me out. Had no place else to go, except the park." Cary was puzzled. He could have gone to his aunt's or one of his sisters' in the Bronx. Why did . . . what does Babsie want? "Come in out of the Sun, Babsie." Cary led Babsie from the vestibule, through the hall and into their sparsely furnished parlor. Gesturing toward a chair, Cary said, “Take a load off, Babsie.” A nine-by twelve floral rug, framed by a two-foot border, covered the hardwood floor. A reading lamp sat on an end table between two chairs. The whitewashed plaster ceiling, overhead, coved into the walls down to a strip of mahogany picture-molding that circled the room about eighteen inches below the ceiling. Three scenes of the English countryside, cut from calendars and framed, hung by slender wires attached to the molding by metal clips. The hot August sun filtering through the lace-curtains at the two south-facing front windows, made an intricate pattern of light and shadow on Cary’s face. These windows, coupled with two more windows at the rear of the apartment, off the kitchen and dining room, provided the only source of fresh air. Babsie sat on the maroon, burlap-upholstered-sofa opposite the piano and looked around the room. Cary sprawled on the Greayer Enemies in Love 56 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] matching blue chair with his right leg over the arm and switched off the Atwater Kent radio. Babsie said, "Where are your sisters?" "At the World's Fair in Flushing. Last trip, I tagged along, but I made the perfect ‘boy-repellant’. The guys kept their distance. That’s not exactly what the girls wanted, so this time they escaped before I could join them." "Colleen and Nessa would have sliced my balls off." Cary flinched. None of his friends used crude language. Cary touched his forehead. "They're both so innocent they don't know I have balls.” Mom would kill me if she heard me say that, . . . except she probably doesn’t know I have balls either . Babsie remained silent. Cary gestured toward the door. “When I came in from feeding Trix in the back yard, I caught them trying to sneak out. When I teased I’d go with them, that scared the be-Jesus out of them and they flew- the-coop." Cary and Babsie had an extended chuckle. "So the World's Fair is the happy hunting ground. I've never been. Don't have the scratch." "Don't need much scratch. They sell these student ticket books in highschool. Ten admissions for a buck. Ann and Beth view them as the greatest invention since the padded bra. Get a whole day's ‘exposure’ for ten-cents." (Cary even felt odd saying ‘bra’, but what-the-hey.) Babsie laughed. "How about you? You could be doing the same thing." "Have no one to hang out with. My buddy, Alex, is working. Besides, would cost at least a buck, with carfare, drinks, ice cream and such. But, if the idea is to pick up girls, there goes a months pay. Girls get a free ride." “You have a point.” Looking around Babsie said, “You’ve made some changes since my last visit. Didn't have that piano last summer. By the way, what happened to the piano you had in Spotswood?" "The butcher took it for the money we owed him. Mom missed it and Pop loves to sing, so he shelled out for a used one. Mom paid forty-dollars for it at a pawn shop. That’s nearly three-months rent, so you know Pop wanted it too." "Can’t see my old man shelling out for a piano. If it's not beer, he ain't interested." Greayer Enemies in Love 57 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Minnie Severance was here when they delivered it. We all gathered round when Mom began to play." "Wasn't Minnie your parson's daughter?" "Yes.” “Wasn’t she the blimp who won the hog calling contest?” Winfred nodded. “Anyhow, the front window was open and a trolley car stopped out front just when Minnie was hitting Hallelujah at the top of her lungs. No opera star can match her for sheer volume." "I know. My ears are still ringing from the last time I heard her bellow.” "Pop tried to match her. Veins in his neck were bulging and his face was beet red. Thought he'd bust a gasket.” “Guess, people on the trolley got an earful.” “I was so embarrassed, I dived under the bed. Found Trix hiding there too." Both boys laughed. "What were your sisters and your mom doing?" "Poor Mom was valiantly playing away, but Ann and Beth were looking at one-another goggle- eyed. Beth can cross her eyes so they nearly disappear." "What a sight. Wish I were here." "You and Ann can see humor in situations that just embarrass me. I laugh a week later, when I stop blushing." Unable to ignore Babsie's wan look any longer Cary said, "When did you eat last?" Babsie had begun to give up hope. With a sigh, he said, "I'm starved. Spent fifteen-cents for a ham-sandwich and a milkshake, yesterday. Nothing else since Wednesday." Cary dashed down the hall to the kitchen and checked the sugar bowel, where they kept the food budget. Nearly empty . . . . Mom is always hospitable and Dad never passes a beggar without dropping a coin in his cup. Dad always says, ‘it won't make me and it won't break me.’ Guess I can spend eight-cents for a loaf of Vienna bread . “Ok lets go.” On the way back from Meyer's Bakery Cary spent eight-cents at the delicatessen for a quart of milk. He recorded his purchases in the budget ledger and returned the change to the sugar bowl. "Grab some knives from the drawer, and take a seat, Babsie" "Really appreciate this Cary. You were my last hope." Embarrassed at Babsie's humility, Cary changed the subject. Taking plates and glasses from the cupboard, while he set the table, Cary said, "The guy next door is a cop. He's married to this bombshell and she doesn’t wear a bra or girdle. When she walks by, everything jiggles." Babsie laughed. "My aunt Eileen wears so much armor her ass feels like cast iron. Almost broke Greayer Enemies in Love 58 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] my hand last time I slapped her butt.” “Yeah, those girdles surely are hard.” Cary lifted the lid on the ice compartment and retrieved the oleo-margarine and Velveeta cheese. "Lots more fun watching Sheila next door. Last week she visited her mother in the Bronx and I was on the same trolley. Whoa Nellie." “It's a wonder he lets her out of the house. I'd chain her to the bedpost or keep her knocked-up." Cary blushed. He’d never heard the term ‘knocked-up’ before, but he guessed what it meant. While pouring two glasses of milk, he said, "Go ahead Babsie, fix yourself a sandwich." Cary took a seat opposite Babsie. "Her ‘Cop husband’ is just as bad. You can see into their apartment from our back stoop, and Tuesday, when Mom stepped out to hang some clothes on the clothesline, that son-of-a-gun was sitting there, . . . nude, with his chair facing the open window! Mom dropped the clothes-basket and shot back into the kitchen." Both boys chuckled, imagining the scene. Babsie said, “Some guys get their kicks in strange ways.” He chuckled. "Having his wife away made him pretty horny.” “Probably was hoping Ann or Beth would step out.” “Bet your Mom makes sure his wife is home before she steps out there again." "I've been hanging the clothes ever since. Keep looking, hoping the Mrs. will retaliate and give me an eyeful, . . . but no such luck." "What would you do if she did?" "Drop the clothes' basket and dash into the kitchen--what else?" Both boys had another laugh. Cary jumped up, reached under the icebox, and emptied the drip pan into the sink. “Mom gets a new Hotpoint refrigerator on Monday. Thank God I’ll never have to hang around for the Ice Man again.” “A refrigerator! Can you afford that?” “Only costs fifty-cents a week, . . . on-time. That’s less than ice costs.” “What about electricity?” “Dad’s worried about that. Mom and Pop fought about it for months. We kids all sided with Mom. Pop lost.” Now I’ll never have to empty the drip pan either. Mom always gives me hell if I let it overflow. Growing up in a rough neighborhood in the Bronx, . . . with four older siblings, Babsie had lots of opportunity to observe the human condition. Though he was a highschool dropout, he was wise beyond his years. He held strong opinions softened with a keen sense of humor. Babsie laughed. “Mom-pop fights are all about sex.” “That’s crazy. Me and my Dad have slept together since I was eight.” “That’s my point. He’s in the fridge.” Cary was puzzled. “What’s a fridge got to do with sex?” “Everything is about sex. My point is, he’s not getting any.” This was new territory for Cary. The subject was taboo in the Grant household. Sex was so far from Cary’s mind he couldn’t conceive of his parents ever having had sex, consequently, he never realized his parents weren’t having any. . . . He said, “My parents never mentioned sex in their lives.” “No one does. It’s the great unmentionable, . . . but sex is all there is. It’s always there.” Babsie’s comment made Cary realize that he had been so conditioned that he avoided thinking about sex . . . entirely. He said defensively, “I read about it in a marriage manual, once.” “Great. Now you know there’s a hole you can poke your rod into. That’s as much as most people know.” Greayer Enemies in Love 59 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cary was uncomfortable with the subject. This was embarrassing. He was a poet, and didn’t think ugly thoughts, . . . but he tried to act savvy. “The book said a little more than that.” “Yes, I know. It showed pictures of sperm and eggs. It didn’t tell you what sex is all about.” Cary was baffled. “Huh?” “To a woman, sex is about procreation. To a man sex is about recreation.” “What does that mean?” “A woman uses sex for power, like a man uses money.” “Huh?” “A woman uses sex to get the man she wants, and he uses money to get the woman he wants.” Cary was out of his depth. “It’s simple. After a woman has her brood, she could care less about sex.” In stunned silence, Cary sat with a sickly grin, as he listened to Babsie’s diatribe. “Sex is man’s Achilles heel. He’ll do anything to get it.” Cary said, “Where do you get these ideas?” “By keeping my eyes and ears open. In my house, the drinking and beatings began when Ma left Pa’s bed and started sleeping with Nessa. Before that, Pa only hit her when she was pregnant.” “What!?” “Oh, I forgot. You think life is about love. Life is about control, . . . control of sex.” Cary couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. Babsie was just warming up. “Men thought they had it made when they invented religion. Religion made it a woman’s duty to obey. Only Irish women took it seriously. Ma was pregnant every time there was a full moon. If she didn’t want twenty-four kids by the time she was forty, she had to abort them.” Cary knew nothing about abortion. “Abort them, . . . what’s that?” “You really do live under a rock. That’s when a woman loses a baby.” Cary looked baffled, . . . but he’d heard his sisters talking. “You mean she has a miscarriage?” Babsie looked disgusted. “No, I mean abort them. . . . With her razor-sharp tongue, Ma was always able to get a fist in the belly whenever she needed it.” Cary looked stupefied. “A fist in the belly?” Look Cary, “You do know ‘having an abortion is illegal?” Cary shrugged. He didn’t know you could ‘have’ an abortion. “The conventional method to abort is jumping off the roof, but a fist in the belly is more effective and there’s no danger of breaking a leg. Besides, that way she’s a victim instead, and doesn’t need to confess her sin to the God-damned Priest.“ Cary didn’t want to believe Babsie, but he remembered his sister, Ann, saying that Mom lost a baby once by swallowing a fistful of Quinine tablets. Made her blind for three days. Making one last try to salvage his romantic dreams, Cary said, “If marriage was an equal partnership there wouldn’t be all the bickering.” Babsie really hooted at that. “Is that what Catherine told you?” He made wide eyed romantic faces and danced around the room. “Listen Cary, all marriages are doomed, but an equal partnership is like one of Dr. Doolittle’s two-headed Pushme-Pullyous. . . . Bound to tear itself apart in record time.” “You make marriage sound like a disaster.” “Sorry if I’m spoiling your fairy-tale notions, but if you don’t want to believe me, ask a Siamese twin what it’s like to live life joined at the hip.” “So you’re never going to get married?” Greayer Enemies in Love 60 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Never say never, . . . but as I say, ‘Women have all of us in their power.’ A man is at the mercy of his hormones. His sex drive is as strong as an addiction to heroin. He’ll do anything to get his daily fix.” “You’re really down on women.” “No I’m not, I just recognize facts. Women marry for money and men marry for sex. Poor bastard doesn’t realize it’s cheaper to buy it.” “God you’re a cynic. How can you make women sound so mercenary.” “Not so. It’s all about propagation of the species.” “You’re talking riddles.” “It’s simple. In the animal kingdom there are males and females. We’re all driven by survival of the species. Do you agree?” Cary shrugged and reluctantly said, “I guess.” “A male’s instinct is to spread his seed as far and as wide as possible as his best chance for his species to survive. That’s just common sense.” Cary sat open mouthed. He had to admit Babsie was probably right. “Females can’t spread their seed, . . . can they?” “Never thought of that.” “For survival of her species, she has to nurture her young as best she can. There’s nothing either men or women can do about it. They’re pre-wired . Men have to scatter their seed and women have to spread their legs and nurture their young.” Cary turned beet red. . . . Spread their legs? Cary had never had sex so he couldn’t envision it. “So that explains why women are mercenary?” “Women have no chance in the labor market. Their only chance is to sell their cunt to the highest bidder . Their welfare and their children’s welfare depend on it.” Cary had never had a carnal thought in his life. All his thoughts about women were couched in poetic terms. Once in a while his body tried to tell him something but it was on a subliminal level and never penetrated to his conscious mind. This conversation wasn’t helping his romantic notions and the quicker it ended the happier he’d be. He’d better stop chipping his teeth and find out what was on Babsie’s mind. "Well, enough of that. When will you go home?" "Home? . . . You’re kidding. I’m Maw's little Babsie , so Pop never had any use for me. He can’t stand me. Can't say I blame him. Ma sure made a fuss over me." "If you can’t go home, what will you do?" "Don’t know. Jobs are as scarce as married bliss. Called Colleen at work, yesterday. Mom’s in bad shape. She’s staying with her and Nessa. They gave her the bed and they’re sleeping on the floor." "How about Aunt Kathleen. She always liked you." "Some rummy is staying there now. He wouldn't exactly greet me with open arms.” Babsie grimaced and put on a sick grin. “Hoped your folks could put me up for a few days while I figure something out." Whew. Cary was relieved Babsie wasn't asking for money. They could always find room for another body. "We're fairly tight here. Ann sleeps with Mom in the front bedroom, I sleep with Dad in the middle bedroom, and Beth sleeps in that closet-sized alcove in the hall. . . . And now we have Aunt Maud. . . . She sleeps on the daybed in the diningroom." "She wasn't with you when I stopped by last summer." "She left Uncle Roddie three months ago. He was sleeping around, as usual.” Greayer Enemies in Love 61 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] (Cary hated to lie, but actually Uncle Roddie deserted her and Cary couldn’t blame him. She was a hell of a shrew, but . . . Babsie didn't need to know that.) Cary said, “Mom has four sisters. Aunt Maud and Mom and the rest of the gang are over at Aunt Baby's house. They get together every day to make men's ties.” Cary reflected, God, they hate men. They’re having a gay old time trashing Uncle Roddie. Cary realized ‘that’ seemed to confirm what Babsie was saying. (Cary jumped up and busied himself clearing off the lunch things, . . . putting the milk and margarine in the ice box, and washing the plates.) “Mom’s the fastest. She puts together nineteen-dozen ties a week. She makes about eighteen dollars a week." Babsie looked dejected. "With all the folks you have here you surely don't have any room to squeeze me in." "Hey, I wasn't saying that. Come on, let's look down in the cellar." The two boys dashed out to the entry hall and galloped down the cellar-stairs. Cary pointed. "There's lots of room back here near the stairs to the back yard. Aunt Baby has a couple of cots stored down here. We could set them up over there and I could bunk with you." "This is great, Cary, . . . if it's O.K. with your folks . . . and the people who live upstairs." "If I tell the Goodwin’s we're sleeping here, it will be O.K. with them. Besides, it’s cooler down here than in those sweat-boxes we call bedrooms." “But I can't just sponge off your family. I need a job to at least pay for my meals." Cary said, “The A&P on the corner needs someone to drive a pickup-truck and deliver groceries. It only pays eight-dollars a week, but that should tide you over--and there may be tips. I could take you over there and nail the job down right now, if you like." "But, I don't know the neighborhood." Suddenly Cary realized Babsie was a Godsend. Now he could goof off longer without the guilt pangs he'd been suffering. Since graduation, Cary had been avoiding the chore of finding work by futzing around reading books and thinking of Catherine. The books he read were all props, . . . devices to salve his conscience. In four years of highschool he had never opened a novel but in the two months since graduation he had read thirty. Having a guy like Babsie to talk to was more stimulating than reading books, and ‘Alex’ may help him get over Catherine. (He went to John Adams High for his final year, just to avoid Catherine, and then as soon as he graduated, he spent all his time trying to run into her! He knew it was stupid. He didn’t even know what he would say if he bumped into her.) This could be fun. Maybe Babsie would teach him to drive. Getting excited about the idea, Cary said, "I'm just loafing. We can ride around together until you learn the territory."
And that’s the way it worked out. Cary found touring around delivering groceries was much more fun than killing time reading books. Most customers gave five or ten cent tips, so it wasn't a complete waste of time for Cary. Greayer Enemies in Love 62 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 7
Mrs. Fordham
When Cary and Babsie arrived at the A&P at seven-thirty A.M., Friday, six orders were waiting for delivery. Items were listed on brown paper bags with prices alongside. Boxing groceries and collecting money was part of the job. Groceries were stored on floor-to-ceiling shelves behind the counter running the full length of the store. Canned goods and other heavy items were on lower shelves and light items, like cereals and paper products were higher up. Barrels in the center of the floor contained potatoes, onions and other bulk products. Babsie read items off the lists, and Cary rolled the trolley (ladder) back-and-forth in front of the shelves, climbing the ladder, as necessary, to fetch the groceries. Babsie boxed the items and loaded the orders onto the truck for delivery. Grinding the coffee beans for each customer’s order released a wonderful aroma. When they were through, they leaped on a counter and sat with a map for a few minutes to plot their route. Greayer Enemies in Love 63 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Babsie exclaimed, "This order is in Forest Hills. . . . Where in blazes is that Cary?" "Heck fire, . . . I don’t know, Babsie. Somewhere near Kew Gardens, I think." Cary studied the map. . . . Cary paused. . . .It’s somewhere near Queens College . . . where Catherine goes this fall. God I miss her. “ Looks like It’s somewhere near Queens College. Must be five-miles. Union Turnpike will take us over there.” Babsie noticed the hitch in Cary’s voice, and said, “Not all over between you and Catherine, . . . like you said, eh Cary?” Cary didn’t answer. He hadn’t seen Catherine for over a year.
Driving East on Myrtle Avenue, Cary said, "If you can't go home, Babsie, what are you planning to do?" Shoot, what can I do? Without a highschool diploma, officer's training is out. Only options are shoeshine boy, a private in some branch of the military or the merchant marine. ” "How about a cop? Being Irish should guarantee you a spot on the New York City police force." "I hate guns. Besides, beating people on the head with a club isn’t my thing.” “Me too. Guns make guys feel invincible. Poverty and gunpowder are a dangerous combination.” “So unless I hit the lottery there’s nothing else except a grunt laborer or join the Civilian Conservation Corps, like my brothers." Babsie slowed the delivery truck to ask directions. "Union Turnpike coming up. What now?" "Bear left and keep heading East." Babsie poked Cary with his elbow. "Move your feet so I can downshift." Cary untangled his legs from the floor-mounted shift lever. He said, “I'm limited too. I have my highschool diploma, but what does that buy me?” “Assumed you'd be an engineer like your dad.” "Can’t. Didn’t I tell you about that fiasco? Blew my chance for college by flunking German in Greayer Enemies in Love 64 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Highschool.” Babsie looked puzzled. “German?. Who needs that?” “ M y Highschool advisor saw my science grades and said I needed to take German, since etc, etc. Whoa Nellie! There are more Germans in t h i s neighborhood than in downtown Berlin. First day in class, everyone was speaking fluent German. By the time I woke up and asked my advisor to drop out, he said, ‘sorry, too late.’ My German teacher understood, . . . or so she said. She just let me sit there for the entire semester, but that didn’t effect how she graded me. She flunked me anyhow.” “So, you flunked German. . . . So what?” why did that scuttle you? Your other grades were good.” “Unlike some schools that use A, B, C, D, our highschool used number grades,. Do you know how many 70s or 80s you need to pull up a . . . ‘20' . . . to a passing average?” Babsie groaned. “Oh brother . . . she really had her revenge. She must have resented that you weren’t GERMAN after all. And growing up in the boonies didn’t exactly put you on the fast track. Too bad you weren’t rich, so you could go to a private school.” “You can say that again. I’m not exactly swift and I knew nothing about the New York school system.” Babsie laughed. “When we met, in Spotswood you ran around naked. No shoes, no shirt, I thought you were a cave man. You’ve come a long way in four years.” “Not far enough. Teachers thought I was a goof-off ‘cause I score so high on IQ tests, but my grades didn’t match. By the time I found out about free city colleges, it was too late. No way could I get my average up high enough to qualify.” ”With your high IQ, how come you messed up?” “Sports and thinking of Catherine. Missed college by two percentage points." "Why not work your way through?" "Fat chance. Got brochures from every college within a two-hundred mile radius. Private college is for millionaires." “What will you do?” “Still figuring my options. Tough to plan a career with war on the horizon.” “Think it will happen? . . . war I mean.” “Who knows? Hitler is annexing every nation in Europe. If someone doesn’t stop him he’ll annex Greayer Enemies in Love 65 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] the world. When I mentioned joining the RAF, Mom and Dad put up a terrible fuss. Since Pop was born in London and he’s always going on about our isolationist policy I thought he'd be for it, but no way." "Don’t blame them. Hitler knocked out Poland and annexed Czechoslovakia last March. Britain and France declared war. Join the RAF and you could wind up dead by July." "Maybe that’s not too bad. After Catherine dumped me, I thought about fighting Franco in Spain. Probably looking for a quick, glamorous exit.” “Teaching her a lesson?” “Possibly.” Cary rolled down the window. “Mom and Pop are always fighting, but that’s one thing that unites them. Sisters are no help either. They start to cry" "My old man would love to ship me off. Give him something to brag about, especially if I got killed. Maw might not mind either.” “Why do you say that? Surly your mother would hate to see you get killed.” “Women put up a big show of being the gentle sex, but I don’t buy it. You should hear Maw boast about her brothers who died fighting with the IRA. She doesn’t run on like that about her brother who got run down by a brewery wagon." “But, it’s natural to be proud of heros.” “Women decide who is a hero. Watch how gooey a broad gets when some bloke looks sideways at her and her old man whops him. Girls don’t drool over old four eyes, . . . the ninety-pound weakling. Men get the message.” Cary thought about that. “Doesn’t quite square with their complaints about what brutes men are.” “Women want men who can go off to war and kill and maim and plunder. Who else will protect them?” Cary looked skeptical. “You think??” “No shit. They never ask how many throats we slit, or how many men, women, and children we murder in their beds. They welcome us home to their beds and lavish their affection on us. Only thing they can’t stand is if we bed another woman. That’s the one crime that’s unforgivable.” “My sisters claim they’d fight in my place, rather than see me go.” Babsie laughed. “It’s part of the female con job. After bravado like that, what man wouldn’t volunteer to fight. At the end of the Civil War they counted half-a-million corpses. None of them were women.” Greayer Enemies in Love 66 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “That doesn’t mean women want to see men fight.” “Didn’t want men to fight! Check your history. Women stood on street corners handing out white feathers to any male between the ages of nine and ninety they saw in civilian clothes. They shamed men into it and we suckers fell for it.” Cary still wasn’t convinced. “ Catherine says men have all the power . . . Women can’t force men . . .” “Don’t let her kid you. Men dance to the tune women play.” “But, men are stronger and have most of the money. Surely that means they have more power.” “Then why did our richest millionaires, Astor, Guggenheim, and Straus go down on the Titanic while women and children took to the lifeboats?” “But, you’re not a man if you don’t let women and children go first.” “Bet your mommy told you that. You can’t have it both ways. Life is our most precious commodity. If men do all the dying, you tell me who has the power?” Cary sat mum. This Babsie sure has a different slant on life . “As I’ve said, there are two sources of power, money and sex. Since women ‘control’ sex, they literally have men by the balls. Men are victims of their hormones. They use money to get sex. In a contest between money and sex, . . . sex wins every time.” Cary was still fighting to hold onto his romantic dreams. “But men are the sexual aggressors. They’re the ones who ask the woman to marry.” Babsie laughed. “Wake up Cary. Sex is a woman’s game. When you met that girl you think you love, who made the first move, . . . you or her?” Cary paused for a long moment before replying. . . . “She did.” “And who decided if there would be sex or not?” He needed no hesitation here. “She did.” “And who ended it, you or her?” “She did.” “In other words, she started it, she managed it, and she ended it. You got exactly what she was willing to give, . . . which was nothing. You ran around with your tongue hanging out, buying her flowers Greayer Enemies in Love 67 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] and candy and kissing her ass and she never let you even smell her pussy.” Cary looked ill. “If she had more time, she could arrange for you to think you ended it. That way she could be the injured party, but instead she blamed it on her mother and appealed to your honor to help her keep her word. Am I right?” “How did you know?” “My two sisters are fashion models, remember. The poor suckers never know what’s happening. Sex is a woman’s speciality. She cracks the whip and the beasts jump through the hoop. Who’s in control, the beast, or the lion tamer?” A light began to dawn in Cary’s eyes. Babsie slowed down, looking at the street signs. “As they say, my friend, sex makes the world . . . etcetera, etcetera.” Looking out the side window, Cary pointed, and said, "Hey, look over there. Hillcrest Super Market.” “Heard about those supermarkets. They carry everything: meat, bakery goods, and who knows what else. Some even have hardware, not just groceries like the A&P.” “Makes no sense. Why order groceries in Glendale, if they have supermarkets over here?" Babsie shrugged. "Ours not to reason. But, I'm glad I don't have your problem. A wife isn't in my plans. Want to see the world first. Guess I'll join the merchant marine." "Not ready either. College will take Catherine four years. Doubt she'll marry before then. Would take me that long to save enough to enter college.” “So what will you do?” “After listening to you, Catherine seems more hopeless than ever. If it’s money they want, I sure don’t have any. May as well live a quick, adventurous life rather than a slow agonizing death, like my father. Dad’s already dead, just not buried." "Now you’re talking. The worst thing you can do is love someone. Then they really have you by the ying-yang. . . . Greenway South coming up." "Turn north at the signal." Babsie turned left. "Some classy neighborhood. Folks here may even have servants. What's my next turn?" "Right on Summer. . . . Now left. . . . This is it. Pull in here. . . . The note with the order says 'deliver to the rear.'" "What a place. Sure you haven't screwed up Cary?" Set way back on an immaculate lawn, the colonial style mansion was set off by a tree lined driveway curving into the back yard. Polished-brass plates, fastened to the brick gateposts, identified the upper-middle-class residence as the home of Doctor and Mrs. R. M. Fordham. Very classy. Making sure his wheels didn't stray off the two narrow strips of concrete, Babsie turned into the shaded driveway and drove to the rear of the private yard. The tennis court and swimming pool were impressive, but the Cadillac convertible and La Salle sedan they spied as they passed the open garage door left them wide-eyed. Cary had seen a La Salle in a movie once and it was his dream-car. Cary said, "These people are rich. This house may even be worth fifteen or twenty-thousand Greayer Enemies in Love 68 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] dollars." (That was more money than Cary could imagine anyone possessing.) Each boy carried a box to the back door. Cary rang the bell. The top-half of the Dutch door opened. Staring at them with her dramatically penciled eyebrows and heavily mascaraed green eyes, (that reminded Cary of Jean Harlow), was a striking redhead with milk- white skin. Struck dumb, the two teenagers stood motionless, mouths agape. The closed lower-half of the Dutch door stopped them. Perfume wafted over them, nearly asphyxiating Cary. They were about to pass the groceries through when Mrs. Fordham stepped back, pulling the lower half of the door with her. She motioned them in. Pointing toward the breakfast room table, she said, haughtily, "In there." After carefully placing his box on the table, Cary turned to leave. Mrs. Fordham was standing in the open doorway with the sunlight streaming through. He could see everything. His pulse rate zoomed. Her scanty silk shirt, barely long enough to cover her crotch, was transparent. She had no bra or panties on. She stayed in the sunlight and said, "Would you boys like something to cool you off?" Babsie picked up on the suggestion in her voice and replied, "I don't know about Cary, but it would take a cold shower to cool me down." Mrs. Fordham smiled approvingly at Babsie's veiled insinuation. She said, "I see what you mean. Should we all go upstairs, and take a shower?" Cary hoped he didn't understand what was going on. Babsie said, "Lead the way, but Cary here is a virgin with high principles. Should we corrupt him?" She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, oh, I see I see something high. Is that his principles?" Cary turned crimson, . . . but he couldn't control his gaze which fastened on the spot where the pink nipples of her ample breasts dimpled her silk shirt. Releasing a single fastener at her throat, she let her shirt slide to the floor. "Would you like to see all of Pamela?" Standing in front of him, she turned so he could see her erect nipples and hairless body from every angle. She had shaved everything: her arms, her legs, even her pubic hair. The last nude woman Cary had seen was when he was three, when his mother was breast feeding him. This body looked much more nude than he remembered. Turning back to Babsie Mrs. Fordham said, "I won't rape him if that's what you mean. Taking Babsie's hand she led him toward the stairs saying, "Let's have that shower. If Cary just wants to watch, I don't mind." As soon as Pamela moved, Cary darted out the open door to the back yard and called, "Babsie, Greayer Enemies in Love 69 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] I'll wait in the truck." Slipping behind the steering wheel of the truck eased the pressure at the front of his trousers. Memories of his romance with Jean Brown came flooding back. Combined with the warm, humid day, these recollections didn't help cool him down. When Cary, Ann, Beth, and Jean were little tykes, the Brown’s and Grant’s got together once a month, after church, to play euchre. The girls played with their dolls while Cary read or roamed outdoors, . . . whiling away the time down by the river with his dog, Nip. Later, the kids had homework to do, and usually spent the time studying or reading. Then Cary began noticing subtle changes in Jean and he began hanging around, throwing a ball against the side of the house. When Cary was almost thirteen, Ann and Beth were still little girls in mind and body, but Jean, who was Cary's age, had the body of a woman, . . . a fully developed, voluptuous woman. Cary felt a strange attraction he didn’t understand. His pulse quickened whenever she was near and he had difficulty controlling his urge to touch. She had a wonderful aura that made his skin feel all prickly. One day, playing hide-and-seek, he found himself squeezed into the same closet with her. It was dark and as her breasts pressed against his chest, perspiration broke out on his hairless upper lip. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he held them over his head. The blood ran out of his arms and his hands got pins and needles, forcing him to lower them. She took them and massaged them to restore circulation. What delicious agony. Now, with his heightened awareness, her visits became electric, . . . but they confined their mutual curiosity to furtive glances and accidental touches. It was his birthday party that started things off. After he cut his cake, everyone kissed him happy birthday . . . including Jean. It was not much of a kiss, with all eyes watching, . . . but exciting nevertheless. Shortly after, they discovered the pleasures of necking. With lips tightly closed, (following the example of the Hay's-Office-censored-movies), the kisses were still sufficiently stimulating to cause their pulse rates to soar, . . . and certain other phenomena to manifest themselves. Still ignorant of the so-called facts-of-life, he experienced a familiar uncontrollable reaction, but although he didn't understand, he soon learned he had to wear his ‘athletic jockstrap’ if he were going to indulge in this sport. The jockstrap made it painful, but not sufficiently so to diminish his eagerness. The following months they spent hours necking in the parlor or behind the barn while the adults played cards in the dining-room. Cary kept his hands on Jean's waist. Why his hands wanted to explore other places he didn't know, but lower or higher seemed dangerous. In any case, he resisted these impulses sensing that other regions were taboo. Once, his hand brushed Jean's breast and he yanked it away as though he had touched a red-hot stove. Blushing, he said, . . . "Pardon me." One Sunday Jean took Cary's hand, slipped it under her blouse and placed it on her breast. Could Greayer Enemies in Love 70 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] anything feel more wonderful--soft, hard, full? He could hear his heart pounding . . . surely she could hear it too? Strange symptoms, breathless, giddy, faint. Strange emotions, ecstasy, joy, panic. Strange impulses, squeeze it, kiss it, bite it. She whispered, "Do you want to sleep with me?" What sleeping ‘with her’. . . meant, . . . he knew not , except that, . . . it was . . . taboo. He kissed her passionately hoping his actions would answer her question. Taking his other hand she put it under her skirt, . . . on her thigh! Her face felt on fire. What should he do? . . . Apparently she required nothing else. She stiffened, shuddered, and emitted a muffled gasp. (Emitting a gasp or two himself, he experienced a familiar reaction, . . . but never before had it occurred under these circumstances.) As the families gathered to leave, Cary and Jean whispered vows of undying love. Jean's face was tomato-red, and Cary knew his was also. Next day his innocent sisters asked why their faces were so red. "Are you going to marry Jean?" Cary did not answer. Cary had heard sermons about the evils of adultery and fornication, whatever that meant. He grasped none of it, except that it was forbidden. He had slept with his sisters when he was a child and they each explored the strange anatomy of the other until their mother began sleeping with the older daughter and he began sleeping with his father leaving the small bedroom for Ann and Beth, so he knew sleeping with Jean must be taboo . The thought was so exciting that he felt the hot fires of hell close at hand. To avoid Jean . . .. Cary stopped attending the card parties . . . without explanation! He even stopped writing letters. . . . He never saw Jean again , (Except when he was ‘best man’ at his cousin’s wedding and she was ‘maid of honor’.) Poor Jean. I was so paranoid about committing a sin, I dumped her without a word. All those words like slut and whore terrified me. The church surely screws a guy up. They tell you what-not-to-do, but not what-you’re-not-doing. Cary glanced at his watch. What the hell happened to Babsie? Climbing down from the truck, Cary strolled around the garden. Once, I vowed to remain chaste until I married. Had I married Catherine I’d have kept my promise, but she dumped me. Babsie says it’s all hogwash propagated by the clergy. Can I remain chaste now that I no longer believe in sin? Should I remain chaste? So, why didn’t I join Babsie, upstairs with Mrs. Fordham? With Jean, ignorance and fear stopped me. Today, I may have been afraid of looking awkward with Babsie present. Since I’ve never even had sex, how could I have a ‘gang bang’ as my first experience? . . . or would that have made it easier? No way. . . . Could I resist Mrs. Fordham if I were alone? . . . Will I always be too terrified or would I be more comfortable if the girl was also a virgin? Jean was a virgin, but she knew what to do. We could have learned together. With Jean, I didn't know where to put it, let alone that I had to wear something. Wish I had done it with Jean--except Greayer Enemies in Love 71 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] she would probably have become pregnant. How are Mrs. Fordham and Babsie taking care of that? Just then, as Babsie came charging out looking invigorated, Mrs. Fordham appeared in the doorway nude , beckoning to Cary. When Babsie closed the truck door, Cary backed quickly down the driveway to safety.
"You missed it, buddy. That was your chance for a real experience. Man what a body, . . . a real sex machine." "Yeah, I know. That was probably as easy as it will get. What did you do about protection?" "Protection. What protection? She's married to a Doctor. Let her worry about that. She was probably wearing a diaphragm." Cary had never heard of a diaphragm, . . . so Babsie educated him. Babsie was already looking forward to his next visit. Cary dare not visit this home again or he may weaken. Babsie lost his virginity when he was twelve. As a youngster, his aunt fondled him whenever she babysat. She seduced him on his twelfth-birthday. Later he would visit her on Thursdays to put out her trash and he would stay and collect his reward. Cary envied Babsie. He said, "You lucky dog." "Why call me a lucky dog? You had your chance today." "Just meant you're never tortured with doubts. You act instead of having a parliamentary debate with yourself. " "If you mean I don't noodle everything to death, you're right. But, I'm not just a grunt with no brains. I'm not a screw-them, abuse-them, and lose-them kind of guy. But, broads have no self respect. They think all they have to offer is between their legs, so they try to trap a man, not win him. They pluck their brows, curl their hair, pad their bras, paint their faces, and perfume their crotch. They wear spiked heels, and waggle their ass while they walk. Everything they do says 'come and get it.' They're always in love, always broken-hearted, and always abused. You see magic in love, but I can't find it. Maybe a good piece of ass isn't love, but what is? I've never felt it and wouldn't trust it if I did, so buddy, I envy you, you lucky dog, I envy you." Greayer Enemies in Love 72 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 8
Helga
Helga stormed out, slamming the door. Emitting a sigh Catherine walked over to the window and sat, gazing vacantly into the barren back yard at drooping tomato plants and wilting flowers struggled to survive in the oppressive August heat. Clothes she had washed twenty-minutes ago, hung stiff and dry. She and her mother had been having a furious argument and a heavy silence reverberated within the close confines of the kitchen. She waited tensely for her mother to renew the attack. Hurrying to finish drying the luncheon crockery, Catherine dropped a cup on the floor. It shattered. She swept up the broken pieces quickly, thanking God it wasn't their good-dinnerware. What a drab existence. Attending the Parthenon Theater every Friday evening, with her parents, was the high point of her life. Each thirty-five-cent adult admission received their choice of a piece of plum colored glass dinnerware. This was their good dinnerware, collected over a period of months and proudly displayed in their china cabinet and the cabinets of hundreds of other families in the surrounding area. At intermission, between main features, the theater lights would go up and Catherine and the rest of the audience would sit waiting for the award of the door-prizes. As plush velvet curtains were drawn across the screen, she would gaze at the ceiling, held up by faux Grecian columns with Corinthian crowns, and wonder if the Vatican could be more gaudily decorated. The ceiling was covered with paintings of formal gardens within ornate, gilt-painted-plaster-frames. Plaster wreaths and groups of plaster cherubs, floating on painted clouds, decorated the ceiling between adjacent paintings. On the walls, between the fluted columns, were lush scenes of forest or glen with deer and rabbits grazing or drinking from a brook, each scene surrounded by a similar plaster frame. Just below the stage stood an orchestra pit, silent and empty, . . . used during the vaudeville and silent film eras for adding sound effects, and giving mute testimony to more prosperous times. Centered in a spotlight, the theater manager would walk majestically onto the stage and turn a crank to revolve a large, wire-mesh drum containing ticket stubs. A hush would fall over the crowd as the manager, with a flourish, withdrew a number. He read the winning number over the Public Address System and people would check to see if they were the lucky-winner. The person holding the matching stub would rush up to the stage to collect their prize. After verifying the number, the manager would announce their name and hand them a pin. Colorful balloons, fastened to a large easel contained the prizes which, except for the jackpot, were all one-dollar. Thunderous applause greeted the five-dollar jackpot winner and the manager announced their name again as they stood in the spotlight, in their moment of glory. Friday or Saturday night at the theater was the big weekly outing for most families. The glassware and door prizes added an exciting dimension to their lives. Greayer Enemies in Love 73 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Recalling last Saturday, a shudder wracked Catherine's small frame. Awaiting the award of the door prizes, she was jolted from her reverie when the theater manager called her ticket number. Embarrassed and tentative, she walked to the front and mounted the stage in the glare of a spotlight. With the jackpot prize already awarded, there was no suspense. Both the crimson-balloon and the green- balloon contained one-dollar, but the charade continued. With a deep bow, the manager handed Catherine a pin. She walked to the easel and pricked the crimson-balloon. It burst with a loud pop. The ‘dollar’ dropped to the floor. Stooping to pick up her prize, Catherine saw Cary in the audience. Her heart stopped. . . It was over a year since she last saw him. . . . He looked fabulous, but . . . he was with . . . Lorraine. Lorraine looked . . . possessive. Mortified, Catherine dropped the dollar and, stumbling in her haste, she left the stage. A dollar wasn't trivial, it was two-weeks spending money, but, for Cary to see her stooping to pick up that dollar . . . she could have died. It was the exclamation point of her monotonous life, . . . hardening her resolve to obtain a college education. Thank God my degree will allow me to escape the type of life poor mom has lived. Suddenly, the door opened and Helga reentered the kitchen. Renewing her attack where she left off, she said, “Who has a college education? . . . You need a college education? . . . Why? . . . You ashamed of your family? . . . If you kept your job at Metropolitan, we could afford a nicer house.” Over the years, there had been endless arguments between her parents. Helga was illiterate and couldn't earn her own living, . . . how could Catherine explain her motives to her mother. Catherine saw economics as the cause of her mother's frustration. Trapped in an unhappy marriage, she became a bitter nag. Catherine felt it was lack of choice that made her life unbearable. Given a choice, Helga may never have become so hostile toward Catherine's father. Catherine vowed she would have a choice, but Helga never liked back talk so she held her tongue. God, I hope Doris comes soon so I can leave before I say something I'll regret . "We've been over this a hundred times, Mother. I'm not ashamed of you or father. I have the brains and I want a degree. A woman without a degree can only be a secretary. You’ve always known that." "What good a college degree changing babies-diapers? A secretary in your father's office is a college girl. Other secretaries the same age make more because they have more experience." Catherine knew her mother was right. A college degree didn’t guarantee a woman equal career opportunities as a man, but there was more to life than how much money she made. But for my parents, life is all about money. . . . I’ll never win this one.” "Mother, please. I work and contribute my share. Father agreed that I could do this. I have a scholarship. It won't cost you and Father any money." "Your father lets you do anything. I should be so lucky." The harsh ring of the doorbell interrupted the argument. "I have to go now, Mom, Doris and I are going to the library to return my book." "Go then. I know you vant to meet that English boy of yours. Can't you like a nice Cherman boy?" (When excited traces of Helga’s German accent returned.) Oh God, now she's on that again. She keeps pushing these sons of her friends on me. She Greayer Enemies in Love 74 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] doesn’t care whom I marry, as long as he's of German stock. Of course, in her mind, English is a dirty word. She has forbidden me to see him, what more does she want? She thinks I see him secretly. Let her sweat. Catherine said, "He's not an English boy, he’s American, . . . I’m American . . . and you’re an American . . . even father is an American ‘citizen’ . . . now. People in this area still worship the fatherland just because their parents or grandparents were from Germany. They’re still carrying grudges from World War I. Please Mother, please. I'm going." Drenched in perspiration, Catherine tried to recover from the frustrating argument. The two girls left hurriedly and walked, in silence toward Myrtle Avenue. They had the pink glow of youth and radiant health. Neither girl wore makeup. On the corner, they sheltered under the Acme Theater marquee, enjoying the cool refrigerated breeze emanating from the open doors. Except for the seashore, theaters offered the only escape from the heat and humidity. For ten cents you could spend the entire day in a blissful, . . . cool theater. Continuous performances allowed moviegoers to stay through second and third showings of the double feature, with extra features such as newsreels, cartoons, and other short subjects which would end mid-scene and force you to return next week to find out what happened. Catherine agonized. Gee, I miss him so. He said he loved me, . . . once, . . . but in over a year he hasn’t even tried to see me. Did he have to obey my request so strictly? Of course I knew he would, his poems told me so. . . . Will this pain last forever?. . . Lorraine’s not his type, he’s too good for her. . . . Bitch! . . . They say it’s better to have loved and lost . . . but I doubt it. Wish I’d never met him. Doris interrupted Catherine's daydream. “What, no housework on Saturday?” "I wish. Worked like a slave just to get out of the house. Mother is giving me hell hoping I'll change my mind about college. If I hold out till school starts, maybe she’ll let up." "My plans make my mother unhappy too. Let's talk about something pleasant, like boys. Thought you'd given up on Cary?" “Oh Doris, cut it out. I’m through with Cary. He’s so juvenile, trying to impress me by walking on his hands or chinning himself ten times on a tree branch. Tried to hurdle a fence, once. Tripped, fell on his face, and really hurt himself. Was all I could do to stifle a laugh. God, if I wanted muscles I'd date a gorilla.” "They all do that. It's worse if you get a group of them together. They start arm wrestling or who knows what. Probably the cave man instinct, showing his prospective mate he can protect her. My brother didn't outgrow it until he was married.” “I hate his antics. Don't know what I ever saw in him." Greayer Enemies in Love 75 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Oh yes!" "Well, I admit . . . he is good looking.” “Good looking . . . he’s drop-dead handsome." "O.K., O.K., but there are lots of good-looking guys. For instance, there’s this dreamy looking guy at work who’s always bugging me. He's twenty- two, graduated from college, has a great job, and has a German background.” “That would please your mother. . . . So what about him?” “For no particular reason, I can't stand him.” They walked toward the library, scooting from one shady patch to the next.
Catherine said, “Why can’t I like him, and make it easy on myself? Meanwhile, I hear ‘you know who’, blew his chance for city-college. If he gets a job, he couldn't earn enough to date me, . . . we argue all the time, . . . and I'm hopelessly gone on him. Can you explain that Doris?" "They call it love." "Is there a why in there, Doris?" "There is no why . Love just is." “That's no help. Besides, I haven’t seen him in over a year. Well, not to talk to.” “Huh?” “Last Saturday he was at the movies with Lorraine. Then on Tuesday, my trolley was stopped at a traffic light and he was riding his bike up Myrtle Avenue. We stared at one another till he collided with a parked car. God, I hate him.” “Hope he broke his neck.” “Doris, don’t say such things. That’s awful.” “You said you wished he’d drop dead.” ...... “I didn’t mean it.” Doris stepped aside and looked at Catherine. Catherine Wagner, I think you’re hoping to bump into him today.” Catherine looked sheepish. “You gave me fifty reasons why you’d never marry him . . . why in heaven’s name are you hoping to bump into him?” Catherine shrugged. “Maybe some day?” “Fat chance.” “Come on Doris, give me a break.” Greayer Enemies in Love 76 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “He’s a jock. Said so yourself!!!!!!” “You’re being the Devil.” “They’re your reasons. I’ve got forty-nine more” Catherine looked anxiously at Doris and said, “No hope?” Doris sneered. “Nope. After your mother is dead . . . maybe . . . but how old will you be by then.” Catherine looked sick. “Please help, Doris.” “I am.” After a pause, Doris said, “What will you do if we do run into him?” “I can’t do anything.” “So you plan to spin a gossamer web and trap him like a fly so you can eat him when you’re ready.” “Stupid, huh?” Doris shrugged. “Your hands off policy has left him with no exciting memories. I’ll bet other girls aren’t so stingy.” Catherine looked glum. “Once I set the rules, . . . he’s been a perfect gentleman.” “Never tried anything?” “Never. Once I even told him I had a cinder in my eye,. Sort'a leaned into him, while he was looking. When my boob touched his arm, he jumped back. You would have thought he was shot. . . . He said, Pardon me." "Serves you right. You said you could live without all that hugging and kissing.” "Meant it, till I met Cary. I sure wanted to kiss him, but never did. Got so frustrated, once, I let Louis kiss me just to see what it was like. Next, he tried to stick his tongue in my mouth and unfasten my bra. If he'd succeeded, he wouldn't have found much. I could use some of what you have." "You can have them if you'll take my hips, thighs, and all the rest. You have a perfect figure. Just get fat, and you'll have mine."
The pickup truck was loaded and Babsie was ready to make a delivery to Mrs. Fordham. “Want to come, Cary. This is your last chance. After this trip, I’m off to join the Merchant Marine.” Cary shook his head. “What are you saving it for?” “Catherine.” “Once you’ve dipped your wick in Pamela you’ll find there’s more to life than love. How about it, . . . ready to become a man?” “No thanks. You’ve curdled my appetite.” Babsie laughed. “There may be hope for you yet. At least you’re loosening up a bit.” He drove off shouting, “So long sucker, see you in hell.” With Babsie’s words ringing in his ears Cary pointed his bicycle up Myrtle Avenue, hurled his body onto the seat, pedaling furiously. He loved to ride at top speed with his body low and the wind blurring his vision. Sometimes he pedaled twenty miles or more, in no particular direction, . . . he just felt free. Near the library, he saw Catherine and Doris walking toward him. He hadn’t seen her in months, and she looked more beautiful than ever, but . . . Babsie’s warnings had an effect. Vowing not to be a patsy, he stopped and boldly snubbing Catherine, he said, “Hi Doris. What brings you to this Greayer Enemies in Love 77 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] neighborhood?" “I could ask you that question. Heard you were slumming last Saturday.” Hiding behind Doris, Catherine tried to regain her composure. Doris shouldn’t have said that. Now he knows we were talking about him. Ignoring her jab, Cary said, “I see you’re carrying Gone With the Wind . The Premier will be in Atlanta in November. They’ll have a big gala, with all the stars.” Doris said, “Lots of hoopla. Wish they’d have a Premier around here.” “This place is about as glamorous as Spotswood New Jersey. Podunk would have a better chance.” Doris looked baffled. She didn’t know about Spotswood. “We were wondering what you’ve been doing all summer." Cary could see Catherine staring, but, treating her as part of the shrubbery, he said, "Not much. Just killing time reading a bunch of books. With things heating up in Europe, I thought about joining the RAF, but the folks wouldn’t go for it.” Oh God, Catherine thought, he’s just the type. Why do all the boys feel they have to prove they’re men by going off and getting killed? Doris said, “Read anything interesting.” “Just finished a short story by Fitzgerald called Winter Dreams . Some of his stories leave me cold, but I enjoyed that one." "What was it about?" "Just poignant. Unrequited love, that sort of thing." That he would bring up unrequited love so casually left Catherine speechless. What is he trying to do to me? Acting innocent, Doris said, "Are you into unrequited love?" Staring at Catherine, Cary said, “No one would love in vain if they had a choice." Catherine blushed, and said, "What choice? Of loving or being loved." Still ignoring Catherine, Cary said, “Congrats Doris.! I hear you were Valedictorian of your class.”
“Thanks. Who told you that?” “Lorraine.” “Doris could have bitten her tongue. Trying desperately to get Catherine into the conversation, Doris said, “Catherine misses Trix. Wants you to give him her love.” “Tell Miss Wagner she’s much too free with her love.” Doris was vexed. “Cary, this isn’t like you.” Misquoting Byron, Cary said “And if I weep at any mortal thing, ‘Tis only that I may not laugh.” “You’re breaking Catherine’s heart?” “Not a chance. Catherine’s heart only pumps blood.” Cary pedaled away.
Catherine looked crushed. Holding back tears she whimpered, “That was a disaster. He really sank the knife in.” “You could tell he was hurting. That says something.” “So, a slap in the face says he loves me?" Greayer Enemies in Love 78 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Considering you told him to get lost, I guess. After all you’re the one who demanded he never speak to you." "Oh yeah, so I did.” She began crying. She sobbed, “So that’s love? It doesn’t feel that way. He even mentioned Lorraine.” "Gee, don't cry. Think about it, Lorraine was just bait. She lives in Richmond Hill, but he took her to a movie in your neighborhood. He flaunted her, . . . wanted you to see her. He’s found no one.” She wiped her eyes. “How come when I asked you for hope, you slapped me down? and now you’re doing the reverse.” “That’s what friends are for.”
Cary was puzzled. Why do I feel triumphant? She was shattered, yet I I’m soaring into space and I don’t even feel guilty. Is Babsie right? Is it all about power? No, that’s not it. Knowing I can hurt her proves she cares. . . . Or is that the same thing ? Greayer Enemies in Love 79 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 9
The Cad
After graduating from High School, Cary sat in a living-room chair all summer long, buried in books. He was Captain Horatio Hornblower standing on deck repelling pirates; he was Fletcher Christian leading the Mutiny of the Bounty and setting Captain Bligh adrift in the Pacific three-thousand miles from land; he was the Count of Monte Cristo escaping after ten-years in prison. He was Hamlet, and Cyrano, and the hero of each of the other books he read. With drooping shoulders, Cary gazed vacantly out the parlor window toward the street and park beyond. Cold wind gusted snow in drifts ‘gainst black tree trunks. Naked trees with black fingers reached up as if in supplication, toward a gray-sky. Black tires sat half-buried in a pall of white death. The bleak scene weighed on his already depressed spirits. Home alone on this bleak autumn day, he confronted himself. Since birth, he was king of the household. Unconditional love and admiration were showered on him, even by his sisters. His mother cooked his meals and washed his cloths. His father gave him an allowance. Not one query nor word of reproach had they spoken. Enough already! Slowly he became aware of the suffocating burden that unconditional love imposes. With that love came great expectations. He was their white knight, responsible for fulfilling their dreams. He must go out and slay the dragon. Ann graduates from Highschool in January! Imagine my humiliation if Ann beats you to a job. No longer can I pretend to be the hero of these books. If I’m destined to be a hero, I have to make it happen. But, Cary felt Ill equipped. I have such puny tools. Yet, the man who joins the fray with puny tools has more courage than the knight in armor, on sturdy-steed. Though naked, I must go forward. Cary shook his head. Fat chance, . . . college is lost and Catherine is lost . . . He took a deep breath. Quit your bellyaching, . . . Dry your tears, . . . be a man. Babsie faced his limitations and joined the merchant marine. You must accept whatever menial work you can find. On this grim autumn day, with snow flurries gusting down, Cary turned to the help wanted columns in the New York Herald Tribune. An ad caught his eye. The ad. said, "Jobs for boys eighteen to twenty with a highschool diploma." A highschool diploma! At least I have that. Since he was born he had seen his father rise at dawn every morning, don a three piece suit with white shirt and tie, so knew immaculate grooming was essential. Every two-weeks Cary paid ten cents for a fresh haircut at Frank's barbershop next door to their apartment. With a fresh haircut and ten cents in Greayer Enemies in Love 80 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] his pocket, Cary joined the throng crammed into the lobby of the employment agency on Chambers Street, in downtown Manhattan. Two-hundred carbon-copies of Cary--each dressed in a freshly-pressed dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie--stood in the room. Pepsodent smiles graced each eager face. As he entered he checked his reflection in the glass door, and straightened his tie. The room was abuzz. Addressing a boy in front of him, Cary said, "What do we do now?" "You got me Jack. Listen up. They'll tell us if they can shout loud enough." "There are no girls here; do girls use a separate agency?" The boy growled, "You looking for a job or a lay?" Cary blushed. A lay? Wonder what that means? A guy next to Mr. Friendly said, "The ad. just said, 'jobs for boys..' That's why I came." Moving over to the warmer climate Cary said, "I read that too. Thought someone might know what jobs they have?" "Messengers and clerks, probably; who knows? Can’t be choosey. I’ll take any job." Just then someone up front banged on a desk with a gavel and bellowed,."Quiet please. May I have your attention? Get a card at one of the tables or from a clerk; fill it out- -all of it, and leave it with the clerk. We'll let you know when we have something." That seems easy. Cary filled out the application and handed it to a clerk. Suddenly Cary felt a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. After applying for work, he no longer felt like a bum. To celebrate, he walked to Forty-Second Street and spent his last dime to see Wuthering Heights, the love affair between Heathcliff and Cathy Earnshaw. (Cary never rode a streetcar if he could save a nickel by walking.) On his twenty-five-mile hike back home, Cary despaired of ever marrying Catherine. Watching that movie brought back painful memories of his and Catherine’s love affair in the park. Catherine is enrolled in college and moving into a higher class. Will take me ten years to earn enough to get through college and become an engineer. By then, she’ll be graduated from college, be married to a rich man and have six kids long before I can afford her. What good will money do me then? Without Catherine all the money in Fort Knox won’t buy me happiness. What a jerk. Babsie was right. Women can’t wait around for a poor man to get his act together. Me and my romantic dreams. Catherine won’t settle for a life of struggle and poverty any more than Cathy Earnshaw did. By the time Heathcliff returned, rich and powerful, Cathy was married to Edgar Linton. Funny, when I was a kid, in Spotswood, with holes in my socks and wearing cast-off clothes, I didn’t know we were poor. Christmas morning when Santa never left me anything, I thought it was cause I was a ‘bad boy’. Was six before I realized Santa never left Ann and Beth anything either and they were ‘good’. That’s when I stopped believing in Santa. Poor Ann and Beth, they still believed in Santa until they were ten or eleven. Believing in Santa is ‘Pie in the sky’, like believing in God. But, we’re taught that Santa is benevolent and God is vindictive. Turns out it’s the same thing. When you are denied your dreams, it hurts just as bad as when you’re punished for your sins. A week later Cary returned to the agency clutching a postcard he received in the mail. The man behind the desk looked up and said, "Grant, I have something for you.” ( He only saw me when I handed him this card a week ago, but he remembered my name. ) “Morgan Guarantee pays twelve-dollars a week, and National City pays fifteen. I'll fix up interviews for both openings if you like." National City Bank, an impressive columned building simulating Grecian or Roman architecture, stood at 55 Wall Street. It was the largest bank in the world. Messengers worked out of the basement Greayer Enemies in Love 81 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] whose entrance was at the rear of the building on Exchange Place. Farmers Trust, owned by National City, was across the street. The second floors of the two buildings were connected by an enclosed pedestrian walkway which bridged Exchange Place. Most of the bank's business offices were housed in this twenty-something- story skyscraper New messengers roamed the entire downtown area on-foot. They learned every street from Canal Street to Battery Park-South and from the Hudson river to the East river. The other routes in Brooklyn and Queens were for the more seasoned boys. Messengers were at the hub of the financial world. On a visit to the Federal Reserve, Cary saw hundreds of millions of dollars stacked like cord wood in a steel-mesh enclosure. America was a cash society. Every worker in every industry received his pay, in little three by six-and-a-half inch brown envelope, counted out to the last penny. The bank clerks filled all the envelopes and messengers, (under armed guard) , delivered them every week. Money, money, money, was all they saw; all they handled. It was a commodity, like flour. His first week he transported tens-of-thousands of dollars in cash to numerous enterprises in the downtown area. It was a heady experience. The streets of the financial district were paved with gold. Wealth jumped out at you at every turn, yet you couldn't walk twenty-yards without tripping over a pan-handler asking for money. At first Cary would drop a nickel in every cup (like his father) but he soon realized he’d spend his entire week’s salary in a day if he gave a nickel to every beggar he saw. Nassau Street, running North from the corner of Broad and Wall Streets, was lined with pawn shops displaying rings, bracelets, and necklaces pawned by the once-rich . After the '29 stock market crash, you could buy flawless diamonds from two-carats to twenty-carats, from scores of pawn shops. Cary fantasied about Greayer Enemies in Love 82 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] buying an engagement ring for Catherine, but the cheapest one he could find cost over five-thousand dollars. Cary did the math. Cary earned fifteen dollars for forty hours (Monday through Friday) and an additional half day on Saturday) At fifteen dollars a week it would take him nearly seven years to earn that much money. Salary $15.00 Expenses (transportation, haircuts, shoes, lunch) Trolley ($ .05 each way x twelve trips) $.60 Subway ($ .05 each way x twelve trips) $.60 Haircut every 2 weeks $.10 =$ .05/wk Shoes $3.00 every 2 months =$.27/wk lunch (bring from home) $0.00 (Mom bought the groceries) Net income /week $13.48 (And he was saving $10.00 a week for college.) This left him $3.48 for movies and his social life.
The messengers were surrounded with money, big money. A few yards from National City Bank, at the corner of Broad and Wall Streets, stood The New York Stock Exchange, the cornerstone of Capitalism. Trinity Church, another bastion of Capitalism stood at the head of Wall Street on Broadway. It owned most of the real estate in downtown Manhattan. In his first week, Cary and another messenger, Hal La Paz, carried a huge canvas bag full of negotiable securities worth four-million dollars from the bank’s vault, to the trading floor of the stock exchange. Two plain-clothes guards accompanied them, discouraging any thought of escaping to Rio. There was no doubt that messengers saw the highest and the lowest, and Cary felt he was down there with the lowest. Perhaps I’m even lower than the beggar. The beggar may be doing his best. I should have done better. Each day as a messenger further underscored his feelings of worthlessness. If he hadn’t experienced some successes in the rec hall, and on the baseball diamond, his life would have been: a complete bust. His one claim to fame was second place in the pool championship which was written up in the monthly newsletter. A week before Christmas, National City Bank threw a big party in the grand ballroom of one of the city’s finest hotels, for its employees. Entering the hotel ballroom, Cary noticed that couples gravitated to tables in the center while single boys and unescorted girls sat at opposite ends of the ballroom. Single girls, secretaries and file clerks . . . (some with college degrees) dressed in their floor-length gowns and costume jewelry, looked like a gathering of peacocks, while their single male counterparts, messengers and office clerks (with highschool diplomas) dressed in drab charcoal gray, looked more like the peahen.
Alone at his table, after dinner, Cary was feeling out of place, so he slunk off in the direction of the bar, the only place where a single man could linger without looking purposeless and alone. (No one need know that, as teetotaler, the drink he was nursing was a Coke .) He was on his way to getting roaring drunk, (if that’s possible on Coke) when one of the single girls sidled up. As modesty dictated, her floor length dress and choker collar covered her completely, but standing nearby, with her hips thrust forward, and her uplift brassiere pointing her ample breasts forward like the nacelles on a twin-engine-bomber, Cary felt like he was about to be gunned down. This was Cary’s first party and he had never danced, . . . (except for the brief lesson his sisters gave him just before he left home for the party) so he sat there, Greayer Enemies in Love 83 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] quaking in his boots. While he looked at the dancers gyrating to the lindy, with ‘feigned’ bored- detachment, he could see her screwing up her courage. This was one of those everlasting moments when each party . . . keenly aware of the other . . . is holding their breath. Finally, advancing with outstretched hand, she initiated conversation. Beaming, with all thirty two of her Pepsodent scrubbed-teeth exposed, she said, "Hello, thought you might be here. We met last month when you delivered the payroll to the filing department." Cary smiled weakly, took the proffered hand, and said, “Hi.” Once she had his hand in hers, she held on . . . casually. Immediately, two girls with yellow dresses stopped by to chat. The three girls whispered, giggled, and cast sly glances at Cary while he remained tethered to his nameless mooring mast. Soon, another girl passing by turned toward Cary, saying, “You don't remember me, but we met about a month ago. I’m Mary.” Cary smiled and said, “My name is Cary.” Realizing her blunder and afraid of being out maneuvered , Cary’s tether said hurriedly, “I’m sorry, I’m Gertrude.” Pointing awkwardly with her other hand, she said, “Julia Cummings and Sharon Brown, this is Cary Grant. . . . I’m not acquainted with Mary.” Without further ado, she promptly dragged Cary onto the dance floor. Cary had only done a couple of turns around the parlor floor with his sisters just before attending the dance, so he wasn’t exactly Fred Astaire. During their first turn around the floor, he stepped on her feet at least a dozen times. Insisting it was her fault, Gertrude complemented his smooth style. The flattery paid off. Catching on fast, they soon found their rhythm and danced flawlessly if not spectacularly, thereafter. At the end of the set, with Gertrude Poldowski’s slender arm resting on his, they walked to the table and sat opposite Julie, Sharon, . . . and Mary. (Mary had joined the group.) Gertrude’s ample breasts rested on the table, looking like a couple of beached whales threatening to escape her bodice. She laid her hand lightly on Cary’s, . . . a clear signal that they were a couple. Cary looked across the table at the other luscious girls. With a more slender body, Julie could ‘almost’ double for Catherine. The thought stabbed his heart. He grimaced, recalling his cruel refusal to speak to her at their last meeting. After a long silence, Gertrude interrupted Cary’s reverie, saying, “Where were you on September first?” Taken aback, Cary said, “How the heck should I know?” Indignant, Gertrude said, “That was the day Hitler invaded Poland.” Cary blurted, “For crying out loud, how do you remember that?” Annoyed and hurt, Gertrude said, “Because, I’m Polish and nobody cares.”
Abruptly, Cary was transported back to that day. He was playing baseball when Alex came running across the park with the news that Germany had attacked Poland. Cary dashed home and he and his family sat grim-faced around the radio listening to the news. His father declared that World War II had begun and within hours, Britain declared war on Germany. Greayer Enemies in Love 84 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Although the US wasn’t involved, New York, a city of immigrants, was torn as many families listened with varying degrees of pride and dread. Most had loved ones still living in Europe whose lives may be threatened by the outbreak of another war. Both of Cary’s parents were British immigrants who had lost friends and relatives in the first World War . Cary knew Catherine’s father had fought in the German army and he wondered if her sympathies lay with Germany, . . . as his lay with Britain. Are Catherine and I, Born Enemies ! In the following days the nation fiddled while Rome burned. A national debate quickly dominated the radio and newspapers. Herbert Hoover and numerous Isolationists in Congress gained the support of Charles Lindbergh, who, on 17 September made a radio address to the nation arguing against U.S. intervention. To Gertrude, the debate was academic. It was already too late to save Poland. Newsreels and newspapers gave vivid accounts of the Luftwaffe dive bombers destroying Polish planes on the ground, and of the ill-equipped Polish Cavalry bravely charging the mechanized tank divisions of the Wehrmacht. Death was swift and merciless. They were slaughtered like cattle. Poland’s defenses were quickly overwhelmed. While Germany invaded western Poland, Russian troops invaded from the East in a bloodless coup. Warsaw capitulated on 27 September. In less than a month, Poland had ceased to exist. Overwhelmed with compassion, Cary looked at Gertrude for the first time. She had intense blue eyes, and a comely face that wore the desperate, hurt expression of a frightened child. Her full lips were trembling. Impulsively, Cary leaned over, kissed her softly on her cheek and said, “I care.” She dissolved into tears. Putting his arms around her, he held her until her sobs subsided. People at nearby tables looked at Cary with venom in their eyes. Julie, Sharon, and Mary looked across the table with envy. Gertrude held his hand possessively. His act of compassion was misunderstood. Somehow he was now her beau. By evening’s end, he was still firmly tethered to Gertrude. Looking at Julie made him aware that his longing for Catherine had not decreased despite the widening gulf between them. While kissing Gertrude, goodnight, she whispered, “ My hero .” He agonized all night and decided he had to set her straight. Next day he called her, as promised and told her it would be unfair to date her because he loved another woman. She said, “You Cad ”, and slammed down the phone. In less than twenty-four hours, he had progressed from hero to cad . Cary wondered if that was a world record.
On a bleak day in January, Alex jumped down from the bus, walked briskly to the Grant apartment, entered the vestibule, and rang the bell. The gray sky threatened snow but the ground was clear and dry. He was dressed warmly wearing a yellow scarf, a tan corduroy cap, brown ear muffs and knit gloves. When the door opened, he said, “Hi Cary. You called my work asking me to drop by. . . . What's up?.” “Wait till I get my jacket. . . . We’ll go and sit in the park.” Five minutes later, Cary bounded out, bundled in a navy-blue pea jacket, a green knit-hat with an orange pompon, a brown wool scarf, and white cotton gardening gloves. After crossing Myrtle Avenue, they cleared the snow off a bench and sat huddled together. Alex said, “How's the job going?" Greayer Enemies in Love 85 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “You just need to fetch-and-carry. A moron would be over qualified.” “That bad, huh?”
“Yesterday, Hal and I were escorted by a couple of plainclothes guards with pistols in shoulder holsters under their jackets. We spent the day delivering payrolls to businesses in downtown Manhattan." Sounding as gleeful as ten-year-old, Alex said, “Golly, that’s exciting. At least you might get caught in a shoot-out with bank robbers. All I do at Ridgewood Bank is fill those little brown payroll envelopes.” Cary groaned. “Counting all that cash must be bo-ring.” “Thursday we were a penny off. We counted the cash in each envelope three times. We were there till midnight looking for a penny. Finally took a penny from my pocket and tossed it on the floor. The guy who found it got employee-of-the-week .” Cary laughed. "Last week I got a route in Canarsie, collecting installment loans. Three days running I went back for a fifty-cent payment on a refrigerator. The carfare alone was ninety-cents." (Cary walked and made ninety cents on his expense account.) Alex grinned. “Crazy, sending you out for fifty-cents.” “Most installments are higher. On an average day I have four or five-hundred dollars in my wallet–in cash. I make fifteen-dollars a week, so that's more than half a year’s salary." "Carting all that money around must be scary." "Nearly had a heart attack the first time they sent me to the Brooklyn wharves. Those thugs hanging around Wallabout Market, waiting for odd jobs, look like they could whip Jack Dempsey with one Greayer Enemies in Love 86 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] hand. Hairs at the nape of my neck stood at attention. ” “Golly. What did you do?.” “Straightened my spine, looked straight ahead and marched by those gorillas with my head high. Never looked back. If I were going to get a knife between my shoulder blades, I didn't want to see it coming.” A messenger boy's life isn't worth a plugged nickel. Why didn’t they jump you?" "Not hard to figure. I carry a big wallet under my suit jacket. It’s a foot long and I sling it under my left armpit, like the shoulder holster those John Dillinger types wear in gangster movies.” "That wouldn’t fool them. You look about as threatening as Dagwood Bumstead." Cary laughed. "To improve the effect, I wear my father's old, broad-brim fedora. Pull the brim down over my right eye and chew on a matchstick. With my peaches and cream complexion they think
I'm baby-face Nelson, itching to rub out a few punks ." Alex laughed. "Image, or no image, my heart would be in my throat." "Eat my heart for lunch every day. Saves money." “I believe that. Looks like you've lost fifty-pounds." "Thirty-five. Eating doesn't fit my budget. Opened a savings account at your bank and deposit ten- Greayer Enemies in Love 87 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] dollars every week, toward college.” “If you don’t start eating, you'll be the first corpse to register." "I'm not starving. Mom serves up more than I can eat. It's walking thirty or forty-miles a day that has me looking like Jack Sprat.”
“But, with room and board, how do you save ten bucks a week?” “Mom and Pop don't take any board and I freeload at breakfast and supper, so I still have five- dollars for carfare and shoes and stuff.”
“Golly, lucky you. How can they afford it?” “Beth’s still in school, but Ann is working and they take five-dollars a week from her, so being ‘God’ has its advantages." After a pause he said, “And disadvantages.” “Wish my folks thought I was God.” “No you don’t.” Cary looked sick. “Gods can’t have any weaknesses.” Alex looked puzzled. “Does this have something to do with Catherine?” Cary changed the subject. (Cary hadn’t told his family that he was in love with a German girl for fear his parents might react the same way Catherine’s mother did. (One day, after Britain declared war on Germany, Percy was sitting peacefully in a trolley car when a thug dashed down the aisle and punched him in the eye smashing his glasses. The thug jumped off the car shouting bloody limey. (Percy nearly lost his left eye.) But, how could he confide in Alex? Alex was also German and he didn’t want to lose his friend. “I'm embarrassed to tell you the stupid thing I did." "Come on fess-up." "By Christmas, I’d saved seventy-dollars toward college and still had ten-dollars in my wallet from my weekly budget,. I was so happy, you’d think I’d already graduated.” “So that’s a problem?” “Gone With the Wind starts at Radio City on 20 January. Like a jerk, I got carried away; I sent Catherine a postcard inviting her to dinner and the movie.” "That's great!" "Criminy Alex, I'm a messenger boy, get it? a messenger boy ! There's nothing lower than that. My only claims to fame are second place in our pool championship and being on the baseball team. Catherine is going to college and she's going to tell her friends she has a date with a messenger boy ." "Come on Cary, you won't be a messenger boy forever.” “Golly Alex, you just don’t get it. She and I haven’t spoken since she dumped me eighteen months ago. She’s out of my league! When she enrolled in college, she entered a new class. Why in heaven’s name would she date me? ”Alex looked askance at his frantic friend. “What did she say?" Cary grimaced. "She said yes." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 88 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 10
The Date.
Ann ducked into Beth's tiny alcove and closed the door. Seeing Beth, sprawled on her bed, she plopped down beside her. Looking up from her book, Madame Bovary , Beth said, "What's up?" Ann whispered, "Cary is sneaking around. Think he has a date." “How do you know?” "Has that terrified look, like Marie Antoinette before they used a Guillotine to chop off her head. Besides, before lunch, he put on his riding breeches and whipped off on his bicycle. Came back an hour later perspiring and carrying a shoe-box under his arm.” “New shoes! About time. For the past month he’s been putting cardboard in his soles.” Beth laughed. “Must’ve run out of corn flake boxes. How he doesn't get blisters, I'll never know." “Blisters he can stand. It's spending money that's painful." Ann laughed. "We shouldn't make fun of him. He’s saving to go to college, poor guy. College is expensive.” “Fat chance. No wonder he only has that one suit Mom bought him for Christmas. My allowance barely covers my clothes and carfare. How can he save for college and find money for dates.?” "Dates! When does he do that?” “And, where would he get the guts to ask anyone out?" "Maybe she asked him. Isabelle and Peggy would die for him. When I invite them over, they drool over him, . . . but he never notices.” "I know,” Beth said. Never notices how girls stare. “Looks like Lord Greystoke, but thinks he's Quasimodo . Must be in love if he actually asked someone out." “She’d need brains, too. He’s always philosophizing. Way over my head.” Ann grimaced. “He’d sure scare me off.” “Shunned everyone at John Adams. Even quit track. Wonder who she is?” Ann shrugged. “Hmm.” She raised her eyebrows. “Once at Richmond Hill I saw him hiding when this beautiful girl walked by. He looked like a dead mackerel for a while, . . . but that was ages ago. now he claims he’ll never fall in love. Says men and women are incompatible.” “He got that from Babsie. Wonder if that’s why he quit Richmond Hill and went to John Adams?” “Maybe so, Beth, but he’s romantic. Saw him reading Romeo and Juliette for the tenth time.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 89 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Saw him writing a postcard the other day, but--who to? Never leaves his stuff lying around. Must have a hiding place in the cellar." Beth shuddered. "Sure safe down there, so dark and spooky; I'm afraid it has rats!" "At least he has plenty of white shirts." Both girls giggled. Beth said, "With his job at the bank, everyone thought a white dress shirt was a great gift. All his aunts gave him white shirts for Christmas” “Me too. One dollar for a white shirt fitted nicely into my Christmas budget." "Poor guy. Almost cried when he opened the last box and it was his twelfth white shirt. Pretends he doesn't believe in dreams, but he lies."
In the bathroom, Cary heard his mother and sisters in the parlor. God, everyone is between me and the front door. They'll be full of compliments and advice. I’ll have to make a run for it. Dressing quickly, he left the bathroom and ran for the door. . . . He didn’t make it. A tirade of comments followed him as he raced across the parlor. "Ooooooooo, how handsome you look." "Have a heavy date?" “Mmmmm, smells like Old Spice.” His mother scolded. "Cary, be sensible. You can't go out dressed like that in this weather. You'll catch your death." "Bought a new pair of shoes, I see." (Snicker) "Run out of cornflake boxes?" "Dear, it's too cold. At least wear a sweater under your jacket, or wear your father's overcoat and hat." Cary dashed out and slammed the front door. He agonized as he set a brisk pace on his two-mile hike to Catherine’s house. Hard enough dating a girl without everyone fawning over me; can’t they leave me alone? Imagine how I'd look in Dad's coat; he wears a fifty-four-short and I wear a forty- two long. And Pop's hat! Dad’s seven and three-quarter hat would come down over my eyes. Would need to put toilet paper inside the hatband like Mom did when I was a kid and all I had to wear was cousin Flav's castoff cap. He paused outside a beer garden to do a little math. Let’s see. After spending three dollars for these black wingtip shoes I only have seven dollars for dinner and the movie; is that enough? Oh, oh, there's a florist. Will I ever learn all these dating rules? Ann's boyfriends always bring a corsage.
In the florist, two girls about Cary’s age, stood staring at him, giggling. One said, "Can I help you?" "I'm looking for a corsage." The girl with the low-cut blouse led the way and stood on the opposite side of the display case. Pointing to a corsage, he said, "What does that cost?" She selected a single flower with a green sprig.. Leaning over, she displayed it with a flourish, on her bosom in front of her cleavage, (giving Cary an eyeful). "This is only seventy-five cents. Do you like it?" Cary blushed. Averting his eyes, he thought. Only!! She makes twelve-cents an hour, and says, ‘only’. Babsie sure is right about how they flaunt it, but if I stare I’m some kind of animal. He said, "I'll take it." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 90 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] She placed the corsage in a green-tissue-paper-lined box and handed him a card, dipped a pen in a bottle of ink and handed it to him, dribbling ink from the nib. “Would you like to include a note?” Cary remembered a single line of Elizabeth Barrett Browning that expressed his feelings. He wrote it hastily, ‘For ‘tis not in mere death that men die most. ’ Blotting the ink on the green blotter, he quickly slipped the card into the tiny envelope. Smiling coyly, the girl tucked the envelope into the box with the corsage. Cary knew the girl had peeked at his note and wondered what she imagined it meant? His meaning would not escape Catherine. Resuming his walk with the ribbon-festooned box under his arm, Cary felt he was carrying a banner blazoned with I have a date in flashing neon lights. Pain brought him back to earth. His new shoes were cutting into the knuckles of his big toe. Limping, along, he groaned, New shoes always give me bloody socks before I break them in. Then he had another thought. Other girls’ mothers invite me to dinner and drop little hints about how thoughtful and sweet their daughters are, but not Helga. Our romance has been dead as a swatted fly since she sent Catherine to Pennsylvania. Has Catherine accepted this date because her mom has softened? If I’m invited inside, that will be a good sign. Catherine was sitting on her stoop, bundled up in an overcoat with a kerchief tied around her head, peasant style. Looks mad . Oh, oh, no such luck. I still have leprosy. Avoiding her eyes, he said, "Hi" to her babushka. Noticing his glance, Catherine snapped, "Yes, it's a babushka. Not the most fetching headgear, I know, but I'm not a jock who can walk around in freezing weather with nothing on." Taken aback, Cary said feebly, "Shall we go?" As they crossed the street, Catherine resisted his awkward attempt to take her elbow. "Just keep your paws to yourself. I'm only a girl, but I can hobble across the street without your assistance." Silence enveloped them as they walked toward the trolley stop. Racing to keep up with Catherine’s fast pace, he said, "What should I do with this bloody stump?" The icy-wind swirled round making their noses red. Shoot, I’m acting like a shrew. Now he won't hold my hand in the movie. My new dress is hidden and he’ll never know I'm wearing the Chanel number five he sent me for Christmas. I'm so clunky and unattractive in this overcoat, I could cry. God, he’s bareheaded and just wearing his suit, he must be freezing. . . . And, he's so thin. Looks as if he’s lost forty-pounds since last summer. They huddled together, silently, waiting for the trolley. She surely is in a lousy mood. Must have gulped a dose of castor oil before our date. Guess she accepted the date so she could crucify me for the way I treated her last summer. As the trolley screeched to a stop in front of them and the conductor threw the door open, Catherine said, "Cary, at least let me pay my own carfare." "I'm just a lousy messenger- boy , but I can afford a nickel for the trolley.” “Ok, be that way. Thought maybe you’d grown up.” “No. Still wearing diapers.” Catherine was mum as the trolley waited for them to board. “With that chip on your shoulder, why not call the whole thing off and save us both some grief?" "Should I be all sweetness and light after the way you ignored me last summer?" "After you said, get lost , was I supposed to grovel?” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 91 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] The trolley conductor said, “You folks want a ride or not?” Cary said, “Get aboard if you're still going. Let's get this nightmare over." Cary was still carrying the corsage as they sat glumly, over a heater, thawing out. "Here, I forgot to give you this. It's just a Gardenia or Chrysanthemum, I forget which. Your other boyfriends probably give you orchids." "That's right. They bring me orchids, a five-pound box of chocolates, and a magnum of perfume."
Conversation ceased. She ripped off the ribbon and removed the lid. . . . The card fell to the floor, unnoticed. Biting her lip and stifling tears, she looked out the window at the black winter night. He hates me, and I don’t blame him. My goose is cooked. Nothing has changed. Why did she accept this date? He needn’t spend money on restaurant food. A nickel hamburger at White Towers would satisfy me. This corsage cost him over five-hours-wages. He shouldn't waste his money, but if I say something like that, he always gets mad. Our fights are all silly misunderstandings. He feels so inferior, . . . if he only knew. Wish we could just be friends, but, there’s too much passion. She said, "Look Cary, let's call a truce. I don't know why I'm in such a foul mood." Still fuming, he said, "Were you in a foul mood? Seemed like your usual." That silenced her. When they exited the trolley, Catherine left the corsage on the seat . Cary noticed.
Walking toward Radio City Music Hall, after a silent dinner, Cary said, "Did you enjoy reading Gone With the Wind ?" She looked startled. "It was OK. It'll be great to see how the movie compares." "Went back to the library later and checked it out. Wanted to tell you something, but you were gone. ” “You mean last summer. What did you want to tell me?" "Who knows? It’s gone now.” . . . As an afterthought, he said, “Thought I rode off kind’a sudden.” She remained mum. Sudden is putting it mildly. It was a slap in the face. Cary said, “Anyhow, I didn't get much out of the book. Difficult to identify with all that southern aristocracy. If there was any message, it escaped me. Just seemed like a romance to me." She shrugged. "You didn't miss anything. At least, that’s all I got out of it.” He grunted. “Was in a crazy mood. Mixed up. Things haven't improved much. Saved seventy-dollars toward college in seven wee . . . " Stopping in mid sentence, he said, "Babsie joined the merchant marine, . . . like I thought. I hate boats. Nothing more boring . . . except . . . maybe fishing . . . being a messenger . . ." His voice trailed off. "Whew. You cut your sentence off. . . . What am I supposed to make out of that? Once we told Greayer Enemies in Love Page 92 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] each other everything.” Catherine winced. That was dumb . Stupid, stupid, stupid. Shouldn’t have said that. Cary looked stricken. Should I remind her we’re not exactly sweethearts anymore? He said, "Back then, I was going to conquer the world, . . . remember..” He laughed. “What a joke. Now look at me. I’m a messenger boy ." Catherine forced back tears. Entering the theater, Cary spent ten cents for a program and bought a couple of five-cent candy bars. They found seats in the huge orchestra. Why did I take Catherine on this date? So what if we love one another? It’s over. Let her get on with her life and get on with mine. What am I hoping for? Catherine was feeling deflated, too. What a stupid thing for me to say. He’s so down; it’s not like him. Maybe his mood will improve on the way home.
Sitting in the ice-cream parlor after the movie, Cary tried another tack. "I read The Brothers Karamozov last summer." "Hear that’s heavy. Are you trying to impress me?" That went a little better. "Probably. But Dostoevsky uses four or five different names for each person and, I admit, I was lost some of the time. There's supposed to be all kinds of mythical symbolism. You’d have to be Russian to understand much of it." "Mythology is not my long suit either. Why did you read it, . . . if it was so confusing?" "A commentary by D. H. Lawrence on a section of the book titled The Grand Inquisitor got me interested. In it Dostoevsky proves there is no God and many critics consider his arguments irrefutable. As you know, I agree with his conclusion, but he goes through so much folderol to prove it, I think they’re ludicrous." Cary paused to see Catherine's reaction, but seeing none he plunged ahead. "Anyhow, Dostoevsky takes the attitude that because there is no God, good and evil don’t exist! . . . There is where I disagree with him. Man doesn’t need God to believe in right and wrong, . . . at least I don't. Good and evil are valid concepts, without the existence of God." Cary got up and paid for the sodas. Noticing Catherine struggling into her coat he said, "May I help you, my fair young maid?" "Thank you, kind Sir." That definitely went better. Cary held the door while boarding the subway. Catherine said, "So how did Gone With the Wind get you off on this tangent?" "Who knows. Maybe all that senseless killing got to me.” “Huh?” “Most wars are fights about religion. If God is ‘all powerful. what good is he (GOD) if he permits all this carnage" "Most fights about religion? How do you figure?" “God is the model for all atrocities. The Bible advocates an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. There is no end to vengeance. History is full of slaughters to atone for old grievances. . . . Fanatics can justify the most heinous crimes by claiming they are doing God's work. My mother’s Protestant ancestors fled Madeira to escape persecution by the Catholic majority. Someone is always killing someone to save their souls." Still puzzled Catherine said, "God a model for atrocities?" Greayer Enemies in Love Page 93 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "What better model for atrocities than God who commanded Abraham to slay his son to show how much he loved Him. Is there any crime more evil than killing your child to save yourself? Any humane man should stop loving God the moment God demanded that.” They debarked the train and Cary continued as they walked along the platform. “If God appeared before me right now and commanded, 'Kill Catherine to save your soul and show how much you love me,' I would say, 'That wouldn't show how much I love you; it would show how much I love me and fear you. To slay an innocent person to save your soul is love of self, not love of God.’" "Whew, such passion.” That's the Cary I know. “When you get wound up, a girl can't get a word in edgewise; . . . but I am glad you wouldn't kill me.” "I'm sorry. I did Sort’a sound off there." "I'm happy to see you get worked up. Give me some more of your philosophy." "Yeah. Don't blame you for laughing at me; a messenger boy challenging the opinions of Dostoevsky." She looked up at him, earnestly, and said, "Let's not have another fight because of a silly misunderstanding. You’re the last person I would laugh at." Not quite sure how to take that Cary remained silent for a moment. Deciding to take her at her word, he said, " The Brothers Karamazov is considered a masterpiece of world literature. I've started reading other critics' comments and it triggered a lot of omphaloskepsis. For now, I have to go with my father's declaration, 'The finite mind cannot comprehend the infinite.'” After a pause, he said, “How did you like that omphaloskepsis?" He’s so serious. I wish life wasn’t so complicated. "Now I know you're trying to impress me." "Are you impressed?" "Why would you want to impress me?" She made a face. Gosh, that seemed lame. Cary paused. A lot has happened since our carefree highschool days. Where do I go from here? Does she still love me? . . . What difference does that make, it’s impossible? We’re in different social classes now . She too did some thinking during the lull. So much has happened. Have I killed his love? Mom loved Dad once, but probably hates him now. Cary considered his options. War is on the horizon, should I play on her sympathy? While she tried to remain rational. Wish I could marry him, but I have over three more years of college. Then what. Will he be making something of himself or will he still be mucking about? There’s more to life than love. A woman’s welfare and her children’s are tied to her husband’s earning ability. Cary was in a dilemma. Alex says, ‘go for it,’ but it would be unfair to tie her down. Who knows how long the war will last and I could come back with no arms or legs. Catherine also saw other problems. Mom would kick me out if we married. What would we live on? I don’t even know his folks . After his long silence, Cary looked at her. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he looked away. She said earnestly, “I do you know.” Cary knew what she meant but let the moment pass.
After transferring to the trolley car, Cary moved to safer ground. "I've noticed we live in a very segregated society.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 94 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Here we go again. Bored, she said, “Really?” Cary loves to discuss philosophy, religion, and politics. That way he can steer clear of dangerous topics. If we’re ever going to get serious, he needs to understand I hate the traditional man-woman relationship as much as he does. Every time we start to discuss some of my thoughts, we wind up fighting. Maybe he’s right when he says men and women are locked in a hopeless power struggle. He said, “In highschool, we were segregated by our name. Kids in the morning classes all had last names beginning with 'A' through 'M'.” Catherine’s heart skipped a beat. Blundering ahead, he blurted, “When you weren’t in any of the morning classes, it took me months to realize your last name began between ‘N’ and ‘Z.” Cary blushed. She felt she could fly . He looked for me just like I looked for him. He loved me from that first moment, too. Cary hastily picked up his original topic. “At the employment agency, all the applicants were men, and at the bank, all the messengers were male.” Catherine was still in a trance. As his voice droned on, she quelled the flutter in her heart and concentrated on what he was saying. “One day, a couple of weeks ago, I went to the filing department and there must have been two- hundred girls in there." She blurted, "Bet you loved that." Catherine covered her mouth. God this is a promising subject, and I make a flip remark. I could kick myself. . "Heck no. I felt like some freak." Good, he wasn't put off. "At Metropolitan, 90 percent of the employees are men. How do you think we girls feel when we walk into a roomful of men?” “Like a queen, I guess, with every man in the room worshiping you.” “I feel naked, with every pair of eyes in the room, undressing me. Seems every girl is fair game for ridicule. When I walk by, some guys even pinch me, and whisper lewd remarks. Did that ever happen to you?" Catherine looked so icily regal, Cary couldn’t imagine anyone having the guts to pinch her. He said, "Maybe it’s a good thing we’re segregated.” Disgusted by his response, she said, "They can ridicule us because women have no power. Even with college degrees, women get the boring jobs like filing or typing. Men save the important jobs for themselves." I guess that puts me in my place. "You mean important jobs like . . . messenger-boy .” Catherine was angry. “You know what I mean. Men aren’t limited. A messenger-boy can become bank president, . . . eventually, . . . even without a college degree. . . . No women have any of the important jobs. Even with a college degree a woman might work her way
up to ‘ administrative secretary ’ . . . . ” “Do you think there's a conspiracy out there?" Catherine grimaced. "Not really, but there might as well be. It's more like a fairy tale that turned into a nightmare. Once upon a time, women did housework and men worked in the field. Then the Greayer Enemies in Love Page 95 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] industrial revolution came along and they needed lots of cheap labor to work the knitting mills and do the typing and filing.” Cary knew where this was heading. Babsie would say, women don’t have the top jobs because they’re always taking time off to have babies. Being a corporation president isn’t something you do between periods; but he held his tongue. Catherine charged ahead. “That’s when women and children started working. The whole thing grew up segregated. No men took those jobs because that was women's work.” Cary said, “Uh huh.” “It works the same way in the home. If both a husband and wife work, the woman does all the cooking and cleaning, toooooooooooooooo. Even if a man wants to help, he fears the ridicule of the male network ." They left the trolley, crossed the street and stood under the blacked-out marquee of the Acme Theater to continue their conversation. "You really seem worked up on this subject. If you wrote it down, the paper would catch fire." He still doesn't get it! "I don't see how anyone can have a happy marriage. Men have always been catered to. Their mothers do it, for God's sake.” Trying to be cute, he said, “That’s because my mommy loves me.” Catherine was exasperated. “You guys will never admit you hold all the cards. My mother never had a dime to call her own. My dad sees nothing wrong with it. He says, 'I earn it, so I should say how it’s spent’.” Cary said jestingly, "Seems OK to me." Catherine wasn’t kidding. She weighed ninety-two pounds, but she flew at Cary and started pounding on his chest with both fists. "See, that’s just what I mean." Cary grabbed her wrists to protect himself. Catherine started kicking to break free. Wrapping her arms behind her back, he pulled her to him and restrained her in a bear hug. Laughing, he said, "I never thought about it before, but I hear what you’re saying." Her head was spinning, her heart racing. Struggling to break free, one kick landed on his shin. He let go. Now that she was free, she wanted to get back into that bear hug. Walking toward her house, Cary was so busy nursing his bruised shin and apologizing. He never noticed she was ready to fall into his arms. Thoroughly flustered, and trying to remember her major points she began to stammer, but with her head filled with thoughts of, 'How do I get back to that magic moment?' she lost the thread of her diatribe. If it happened again, all her grand declarations would be for naught He paid close attention, but never understood what she was saying. Catherine's mother, Hilda, met them at the door, abruptly ending the date.
While walking home, alone, Cary reviewed the evening. More than my shins got bloodied tonight. Dating Catherine is like sitting atop a volcano waiting for it to erupt, . . . but having her in my arms felt wonderful. She may love me, but her mother holds all the cards. Babsie is right, she’s too sensible to marry for love; she’ll marry for money . Like in Fitzgerald’s, Winter Dreams, my love will go unrequited. I should borrow Mr. Schmidt's twenty-two-rifle, again, and join Nip . Greayer Enemies in Love Page 96 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 11
Quandary
A week passed since their date. Catherine was in turmoil and needed help to straighten out her thinking. Where do you go to find privacy, away from the eyes and ears of curious mothers?
On a bleak winter's day, Catherine and Doris took the trolley down Myrtle Avenue. When she passed his apartment Catherine's heart twinged, as it always did. She remembered that exciting day when she and Doris bewitched him and he escorted them to the concert. She and Doris disembarked at one-hundred and fourteenth Street, and walked the few blocks from Myrtle Avenue to their old highschool. The auditorium was empty except for Dr. Wood on the stage playing the organ. Dr. Wood was always playing the organ and today, the music, ‘Wagner’, was a fitting accompaniment to Catherine's somber mood. Before removing their coats, they sat quietly, near the back, thawing out. Doris waited patiently for her friend to collect herself. Taking off her babushka, Catherine fussed with the corners before folding it and placing it in her lap. She sat, . . . near tears, . . . not knowing how to begin. Finally she said, "Doris, I'm so frustrated, I don't even know where to start." "Come on Cat, this isn't one of your English Lit. papers. Just start someplace and organize it later." Removing her gloves and coat, Catherine laid them on the seat behind, along with her babushka. Emitting an agonized sigh, she sat back down on the hard plywood seat. "Well, I suppose you know I'm talking about Cary, but it's not really about him, it's about me and all the things I want him to understand. It's about how my emotions and his emotions get in the way. It's about how I want to grab him and kiss him, and how that is the last thing I want to do. It's about . . . " "OK, take it easy. If you can’t explain it to me, how will you explain it to him?" "There is just so much, . . . I feel I'm going to explode. Take my being a virgin. That fits right in Greayer Enemies in Love Page 97 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] with the social and religious mores of our generation, right?" ". . . Right." "Cary no doubt sees me behaving traditionally, but really, I'm a rebel inside. If I knew some way to separate sex from my emotions I wouldn't be a virgin right now, but once sex enters a relationship you get into that whole trap of holding him with sex, making him feel guilty for seducing you and, if necessary, getting pregnant to make him marry you. Once that happens, he goes through life wondering, does she love me or did she need a meal ticket. And she wonders, did he marry me because I was pregnant or, . . . well, it just gets to be a mess. . . . " "Why do I feel I'm listening to Dorothy Parker?" "Already, I can see him putting me up on a pedestal and treating me like some untouchable goddess.” “Well, that can’t be all bad.” “If that happens, how will he ever understand that a woman has as much animal nature as a man? If he knew the dreams I have about him, the things I do to relieve my lust, he would run for the hills. Sometimes I wish there was no sex, and I could love him intellectually without getting confused." "So the way I see it, you’re trying to separate the animal from the vegetable. It'll be a neat trick if you can manage it." "Stupid, right?" "No, just difficult. My Aunt Mildred did it, that's why she’s an old maid." "You're not making this easy Doris." "If it was easy, why would you need me? Why make things so hard on yourself? A straight line is the shortest distance.” Doris got up and placed her scarf, hat, coat, and gloves on top of Catherine's. “You know you love him. Just jump into bed, get pregnant, and marry the guy." "Look Doris, I want to love this guy till the day I die. . . . And I’ll probably never marry him, so that’s exactly what will happen. But if I marry him I’ll still want to love him till the day I die. That’s much harder to do." "You've lost me." "Mom and Dad started out loving one another, . . . I think, . . . but neither of them would admit it now. Mom doesn't know I know, but she was pregnant when she married Dad. That was the first nail in the coffin. They felt trapped. When doubt about the other's love creeps in at the outset, boom, you can kiss love goodbye." Doris nodded. "Personally, I love all the door holding, corsage buying, and all the other rituals between men and women. Sure I want an education, but after that I'll settle down to babies and diapers and let him support me, . . . but that's not the point. I should be able to open a door for a man, out of courtesy, without him feeling I’ve emasculated him. Cary is trying to turn himself into Rhet. Butler instead of being himself. I don't want some typical husband who figures men are men and women are women so they stop off every night on the way home from work to hoist a few with the boys. I want an equal partner who will talk to me." "You're bucking hundreds of years of tradition." Catherine paused for a moment deciding if she should confide something only she knew. "I feel guilty about telling you this, and I'll kill you if you ever tell anyone, but last summer Cary related a relationship he had when he was fifteen or so. He was a perfect gentleman and always kept his hands where they belonged, but I gather it was a very steamy affair otherwise. One night they were necking, and she asked him if he wanted to sleep with her. That shocked his puritanical soul. He mumbled something Greayer Enemies in Love Page 98 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] innocuous, took his leave as soon as possible and never saw her again." "That's not the male behavior I’ve heard about. You sure Cary has all the right hormones?" Catherine was irritated. "That’s just the typical reaction. It took guts for him to confide in me and you’re being flip. “Sorry.” “No wonder men feel they have to gore everyone in sight. They feel they have to act like animals or people will think them queer.” ”Said I was sorry.” “Cary may be a tad too Victorian, but he’s definitely not a fairy.” “Holy cow, don’t be so sensitive.” “OK.” It took Catherine a few moments to pick up where she left off. “Cary said he wasn't sure it was morality that scared him off. He admitted that, at the time, he wouldn't have known what to do. I really admired him when he confided in me. I could have had your reaction, but somehow, he knew he could trust me. It was embarrassing for him, and I felt wonderful that he felt close enough to tell me. He took a big risk." Doris grimaced. “Do I dare say anything?” “Go ahead.” "I wouldn't be too thrilled if a guy I was nuts about, . . . related that to me." "Well I was thrilled. Maybe he’s a little naive, but he told me about it and that’s exactly the relationship I want to have with my husband. Anybody can relate their triumphs. If he can divulge his embarrassing moments I will have a lot more trust in his triumphs. . . . Am I making any sense?" "I guess I see your point, but for the life of me, I do not see your dilemma. You describe your requirements and tell me Cary fits them to a tee. That's a problem?" "Well, he doesn't understand why I am a virgin, and I don’t know how to tell him without him thinking . . . well you know what I mean.” “That you’re a lady of ill repute.” “Exactly. . . . He says he's against the double standard. Whatever is OK for a man, is OK for a woman etcetera, etcetera. That is how I feel. But then he says he's a virgin and he gives me some pie in the sky moralizing about, 'if he expects his bride to be a virgin he should be one too.' That just says to me that he expects his wife to be a virgin, and I am right back where I started." "But you are a virgin." "Oh come on Doris, he just put a chastity belt on both the man and the woman. I don't know if he has any room for forgiveness in there. I want him to love me if I should slip sometime and lose my halo. All that stuff about equal standards does not mean a thing if it means he will be a virgin when he marries, and he expects his wife to be one too. That's not free thinking." "That's more than any guy I know would concede." "If he said, 'I’ll be a virgin when I marry because I want my wife to be my first and only experience, but her behavior before marriage is her business, and I would never pry into her private life before she met me,' then he would be breaking with tradition." "Knowing you, I doubt you'd believe him. You would think he was crazy. " Catherine pursed her lips. "You're right. The only way I can know that he is the man I want is to go out and get gored and then see if he will have me." "Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?" "What else do you suggest?" Greayer Enemies in Love Page 99 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Just capitulate to convention and marry the guy." "I already told you, because I love him. Do you know any conventional marriages that are happy? I was making a little progress discussing that last one last Saturday and then I lost it." "What do you mean you lost it?" "Sex reared its head. He grabbed me; I began kicking, and one landed on his shin; he let go and I never could collect myself after that. To use a vulgar but descriptive expression, I almost wet my pants, if you know what I mean." "I wish I knew someone who could make me have a reaction like that. When I’m in bed at night and close my eyes there is no one to dream about. Makes it very difficult to fantasize. You need to have a life-sized picture of someone. Had to borrow Cary a couple of times to get any results. I'm not secretly in love with him, but he is the sexiest looking guy I know. Should have asked your permission, but I was desperate." "That’s the least of my worries. Feel free. Hope you have six orgasms a night.” “I wish.” “How am I going to solve some of these issues, Doris?” “That’s a tough one. You don’t seem to have as much faith in his understanding as he had in you.” “You’re right. I’m afraid if I knock myself off that pedestal he has me on, I might break.” “But if you stay propped up there, he might treat you like a goddess even after you’re married. That could be frustrating.” “You finally see my problem. I want him to love the real me, but I don’t know how to become the real me.” Doris shrugged. “You are the real you, but you think too much. You just want him to love you if you were a whore, right.” “Is that what I want?” “Sounds like.” “Oh yeah. And you know about my other problem." "There’s another problem?" "You know, his attitude about me going to college.” “What’s that?” “He approves 100 percent, but he's getting an inferiority complex over it. Here I am getting an education so I can develop all my capabilities and not just turn into a boring baby machine and diaper changer, and it is driving a wedge between us. The ninny was in such low spirits the other night, you would think his mother had died. Now I have to quit college to keep his interest. Can it be more hopeless?" "You paint a gloomy picture for a woman who wet her pants over a hug. I wish I had problems like that. It's tough to have found the love of your life, and know that he loves you too.” "Laugh if you like, but I don't think there’s another out there like him. This is my one chance to work out something special. If you see me married to someone else, you'll know that I settled for a conventional marriage. Doris was stunned. “But, . . . I thought you could never marry him? Greayer Enemies in Love Page 100 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 12
Stop Being A Jerk
Early one Saturday morning, Cary crossed Myrtle Avenue and sat on a bench in Forest Park. Gazing vacantly, he skimmed a pebble off of the surface of the pond. A few months earlier, Congress had passed the Selective Service Act, to draft 900,000 men a year. Sixteen-million men between 21 and 36, were to be registered by October. First selectees were scheduled to report by November,1940. Couples started flocking to the altar and guys began enlisting just to get it over. Training camps weren’t ready. Enlistees had to use broomsticks and cardboard tank mock-ups in their military drills. Cary laughed. Selectees, that’s a joke. Sounds like you won a beauty contest. Hear training is like playing cops and robbers when we were kids. What can I do? Can’t afford college. Can’t afford to marry Catherine. As a machinist, I’m a defense worker and can get a deferment . . . but that’s out. Like Babsie says, Men have to be MEN.; women shame us into battle. Even if Catherine won’t marry me, . . . I’d hate for her to think me a coward, but I’m too young to enlist without parents consent. Trapped. Should blow my brains out. Suddenly, Cary had a brainstorm. What am I saving money for? What the hell, go for it. Oh,oh, better hurry. Banks close at noon. Cary withdrew one-hundred dollars from his college fund, and rode his bike to a nearby used car lot. Cary had to decide what kind. This will be the first car anyone in my family ever owned. They’ve never gone anywhere. Guess I need a four-door to take them for Sunday drives. Twenty minutes later Cary tossed his bike in the back seat of his sixty-horsepower, six-cylinder1939 Pontiac. When he drove home Cary’s whole family was out front waiting for him. Everyone was smiling. “How did you know I bought a car?” Ann said, “Gertrude called. Saw you driving out of the car lot.” “Great. If Gertrude saw me, the news will be all over town.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 101 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “So what,” Beth said. “Were you keeping it a secret?” His family tried the front seats. They tried the back seats. They opened and closed all the doors a hundred times. They looked into the tiny trunk, molded into the back. They jumped on the running boards. They even opened the hood and admired the engine. Neighbors came over and looked at the car with envy. Finally Cary loaded his family into the car and drove out to Far Rockaway. By the time he got back from taking them for a spin, the phone calls had begun.
Cary had a million friends. "This is Ralph from Dr. Smith's English class. Remember me? Sat behind Marion Moore, the tall gal with the long blond hair. Warren Roessler and I have dates. Marion will join us if you’ll come. Pick us up at the northeast corner of Jamaica Avenue and Sutphin Boulevard." He never needed to pick up a phone again. Guys were happy to suggest places to go. They were always able to round up girls. He was busy every weekend. A month later his head was swimming with his new-found popularity. Golly, never was this popular before. It’s the car they love . . . not me, I’m just the chauffeur. Beats being a loner, though. No offers to buy gas, . . . yet. At ten-cents a gallon, a tankful is expensive; but who am I kidding I never buy gas. . . . Pop buys a tankful whenever I take the family out to
Aunt Mae’s at Rocky Point. College fund is dwindling though. . . . Having fun Costs money even without buying gas. Heck, who needs money. With war on the horizon I may not live long enough to spend it anyhow? Greayer Enemies in Love Page 102 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] He even began corresponding with some of his dates.
B y Greayer Enemies in Love Page 103 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] August, the war talk got folks revved up. People started living life at a faster pace, thinking ‘tomorrow you may die’. With War on the horizon, people began corralling all the eligible men they could find. Cary found himself invited to wedding receptions and house parties galore. House parties were all BYOB so as a non-drinker Cary got a free ride.
At one house party, sitting in a corner watching the revelers and listening to the tender lyrics of All of Me, Cary sank into a blue mood. Just then a familiar voice said, “Thinking of anyone special, stranger.” It was Doris, all decked out in a cocktail dress. She had slimmed down and looked sexy. After dancing to ‘She Lost it at the Astor ’, they went outside and sat on the stoop. Cary said, “You look terrific.” Doris smiled. (Getting compliments on her appearance was a welcome change.) “You sure learned how to cut a rug since highschool.” . . . she paused. “I hear you’re having fun playing the field?” “I’m just the chauffeur. I’m getting my shins bloodied. As long as I pick up the check, I’m Don Ameche.” ”Why do it then?” “Better than sitting home alone . . . dreaming.” Doris sensed Cary was a little bruised. “Could put all that money to better use.” “What do you suggest, stuff my mattress for my old age? . . . May not have one.” ”You have a point, but why let them use you?” Cary gave her a wry smile. “People use people, . . . one way or another.” Doris thought about that one. “Not always intentionally.” “Prefer knowing when I’m being used. Less painful.” “You’re getting pessimistic.” “Realistic.” “I’m not sure she would like the new Cary.” “She didn’t like the old one.” Doris felt Cary was hiding his true feelings by being difficult. “You can’t be as bitter as you seem.” “Not bitter; just wising up.” Doris said, “Don’t know why I’m telling you this, but, she took a part time job at Macy's.” “Who’s that?” “Come on Cary, give her a break. Your last date was twenty months ago.” “What does that have to do with the price of tea?” “You two are ‘even’ in the bruised shin department. . Greayer Enemies in Love Page 104 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] . . You never called again.” Cary was reluctant to believe Doris. “She doesn’t have a phone. . . . Besides, Catherine planned her life when she was three and hasn’t changed her mind since. I was a temporary detour. She’s back on track now.” “All I know is she’s hurting.” “She’s made it plain that I’m not in her plans.” “People change their minds.” “She has no phone and her mother runs interference at the front door. You’re not suggesting I camp out at the corner drugstore? ” “Really? Gee whiz, . . . she doesn’t know that.” “Guess, Momma keeps secrets, . . . but what difference does it make?” “Perhaps none. But, there are other ways.” “So she works at Macy’s. How does that help?” “My, you are a reluctant suitor.” “Playing the field is lots more fun than hanging by my thumbs.” “You’re not making this easy. She works weekday evenings. Gets out at nine o'clock. All the employees punch out on the second floor and stream down a long staircase and exit on Thirty-fifth Street. If you wait in the downstairs lobby there’s no-way she can avoid you.” “So you’re saying . . . she’ll try to avoid me? No thanks.” Doris struggled with her conscience. “Look Cary, I’m your friend. Stop being a jerk.”
Catherine spotted him from the top of the stairs. Locked in her blue-eyed gaze, she marched steadily . . . directly toward him. Heart pounding, he waited anxiously. It had been months since he had seen her. He couldn’t believe how strong his emotional reaction was. When she reached him, she said, “Hi,” and bolted out the door. Walking toward the subway, he thought, For a tiny girl she can really stride. He said, “Always have to run to keep up with you.” She slacked her pace. “What brings you here?” Wow, she can talk . “No more parties to attend?” Her jibe smarted. “Lots. . . . Just doing a bit of slumming.” She stopped in her tracks and looked him in the eye. “So it’s bare knuckles again, . . . huh?” “Bare knuckles cut a lot deeper.” “Look Cary, what did you come for? I’m already bloody from our last date, and Greayer Enemies in Love Page 105 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] we didn’t even fight.” He changed his tone. “I’m sorry. I really came to call a truce. Thought I’d drive you home in my new car.” She wasn’t surprised. Doris had reported about the car, . . . but she couldn’t help worrying about why he bought it. “A car! . . . Can you afford that?” He couldn’t resist bragging a tad.“I’m a machinist now. . . . Make lots of money. Thirty-five bucks a week.” (Wow, that’s more than my father makes.) “Great! But why blow it on a car? What about your college plans?” “Plans? With war on the horizon, who can plan? . . .” They walked in silence to his car. Cary opened the passenger-door and Catherine climbed aboard. She ran her hands over the seat and dash. Uncle Otto has the only car in our family, but this car is elegant. “Nice car.” After a pause, she said, “Why can’t you plan? College students can get a deferment.” “Machinists can too, . . . if that’s what I wanted.” “You always said all that flag waving was bunk. Are you getting patriotic on me? ” “Just ‘cause it’s bunk doesn’t mean I don’t have to join the parade.” “So your wild declarations were so much hot air.” “Your wild declarations were hot air too.” Oh, oh. Now he’s blaming me. “Come on Cary, don’t change the subject. We were sixteen and had a fairytale romance. You’re nearly twenty-one now. We have to face the real world.” He looked at her. “But, I can’t change how I feel.” Catherine avoided the implied question. “You can’t ignore the problems either.” Cary wasn’t letting her off the hook. “Question is, can you ignore your feelings?” “Quit changing the subject. You’re a moral coward. You’re caving to convention.” “You’re the pot. You can’t even cross your mom.” “That’s a low blow. It’s more complicated than that. Besides, why go off and get killed if you have an out?” “Like you said, . . . it’s an out . Women stand on street corners and hand every male over fifteen, not in uniform, a white feather. No matter what my excuse, people would still judge me a coward, . . . even you.” “That’s not true.” “Isn’t it? While other guys are going off and getting killed, would you see it as a noble act?” She hedged. “But, you’re more valuable to the Nati . . .” He cut her off. “You’d respect me?” “You don’t believe in ki . . . ” He repeated his question. “You’d respect me?” Catherine knew he was right. This was bad news. With his talents, she had counted on him getting Greayer Enemies in Love Page 106 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] a deferment. After a long silence, she made a wry face. . . . “I don’t want you to go.” That jolted him. That admission felt good. “You know all about role playing. Men do that too.” She looked him in the eye. “Someone has to stop the hated Hun, . . . is that it?” “You had to say that?” “Why not, it’s on our minds.” “I don’t hate anyone.” “Come on Cary. You read the newspapers. There’s a lot of hate going around right now. Last year they started interning Japanese nationals and their ‘American born ’ descendants in concentration camps on the West Coast. They call them enemy aliens .” Cary was glum. (His father says the Germans are the enemy aliens.) “By that reckoning, me, my parent’s, and every other German and Italian immigrant and their offspring should be interned.” “Why?” “Don’t kid me, Cary. You recognize the hypocrisy. It’s racism. There are only a few Japs, but there are too many of us.” They drove all the way to Ridgewood in silence. As he helped her out at her front door, he said, “Is there no way?” She gazed up at him with her cool blue eyes and said, “Maybe some day when there’s no more hate in the world.” “Yeah, right. That really says it.” Why did Dolores make me see her if the answer was still ‘no way’.
But ‘hopelessness’ only increased his desire. He wanted to see her so badly, he took her home almost every night. A couple of months later, driving toward Macy’s to pick her up, Cary laughed and slapped the dash. Gosh, this is working out great. We’ve discussed every conceivable subject without a single blowup. And we’ve had some of our best times ever, on our long drives home. Haven’t even dated her!!! I’ve kept everything nice and cool. She never acts mad if I miss a day or two. Still pal around with my highschool gang on week ends. Friendship’s so strong we’ve even laughed about some of our disastrous dates . . . with other people. Almost like old times . . . except there’s no hand-holding or other expressions of serious affection. . . . Doesn’t cost much either. She laid down the ground rules four years ago, and I’ve never broken my promise. Last Monday, she almost fell into my arms. She Greayer Enemies in Love Page 107 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] backed off at the last moment, . . . but that was exciting. She knows how I feel. . . . Up to her to make the first move.
Cary parked his car and walked to Macy’s. Waiting at the foot of the stairs, at the employee entrance, he spied Mabel on the top landing. Damn, where did she come from? (She was one of his friends from his weekend gang and unbeknownst to Cary, she also had a job at Macy’s.) She spotted him , also, so it was too late to hide. I’ll have to act like I expected her. Mabel marched down with a broad grin on her face. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, he said, “Hi Mabel.” She said, “Hi Cary, didn’t expect to see you. How did you know I worked here?” “One of the girls told me. Could it have been Lisbeth?” “Lisbeth? She wouldn’t tell you, . . . she’s so jealous, . . . always snags you for herself. . . . Hear you have a car! Are you going to take me home like Prince Charming?” Cary was trapped. “Of course.” Every day Cary went home with the girl that came out first . It was like a lottery . . . or, perhaps, Russian Roulette would be a more apt phrase. One Friday, as Cary dropped Catherine off at her home, she said, “Would you like to take me to the beach on Sunday? I could pack a picnic lunch.” “Sounds great. What time? ”
At eleven o’clock on an unseasonably warm 22 November 1941, Cary picked Catherine up at her home for their one-hundred mile drive to Montouk Point State Park at the eastern tip of Long Island. On the drive to the beach, both their minds were scrambled .
Cary sat quietly rejoicing , After years of stagnation, his life was about to move forward. His twenty-first birthday was approaching. He was about to become an Adult!!! The day before Thanksgiving, he’d have to register for the draft, He’d be old enough to volunteer without his parent’s consent!
But Catherine. . . The last three months were the happiest of her life, But now, she felt her life spinning out of control. With his birthday approaching, she worried that he might enlist!
After a silent . . . two hour drive, they arrived at the beach. The beach was deserted. Cary carried the picnic basket and a blanket from the car. Gulls strutted about, near the surf and glided overhead. Gentle waves lapped the shore, setting a calm mood. Pointing to a sandy knoll, about fifty-yards from the surf, he said, “This spot O.K.?” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 108 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] She nodded. She spread the blanket carefully and he dropped the picnic basket on one corner. They lay on the sand all day, warmed by the bright sun and caressed by gentle breezes. They watched the seagulls and listened to them squawk. Sitting quietly, looking at Catherine’s profile, Cary mused, I’m happier right now than I’ve ever been. Whenever I’m with other girls, I can’t keep my hands off of them, but here with the girl I love, . . . pawing her hasn’t entered my mind; it’s sufficient just to be with her. I admire her intellect and her humanity. She is my friend . . . not just a sex object.
On the walk back to the car Catherine took his hand to steady herself as she climbed over some mounds of wild marsh grass. She held on for the rest of the walk to the car. Cary noticed an increase in his pulse rate. I’m more excited holding Catherine’s hand than when I’m removing Lisbeth’s bra.
On the way home, Catherine said, “I had a marvelous time. Hope you did too.” Not wanting to be duped yet again , Cary said, “Did I look like I was in pain?’ “That’s not an answer.” Oh, oh, let’s not have another of our stupid fights. Looking intently into her eyes, he said, “What do you want me to say?” “I want you to watch the highway, . . . I’m not ready to die.” Cary looked quickly at the highway and while paying careful attention to his driving, he said, “That’s not an answer.” “Let’s take it a day at a time, O.K.?” “O.K.”
Catherine sat silently, struggling with some emotion. “May I ask you something?” “Ask away.” “I can’t, if you’re going to take that attitude.” “Attitude shmattitude. You’ve never pussy-footed around before.” “I’ve never asked you on a date before.” “What do you call this?” “This is two friends spending a day at the beach.” Oh, is that what it was. You could’ve fooled me.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 109 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Why are you acting so hostile?” “Because one minute you push me away saying to take it one day at a time and the next you’re acting coy and toying with my emotions. Why don’t you just come out and say what you’re after?” “I don’t want to.” “Fine.” They drove in silence until they were at Catherine’s front door. Cary debarked, circled the car and opened her door to assist her out. Towering nearly a foot above her, she had to tilt her head to look at his face. Uncharacteristically, she seemed bashful, as she said, “I was hoping you’d join me on a double date next Sunday with my cousin and his girlfriend. We could go to Coney Island.”
It was the best day of Cary’s life. By the time he dropped her at her door, he felt they were sweethearts again.
Next day, Monday, Cary was bursting with happiness in anticipation of taking up where he had left off two years ago when they were lovers . . . Sort’a’. She was still reluctant to commit herself, but Cary knew they were both prisoners of love. He had as strong a hold on her as she had on him . It was just a matter of time. As he drove toward Macy’s to pick up Catherine, he sang, Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you . Spotting Catherine at the top of the staircase, Cary’s face broke into a wide grin, . . . matching hers . Her face was radiant as she marched down the stairs toward him. Then his grin froze. Mabel was marching down alongside Catherine with a wide grin on her face. Cary was trapped. He introduced the girls to one-another, but Catherine couldn't hide her hurt. As the three of them walked toward his car, she darted down the subway-stairs and went home alone. Catherine wouldn't speak to him, let alone agree to another date. He dare not appear at Macy's again. Mabel would be waiting. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 110 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
December 7, 1941. Japan attacked Hawaii.
December 8, 1941. The country sat glumly around their radios as President Roosevelt addressed the nation. "Yesterday, December 7, 1941, a date that will live in infamy, the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by the Naval and Air forces of the Empire of Japan."
We were at war! Cary’s family erupted into chaos. Cary jumped up saying, "I'll enlist tomorrow." "Cary, be sensible. Your father nearly lost his leg . . . " "Some guys enlisted at eighteen. I’m twenty-one. I can do what . . . " "You’re a skilled machinist. You can get a def . . . " "I'd be ostracized." "What about your high ideals. You're no killer. You won't even swat a fly.” "You're going to be best man at your cousin’s wedding." Beth and Ann chimed, "Dad is sixty-nine . You'll kill him." They argued for hours. They used reason. They used guilt. They used religion. used patriotism. They used tears. He had never defied his parents in his life. They compromised. Cary would wait until the draft board assigned him a draft number.
In February, three months after their blowup, Cary wrote Catherine a letter. His letter bounced. She had written ‘ return-to-sender’ across the envelope. In March he wrote again. That letter too was rejected. In June, on her twenty-first birthday, he sent a rose with a card. Delivery accepted . . . perhaps? At least it wasn’t returned. Did she . . . or was it lost in the mail?. . . No thank you note??? Greayer Enemies in Love Page 111 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] More months passed. One day, on an impulse, he drove out Union Turnpike past Forest Hills, past Kew Gardens, and turned left on Main Street. He parked on 149th Street, next to the Queens College campus. Cary found a quad where students gathered, and roamed about looking for Catherine. He sat all day. And the next. On the third day, his pulse quickened. There she was, walking across the square. She walked north on Main Street, stopping at store windows along the way. He followed thirty yards behind, careful that she didn't see his reflection in the storefronts. She looked back once as she crossed the street near Flushing Station at Roosevelt Avenue. She didn't see him. She ran down the subway stairs. While standing on the crowded platform, he hid behind a newspaper. When the train whooshed, in blowing his paper away, he ducked down. Boarding the train, he stayed far away until the doors closed. Catherine grabbed a seat near the door and began reading her sociology book. . . . He waited. The train started to move. He waited. Slowly easing over, he stood directly in front of her. . . . He waited. Suddenly, looking up, she said, "How's Mabel? "
Devastated with that one quick stab, he turned to leave. She grabbed his hand. . . . "Thanks for remembering my birthday ." . . . Holding back tears, he faced her, . . . and said, "What now?". . ; She said, "I had to hurt you and . . . I guess I did. I really am sorry...... What do you want, . . . now?" Looking forlorn, he said, "I want the impossible, . . .” After a long pause, he continued, “But I'll settle for friends, . . . I want us to be friends." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 112 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Holding his hand, she said, . . . "We're friends, Cary." On their way to her home things took an abrupt turn. The months of separation melted away as though they’d never happened. They took up where they left off on that trip to Coney Island. On her doorstep she took his hand, looked up, into his eyes and said, “What you want . . . isn’t . . . impossible, . . . anymore .” C a r y stood stunned. Ready to fall into his arms, . . . her disclosure was too late . A week ago his draft board had sent him his classification number. (Even though they has misspelled his last name, Cary knew this was it. If he didn’t enlist, . . the‘draft board ’ would decide his fate .) He said, “ Yes it is.” Shocked, she said, “What do you mean? I just asked you to marry me.” After a long pause, he said, “I can’t. I’ve just joined the Army Air Corps as a pilot trainee. My train leaves Grand Central Station tomorrow morning at eight.”
She ran inside . . . sobbing. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 113 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 13
Camp Upton
Like solemn mourners the five members of the Grant family made their way to Grand Central Station in midtown Manhattan. His parents had prayed this day would never come, but this dread day was here. It had arrived to claim their son for induction into the United States Army Air Corps. The train would leave at eight A.M. and carry Winfred Cary Grant, to Camp Upton, Long Island. His father, mother, and his sisters, Ann and Beth, stood huddled together, holding hands. Though together, they were apart, each isolated in their own world, deep in thought. Though inwardly Cary rejoiced, . . . looking forward to freedom and adventure, his mien reflected their mood. He felt their pain, but couldn't help them. Raised in the British tradition, the family could not express or show their surging emotions. Each stood quietly, their faces--masks--frozen in worried expressions, their bodies slack and defeated as they waited on the cold cement platform for the train to leave. The gloom of the station, and the noxious odors of paint and oil, were in keeping with the mood of the occasion. The World-War-one- vintage coal-fired engine, radiating heat and belching steam, stood hunched , growling like some prehistoric Greayer Enemies in Love Page 114 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] dragon--poised to devour their son. Cary, anxious to be off, stood looking down the track toward the future , toward escape , toward hope , his small world about to explode , explode with excitement and opportunity. A huge clock, suspended high above, stood motionless. Eternity passed and nothing moved; the second hand frozen, locked in an everlasting moment, a time-warp of pain and suffering.
Hiding behind a pillar a solitary mourner stood, . . . a space apart, with a tear stained face, . . . silent and alone. She bit her lip, but uttered no sound.
Cary had a vague sense that she was there. He searched the crowd looking for her. but didn’t see her.
The moment came: Cary embraced each family member and without a backward glance, stepped aboard the steam-belching monster. The train left. He was swallowed up, . . . out of their lives for the first time since birth. With tears streaming down their faces, Beth and Ann hugged one-another. Since the day, seventeen years ago, that Percy sequestered Rose in the country, . . . far away from her family, . . . Cary’s parents had lived in cold hostility . Now, united in their grief, they embraced for the first time in Ann or Beth’s memories. It took them some few moments to compose, . . . then they left for home.
Other family groups, . . . similarly occupied, . . . hugged one-another, . . . kissed one-another, . . . consoled one-another, . . . but not the silent mourner. She had no one to console-- no one to help stanch the flow of tears. Her tears flowed down freely, abundantly, unashamedly. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 115 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Though others stared, she made no effort to hide, as she sobbed her way home, back to her bedroom--to mourn --alone. All the boys are going, but . . . he could have escaped; . . . as a machinist he had an out but his sense of manhood wouldn’t allow him to apply for a deferment. I tried to bribe him, but he scorned my offer. It was my ultimatum that set him into action. I lost the battle of wills. Now we’re on the outs again .
She was proud he went willingly, without fear, but ‘pride’ didn’t help, didn’t alleviate the pain. And the fear, how will she to overcome her fear? Thoughts of will I ever see him again, filled her mind. She joined thousands of sweethearts, wives, and mothers who now lived with that same question, that same fear. Some found the wait intolerable.
Cary was naive and a little frightened but he was alive with expectation. Just the train ride was a joyous experience. The motion of the train and rhythm of the wheels against the track made him feel alive, . . . alive for the first time since, . . . since, . . . he couldn't remember when. The world was big and dangerous, but his twenty-dollars were safe, . . . concealed in a money belt next his skin. Other recruits on the train, . . . many much younger than he; . . . some had never shaved, . . . didn’t need to. With their rosy cheeks they looked like a trainload of frightened cherubs , tender-morsels to be devoured by the gods of war. Cary spotted him immediately, a squat young man who had been with him in that test room when he enlisted. Looked about Cary's age. Had a rugged complexion like he had-had smallpox as a boy. Prior to acceptance, the Air Corpse gave potential Enlistees comprehensive physical and mental tests. These tests weeded out all but the top two percent of the nation’s youth. Only the brightest and most fit were eligible for training as pilots, navigators or bombardiers. Addressing the guy with the rugged complexion, Cary said, "Hey, I saw you in that test room.” “Yeah, I remember you, you were right in front of me.” “Right. Remember when that Neanderthal, ‘Captain Spencer’, came in with the test results and said, ‘If I call your name, leave your seat and stand at the rear of the room,’ . . . what did you think?”. Rugged complexion said, “Thought if they called my name I was toast .” “Me too. Assumed I was dead meat if I heard my name.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 116 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
“Especially when he said, 'Failure to qualify for Cadets is no disgrace.' Figured he was trying to soften the blow Began praying my name wasn’t on that friggin list.” Cary shook his head. “That one guy who dashed out in tears, when his name was called, definitely felt he’d tanked .” Rugged complexion shook his head. “Nearly followed him when they called my name but with tears welling in my eyes, I couldn’t see. Hard standing in back with all those other sad- sacks. No one wanted to break down.” Cary said, "When they called your name, I thought I was home free. Was just rejoicing, when they skewered me. . . . What's your name?" "Friedman. What's yours?" "Grant." "Not too sharp on your ABCs. They'd have zapped you fifty points and flunked you then and there . . . if they knew." Cary laughed, "Was praying so hard, I convinced myself it was f, s, x, y, z." "All those happy suckers, sitting there with grins on their faces, thinking they’d passed. Must've been like falling down an elevator shaft when the Captain said, 'All men . . . standing . . . have passed . The rest may leave.'” “Some sadist came up with that scheme. Probably the army's idea of making men of us." "Poor bastard who dashed out in tears will go to his grave thinking he's a loser . He’ll never know he passed." Friedman said, "Gives us some idea of what's in-store for us in the army.” Both boys laughed. “My first name is Sam, what's yours?" "Winfred. But I use my middle name. That's Cary." "Cary, eh? Good thinking. . . . ‘Cary Grant’. . . . Has a nice ring. You could be famous someday with a name like that. My middle name is Freud. At least it's better than Sigmund." Both boys laughed. "Not too euphonic, Sam Freud Friedman. . . . Well, it's really Samuel Norman Friedman. Not much better as far as euphonies go. Freud or Sigmund would make for a better icebreaker. Bet you get great mileage out of 'Cary Grant.'" “Once I say ‘Cary’ I’m too embarrassed to tell them my second name." "Second name! It's second base you should be striving for." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 117 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Second base! Still striving for first. If there's a way to goof up, believe me, . . . I'll find it." "You're in the Army now. The term is fuck up. . . . You know, SNAF U, situation normal, all fucked up. . . . You don't goof up, you fuck up. " Cary blushed. He had never used fuck in his life, nor had any of his friends. Within a week he couldn't complete a sentence without six or seven fucks. It was the language , . . . the way they talked--it meant nothing .
The Conductor bellowed ‘Camp Upton’ and they all bailed out of the train in an unruly mob and sauntered around the platform, looking confused. Camp Upton was a sea of one story tar-paper barracks surrounded by hundreds of tents, as far as they could see. A master sergeant lined them up as best he could and marched them off in a ragged squad, each man carrying his luggage in paper sacks, cardboard boxes, or five- and-dime suitcases. That first day they marched endlessly from one processing station to the next. They weren’t assigned to their barracks until after ten P.M. It was a bitter cold autumn day and they were worn out and dripping with perspiration when they dumped their luggage on their cots and looked around for warmth. There was none. Sleeping accommodations consisted of narrow beds with bare pillows and mattresses. Lights out sounded almost immediately. They had issued each-man an olive-drab wool blanket. Even fully dressed, Cary was freezing. He took a mattress from an empty cot, wrapped himself in his blanket and pulled the extra mattress on top. He tried to get some rest, but sleep was impossible. Other trainees lay huddled, teeth chattering from the cold. Soon Cary heard faint sounds . Sounded like whimpering . Were those sobs? Your first day away from home is a mighty lonely experience. Soon the sobs became a chorus. Many lads cried . . . far, far into the night. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 118 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] At Cary’s first opportunity he sat down and wrote a letter home.
Private W. Cary Grant 5 Receiving Station, Tent S-1Tuesday, 3 November 1942 Camp Upton, L.I.
Dear Mom, Dad, and Sisters two, I am fine and how are you? We have been on-the-go from early morning being indoctrinated, taking tests, being assigned tents, eating, and walking. Plenty of walking. For the next two or three days, nothing is permanent, so don't write . . . yet. So far, they've issued me: (1) One large and one small olive drab towel. (2) Soap, one cake, white. (3) One razor with five double-edge blades. (4) One pocket comb, olive drab. (5) One toothbrush with an olive drab handle. (6) One shaving brush (no shaving soap). Tomorrow we get inoculated, receive our uniforms, and a hundred other things. We're quarantinedquarantined so you can't see me yet. Everything is great. I have a new buddy, Sam Friedman. We’ll both be twenty-two in a few weeks. He’s great. Brainy, sophisticated like Babsie with a wit to match. That's all for now. Love, Cary P.S. One more thing. A bunch of kids have latched onto me. They follow me everywhere. The group includes Eddie Flanigan, Allen Gold, James Grow, John Glagliola, Earl Hall, and some others. They’re unsophisticated like Alex was when we first met, not that I should talk. But at least I’m not still back in Spotswood like Silas Lurch and Otto Keller, a couple of guys from some hick town in Pennsylvania. Can’t figure why they stick to me, I’m not their type. They’re not too bright, but street wise if you know what I mean. Bright enough to work the system. How they passed the screening tests for Cadets is a mystery. Remind me of a guy at Richmond Hill who always managed to get the answers to the Regents Exams ahead of time. If I’d relaxed my ethics a bit I wouldn’t have been shut out of City College by two percentage points. Makes you wonder about honesty being the best policy. Anyhow, these two know nothing about math, physics, thermodynamics etc. They’ll need all the help I can give them if they’re going to survive Preflight. They may do all right in Morse Code. Brains may be a handicap in learning that skill. Cary
Cary busied himself in his first week at Preflight by writing every relative and friend; . . . forty letters in all. He hoped for his reward at mail call.
Cary wasn’t the only one. When men go to war it stimulates all kinds of mental activity. Many people: Fathers, Mothers, and Siblings too stare into the black night , wondering . . . ‘Why ’? Greayer Enemies in Love Page 119 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] His sister Ann obviously spent many such nights for he soon received this letter:
WxtÜ VtÜç? exyÄxvà|ÉÇá f{tÄÄ ãx à{xÇ àt~x à{|á áxxw Éy {tàÜxw tÇw ÑÄtÇà |à |Ç à{x yxÜà|Äx áÉ|Ä Éy {xtÜà tÇw Å|Çw? ÇÉâÜ|á{|Çz |à xtv{ wtç âÇà|Ä |à àâÜÇá âÑÉÇ à{xà{x äxÜäxÜçç áÉ|Ä yÜÉÅ ã{xÇvx |à áÑÜtÇz tÇw? Ä|~xÄ|~xÄ|~x t äâÄàâÜx? }xtÄÉâá Éy à{x Ä|ààÄx áÑÉà |à {ÉÄwá?{ÉÄwá? wxwxäÉâÜäÉâÜ |Ç xÇà|Üxàç à{x ÜxtáÉÇ Éy ÉâÜ Å|Çwá tÇwtÇwtÇw à{x ÅxÜvç Éy ÉâÜ {xtÜàáAAAA tÇw ä|xã|Çz à{xÇ |àá|àá ÑÑÉãxÜÉãxÜ ÉäxÜ ÉâÜ uÄ|z{àxw yÜtÅxáAAAA áàÜ|~x áà|ÄÄ wxxÑxÜ tÇw |Çätwx à{x átvÜxw ÑÉÜàtÄá Éy ÉâÜ áÉâÄáAAA \ {täx ÄÉÉ~xw |ÇàÉ à{x {xtÜà Éy ÅtÇ tÇw ÇÉã \ à|ÑàÉx tvÜÉáá à{x tuçáá tÇw àÜxÅuÄx ÄxáàÄxáàÄxáà \ áàâÅuÄx tÇw uxvÉÅx ÉÇx ã|à{ {|ÅA g{xÜx tÜx áÉÅx ã{É à|ÑàÉx ã|à{ Åx? tÇw à{x vtàãtÄ~ |á ÄÉÇz tÇw ÉâÜ ä|z|ÄtÇvx ÇxäxÜ xÇw|Çz? yÉÜ à{xç ÅÅxtÇxtÇ àÉ {täx âá ÉÜ àÉ vtáà âá ÉâàA TÄÜxtwç âÇ|àxw |Ç xä|Ä? ãx Åâáà ÇÉà àÉÉ ux âÇ|àxw |Ç|Ç vÉÅÑÄvÉÅÑÄtvxÇvçAtvxÇvçA A A \y \ {täx wÉÇx à{xà{xà{x wxxw? à{xÇ Äxà Åx ux áÉÜÜç yÉÜ à{x wxxw? ÇÉà à{xà{x v vÉÇáxÖâxÇvxáAÉÇáxÖâxÇvxáA A A _xà Åç {xtÜà ÇÉà vÜç uxvtâáx Éy Åç vÉÇáv|xÇvx? uâà uxvtâáx Éy Åç tvàA TÜx ãx |Ç àÜâà{ v{|ÄwÜxÇ Éy ÄÉäx ÉÜ Éy {tàxRRR TÇw |y Éy ÄÉäx? ã{ç |á {tàÜxw áÉ @@@ áÉ ÉyàxÇ ÉâÜ ÅÉÜx ÇtàâÜtÄ áàtàxR \à |á uâà à{x ãÉãÉÜ~Ü~ Éy t ÅÉÅxÇà àÉ vtÄÄ à{x Ñtv~A A A A |àá|àá|àá yxtÜyâÄ wxxwá àÉ xÅÑÄÉçA A A g{x|Ü fâÇwtç wÜxáá ÄtÄt|w|w tá|wx tÇw tÄÄ à{tà fâÇwtç uâ|Äà @ uç fâÇwtç xäxA A A ;|y |Çwxxw |à Ätáàá áÉ ÄÉÇzA A A< à{xç {táàxÇ àÉ wxáàÜÉç4 g{xÜx |á ÉÇÄç ÉÇx ÅxA g{xÜx ÇxäxÜ {tá uxxÇ tÇw ÇxäxÜ ã|ÄÄ ux à{x xåtvà átÅx vÉÅÑÉá|àx Éy zxÇxá tÇw xàvA ã{|v{ zÉ |ÇàÉ à{x v{xÅ|áàÜçv{xÅ|áàÜç Éy ÅÅçç uÉwçA A A A à{xÜx ÇxäxÜ {tá uxxÇuxxÇuxxÇ ÇÉÜ xäxÜ ã|ÄÄ ux à{x xåtvà átÅx }Éçá? ÄÉÇz|Çzá?ÄÉÇz|Çzá? áÉáÉÜÜÉãá?ÜÜÉãá? ÅâÜÅâÜ|Çzá Éy Ä|yx tá \ {täx {xtÜw à{xÅN ãtÜÅà{ Éy à{x áâÇN vÉÄw ã|Çwá @ tá \ {täx{täx yx yxÄàÄà à{xÅA A A ÄÉäxá tá \ {täx yxÄà à{xÅA A A aÉ àãÉ {tÇwá àÉâv{ à{x átÅx? ÇÉ àãÉ xtÜá {xtÜ à{x átÅx ÉÜ xçxá áxxA A A aÉ àãÉ áÉâÄááÉâÄááÉâÄá tÜx à{x átÅx? yÉÜ \ tÅ? tÇw çÉâçÉâçÉâ tÜx tÇw ÇxäxÜ tzt|Ç á{tÄÄ ãx xäxÜ uxA A A jx tÜxtÜx xtv{xtv{xtv{ âÇ|ÖâxA jx tÜx xtv{ t ÑÜ|vxÄxáá zxÅ? yÉÜ ÇÉã{xÜxÇÉã{xÜx |á à{xÜx tÇÉà{xÜ Ä|~x âáA _xà âá à{xÇà{xÇà{xÇ z|äx Éyy t Ä|z{à ã{|v{ ÜxyÄxvàá ÉâÜ zÜxtà ãÉÜà{AAAãÉÜà{AAA \Ç uxtÜ|Çz? ãÉÜw? tÇw wxxw Äxà âá Ä|äx ttt zÄÉÜç àÉ ÉâÜ á|ÇzÄx uÜxxw4 TÇw çxà? |Ç àÜâà{? \ tÅ ÇÉà ÉÇÄç ÉÇx? uâà Ä|~x t ãÉäxÇ àtÑxáàÜçAAA à{xÜx tÜx à{x à{Üxtwá Éy á|Üxá Ñtáà |Ç Åx tÇw \ |Ç à{xxAAA _Éäx TÇÇ Greayer Enemies in Love Page 120 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Next Ann sent this: Greayer Enemies in Love Page 121 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] But then, back to her serious thoughts about the war.
Cary read every line of her poem. Poor Ann she was always such a serious girl. He felt her pain. Ann also sent Cary a picture of her and Beth and the Flanigan sisters next door, sitting on Cary’s Car. His sister Ann even told him of some letters she wrote to an ex boyfriend of hers who she was corresponding with, as an ‘ old friend ’. They got so chummy again, he sent his wife a message ‘telling his Wife’ to send ‘Ann’ a 5x7 picture of him . A few days later the picture arrived. The ‘wife’ enclosed a note telling Ann . . . ‘I felt our wedding photograph was most appropriate.’ Meanwhile, Cary sent Ann a few of his Camp Upton photo’s, causing her to decide it was time to pay him a visit. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 122 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Then his father sent this, revealing his own fears: A Parent is Apart From the World
By Philip Joseph Greayer,
Your parents will never harm you Nor cause the slightest hurt Your home is a haven Where come right or wrong
There's always a refuge For you my dear son
And if in your absence You've veered from the right Come home my son And together we'll fight.
It is not what I'd wish of course But if it should be That you must hurt someone Then let it be me
We know an army of boys Will fight better than men They are less advanced On the civilized road So turning them back Is much easier then.
When you went away to fight And left us "so alone" I cried throughout the night For my boy to come home
And when home you came at last As I thought, to stay Soon you were fretting To be off and away
To be roving and roaming Anywhere,- but here. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 123 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
It's not you that I blame 'Tis the evil of war Which casteth out love While it casteth out fear
And then it was over What wrongs you have done Should be paid by the nation And not charged to you, my son
For they made you fight While you were yet a boy. Your young mind was warped By the National greed
Who bade you to march And to fly and to heed You were not taught as a boy to be just a military toy
But I too have sought With the rest of the greedy So it ill becomes me To be sore at the needy
Writing obligatory letters to aunts, cousins, and casual friends was easy, but now he needed to write Catherine. Cary had never written Catherine a letter in his life, . . . except for a few postcards when he wanted a date. In the full bloom of their romance Cary had written poetry, but when that all came tumbling down he found it difficult to write letters; it felt awkward. And especially after his last confrontation with her. It should have been a romantic occasion, with her asking him to marry her , and all, but the ultimatum killed it. Instead, it became a battle of wills. They both got a little heated when he wouldn’t agree to ask for a deferment. She probably thought it was her ultimatum that precipitated his enlistment, but he knew he’d get his draft notice next day. Not that she’d consider that, any more than his family did. His family were devastated when he enlisted. Of course, parents are easy. They always come around, but, now that he was gone , he could only hope they we’re still friends. He only had his letters to keep Catherine thinking of him. It would take all his skill to charm her with those restrictions. Thinking in his new vocabulary--he hoped he wouldn’t . . . fuck up. Once I said to my minister, "I know something God can't do, he can't make something that has been, not been." What a pity. There are so many things that need to be undone. Oh well, I can’t put it off any longer. . . . Cary sat down and wrote Catherine.
After mailing his letter, he had second thoughts. Stupid letter, sounds so formal. Guess I'm not Greayer Enemies in Love Page 124 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] over our long estrangement. Wish I had more time to get back to our old comfortable, friendship before I leave for combat. Never have liked ultimatums. He smirked. Was she ever shocked when I refused her proposal. He shook his head . How can she expect a man to take a copout? Not that I believe all this patriotism crap. I know we’re all being conned, but . . . I have to prove I’m a man, . . . whatever that is . . . regardless. Not that I give a tinker’s dam what other people think. I’m not doing this for them, I’m doing it for myself. . . making sure my mockery of society is not just .. . . a sham to hide cowardice. It’s what ‘I’ think of ‘me’ that counts. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 125 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 14
Mitchell Field
Mitchell Field, one of the four original pre-World War II numbered air forces, was activated on 18 December 1940, at Mitchell Field, Long Island, New York, and designated as AF 1 with a mission of air defense of the Northeastern United States and Great Lakes regions. During the war, its primary mission became the organization and training of combat units prior to their deployment to the overseas combat air forces. All the Enlistees shipped to Camp Upton who designated the Air Corps as their preferred branch of service, were shuttled from Camp Upton to Mitchell Field for further processing. Two days after Cary arrived at Camp Upton, he was transferred to Mitchell Field. Later that week, on Saturday, Sam and some of Cary’s other buddies Eddie Flanigan, Allen Gold, James Grow, John Glagliola, and Earl Hall went to a USO dance. There were a bunch of USO girls there and Cary began showing off to his buddies (and to the girls) by dancing with several of them. Soon he spotted a girl that reminded him of his highschool sweetheart, Catherine. Several other guys were giving her a rush, but Cary screwed up his courage and asked her to dance. (After all, she looked just like Catherine, so why not give her a shot?) When they started to dance she told him her name was Donna. Cary smiled and said, “Hi Donna, my name is Cary. (He had no idea she was an actress, or Greayer Enemies in Love Page 126 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] he would have fainted dead away.) However, they proceeded to dance the night away, and were still locked in an embrace when the USO officials began waiving them out and the dance began closing down. As the Cadets and USO girls dispersed outside, Donna said, “Hold on a moment,” and she ran over to her car. She returned a few minutes later carrying a large manilla envelope. Cary stood speechless on the front lawn while she related her exciting budding ‘ acting’ career. Apparently, she signed a contract with MGM in 1941, and made her film debut in a movie titled ‘The Get-Away’, opposite Robert Sterling. She was Billed as ‘Donna Adams’ but afterward, MGM had other thoughts and changed the name to ‘Donna Reed’. In her next movie, she starred in ‘The Courtship of Andy Hardy’ and then in (1942) she had a supporting role with Edward Arnold in ‘Eyes in the Night. (By this time Cary’s head was spinning.) Meanwhile, Donna opened the envelope and autographed a publicity picture of herself, As she handed him the picture she had just autographed, she said, “What do you think, is Adams a better name, than Reed, or do you prefer Donna Reed.” Cary had turned into a gibbering idiot by that time, but fortunately some of the other USO girls he had danced with happened by, and everyone was distracted while they all exchanged addresses and waived goodbye. He instantly realized she was out of his league but that didn’t prevent him from posting her picture next to his bunk to impress the other GIs. She was a doll, after all, but he never fantasied about her. Later, when Reed became ‘someone’, not everyone believed he had danced with ‘Donna Reed’ and he took down her picture to check the name. She had signed her name on her shoe, and it was difficult to read, so he finally went to the base photographer to help him prove who she was. It took all the photographers skills to find the proper filter. Finally, he was able produce this copy of her signature, showing one and all that she actually was ‘Donna Greayer Enemies in Love Page 127 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Reed’. Cary posted the reproduced signature along side Donna’s picture. Cary wrote several of the other girls he danced with, but he never had the guts to write Donna Reed.
Sitting on his bunk with a brush in his right hand and a shoe in his left, Cary gazed into outer space. Sam Friedman and Eddie Flanigan were sitting on the opposite bunk. Sam said, “How now brown cow?” Jolted from his Reverie, Cary said, “Huh?” “What's on your mind? You look like you’ve passed from here to eternity. ” "Just thinking how lucky things were turning out." "You must be nuts." "I'm not saying ‘God’ made things happen just to brighten my life, but I have sort’a fallen into a bucket of it, . . . if you read me." (Eddie was lost. He had no idea what Sam and Cary were laughing about.) Sam said, "You’re talking gibberish." "You realize I've been in love since '38 with no way on God's earth to afford to get married." "And Lord be praised for that. Imagine the nookie you’d miss if you were hitched.” At the mention of nookie Eddie turned crimson. Poor Eddie, . . . he was lost. (Cary was just as innocent as Eddie, but exposed to Babsie's vocabulary for several months made Cary shock proof.) Cary said, "Guess I'm not going to get to my thesis." Sam said, "Thesis away, old fart. I'll button my lip." Cary raved on. "Just a month ago, . . . I didn’t have prayer of affording marriage for maybe ten years . Then, Congress raised the pay for privates from twenty dollars a month to fifty , making the American soldier the highest paid in the world. There was a huge howl from our allies. Our pay exceeds the pay of many civilians , in other countries." "Hallelujah." “And now, as a Cadet , I make seventy-five dollars a month. In ten months I could be an officer, making over one hundred and twenty dollars a month. That's more than my father makes, enough to make my head spin. Could afford to marry Catherine, on that." “If that’s so, how come you turned her down when she asked you to marry her?” “That wasn’t Catherine talking, it was temporary insanity.” “You should have held her to it, insanity or no.” “She had a hooker . . . and I don’t mean ‘that’ kind of hooker” Sam laughed. “If only she was ‘that’ kind of hooker you guys could have married in Highschool.” (Eddie was lost. He didn’t understand the ‘hooker’ reference so he had no idea what Sam and Cary were laughing about.) Cary said, “As I was saying, her condition was that ‘I get a deferment’. . . . Couldn’t buy that.” “If only her condition was, ‘I’m Pregnant!’ You couldn’t have turned her down.” Cary laughed. “Now I know why I’m still a virgin. . . . Seriously, what kind of man knuckles under to an ultimatum? Besides, wouldn’t have lasted ‘til her mascara was dry. She hates poverty worse than being wrong . At least as an officer, I can make her an offer she can’t refuse.” "You've heard the admonition about counting your chickens?" Eddie said, "What's an admonition." (Poor Eddie. Going to church every time the rooster crowed Greayer Enemies in Love Page 128 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] sure cut into his ‘savvy time’.) Ignoring Ed, Cary said, "It's written in the stars; I was born to fly." Sam laughed. "For her sake, let's pray you're not shot down in flames."
Next day they assembled at dawn and marched to the nearby railroad station where they boarded a troop-train headed west. Sleeping accommodations on the three day trip were not exactly first class . . . but then, these boys had never been away from home, . . . so any train ride was ‘first class’ as far as they were concerned. Cary occupied his time by sending his parents a blow-by-blow account of the entire trip and drew a sketch of their sleeping arrangements. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 129 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 130 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 131 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 132 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
These are two of my buddies sitting on the seat opposite me as we travel cross country, and this is how we sleep at night. Just passed through Bryan, Texas and will be in San Antonio, soon. May not have a chance to mail this before I get there. The only way we can mail anything while on this trip is if the train slows down and there is someone nearby who will mail it for us. It is a cloudy day here, but everything is green and after the bare trees of the North, I’m finally getting to see some of our beautiful Country.
In Preflight, reveille sounded at 0515 hours. “Hurry up Sam, scrape off that beard and get dressed, we fall out in fifteen minutes. ” “Shaved last night.” “Really? Shave again, you look like Bluebeard. You don’t want to jog three miles around the parade ground carrying a rifle, like Hall did yesterday ‘cause his tie was tucked between the wrong two buttons.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 133 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
“Shit, . . . my shoes and brass aren’t polished either.” “I’ll get that. Shave that face.” At 0530 hours someone shouted, “Fall out, on the double.” All Cadets assembled out front, at attention. The officer in charge walked between the two ranks inspecting each Cadet making sure that shirts and trousers were freshly pressed, shoes and brass were polished, all buttons were buttoned, all ties were tucked between the second and third shirt button, and the metal tip of each belt protruded just one inch beyond each belt buckle. The officer instructed a couple of Cadets to report to the parade ground at 2000 hours. Then he said, “Dismissed.” Each cadet placed his right toe just behind his left heel and faced about. Then they took three paces forward and scattered to their respective barracks. Back inside Sam and Cary made up their bunks, swept and mopped the floor area around their bed, and dusted the window sills, styles, shelves and light fixtures (including the bulbs) with a damp cloth. Sam said, “Check my bed Cary.” Cary measured the collar and checked that it lined up with other collars in the room. Then he took a quarter, bounced it off the taught blanket, and caught it one foot above the surface. “You pass muster.”
Everything was regimented from the precise way they dressed, to the way their clothes were stored in their closet: Fatigues, coat, dress jacket, and shirts hung in a specific order, facing a specific way with all buttons buttoned; ties, hats, underwear, handkerchiefs, toiletries, shoes, photographs, etc. stored on specific shelves in a specific order facing in specific directions. Reveille was followed by a white glove inspection. They did everything by the numbers. No one walked, they marched - silently. Even when alone, their posture, cadence, stops and starts, were all executed as though they were on parade, making sharp, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 134 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] precise corners when they changed direction. At meals they sat erect on the first four-inches of the chair, head and eyes rigidly forward with their left arm at their side. They only spoke when g i v e n permission by the ‘gunner’ at the head of their table. If they moved their heads while eating or speaking, or committed any other infraction of the dining code, (For instance, regulations covering h o w implements were placed and used and when and how napkins were placed in or removed from the lap) the head gunner would require them to eat a ‘square meal’. (This meant you raised each fork or spoonful of food straight up from the plate until it was level with your mouth before inserting it and removing the food. You returned the utensil to the plate, for your next portion, by the same precise route, in reverse order.) Their days included classes in mathematics, physics, meteorology, gunnery, chemistry, Morse code, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 135 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] and aircraft and ship identification, followed by military drill and PE. There wasn’t a moment to think. Their day ended in total exhaustion at lights out at 2200 hours.
On a scorching hot December day the cadets were ordered to fall out in their full-dress uniforms. They were marched to the parade ground and assembled in rows and columns before the reviewing stand. The officer in charge barked, “Attention.” Six-thousand cadets slapped their heels together and snapped into a military brace: Eyes forward, chin in, shoulders back, stomach sucked in, butt tucked under, arms rigidly at their sides. As they strained every muscle to hold this unnatural posture, officers walked between the rows looking for the slightest wobble. Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun, but not the Texas noonday sun. Within three minutes, under the sun’s full glare, perspiration began trickling down. In ten minutes every uniform was drenched and puddles were collecting in their shoes, as rivers of perspiration ran down their chest, abdomen, and legs. As time dragged on Cary’s shirt collar tightened as though he was being garroted. He became light headed from dehydration and the restricted flow of blood to his brain. Struggling to retain consciousness, Cary, while holding perfectly still, relaxed every muscle in his body. Then he saw the first Cadet fall. There went another. With the merciless sun beating down, Cadets began fainting throughout the ranks. They lay where they fell; no one went to their aid. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 136 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
After forty-five minutes the officer in charge bellowed, “At ease.” Cadets were lying about the parade ground like sacks of coal. Stretcher bearers invaded the ranks, collected the prostrate bodies, and hauled them off in meat wagons.
Back in their barracks, Sam and Cary spent half an hour under a cold shower. Then they lay lifeless in their olive drab underwear atop their bunks. Trying to make sense of the day’s activities, Sam finally said, “What was that all about, Cary?” “Silence . . . . Let me sleep.” “This is no time for sleep. I’m getting a queasy feeling.” “Take a Tums.” “No crap, there’s some reason for this chicken-shit.” “Quit gassing. Chicken-shit has no reason.” “You’re so naive, Cary. Everything has a reason.” “I’ve been told that before. I grew up with my dog, Nip, and rabbits for company, so I’m not too sophisticated. Just seems like nonsense to me.” Sam was quiet for a while. “That’s it, Cary. You’ve solved the puzzle.” “Huh? You mean it makes sense that it makes no sense?” “Exactly.” “Now I know you’re bonkers.” Sam sat up. “Think about it, Cary. We left Democracy outside the gate.” ”What do you mean?” Sam waved his arms. “This is Autocracy. These pricks have the power of life and death over us.” “Aren’t you being a little melodramatic, always going on about some conspiracy or other. You’re beginning to remind me of Babsie. ” “How else are these cocksuckers going to convince us to obey any cockamamie order?” “I don’t follow.” “Let me make it simple. Those Cadets who fainted out there on the tarmac. . . . We’ll never see them again.” “You’re crazy. You think they exterminated them?” “Might as well. They’ve washed out.” “That was no fitness test. Anyone of us could’ve passed out. Just depends on how tight your collar was.” “Right. It’s completely irrational . That’s why it works. The more irrational they act, the more terror they instill.” “I don’t get it. Why instill terror?” “For the same reason the church does. Fear is a great motivator. By the time we get to combat we’ll follow any senseless order no matter how asinine.” “You’re paranoid.” “Am I? . . . Think about it. To turn Americans into robots they must scare the piss out of us. Washing out some innocent Cadets is a small price to get the message across.” “I don’t believe it.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 137 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
“You will. Here in training they wash you out to make a point. If you don’t learn, . . . in combat you’ll be shot by a firing squad for the same reason. In the first few months of the war the British shot dozens of soldiers for insubordination. We are no longer living in a Democracy; this is a Dictatorship. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
* * * Outfitted in their new Cadet uniforms, Sam Friedman, Ed Flanigan, and Cary were on the prowl hoping to snag dates for the upcoming dance next Saturday. Walking down Navarro, toward Market Street, they spotted a tall, attractive lass . . . obviously out with her mother. Not a mother , mother ; . . . not like their mothers, . . . but a trim, sexy bombshell type mother, in her mid-thirties; . . . clearly out of their league. Even if she hadn't been married, she was the kind of woman . . . Sam nudged Cary and said, “How about it?” “Golly Jeepers,” Ed said, “you’re not going to try to pick them up.” Sam winked at Ed. “Why not? After all the chicks Cary and his buddy, Hal, picked up on that USO dance, these country bumpkins should be duck soup." "Never picked up anyone like her; . . . she's dynamite, . . . with the fuse already lit." "You said their mothers always loved you. Let's see you string her a line." Cary was on the spot, but his newfound confidence prompted him to accept the dare. When the boys overtook the ladies, Cary said, "Pardon me ladies, . . . I don't want to appear rude, but, my friends and I, are a long way from home. We wondered . . ." The mother and her daughter stopped and faced the three Cadets. The mother looked quizzical and the daughter looked shy. Cary hurried on, "This is Cadet Flanigan, this is Cadet Friedman, and I'm Cadet Grant. There's a ‘dance’ next Saturday, and we wondered if you fair . . . ‘sisters’ . . . might give us the honor of being our guests?" Cary smiled meekly. What a dumb speech. Salesmen always use that sisters line on Mom and it works every time. How will sisters fly? The mother had a bemused smile on her face and seemed uncertain, but she said, "What, all three of you?" Given this opening, Cary plunged ahead with a little spoof. "Well, my friends here have never been away from home. I promised their mothers I’d be their chaperon. They have to get to bed before midnight or they turn into pumpkins or something." Mom looked them over appraisingly. All three Cadets were beaming invitingly while Mom and her daughter wore puzzled looks. The daughter was quite young, and very attractive. Mom finally said, "We'll have to see about the dance, but if you three boys would like a home cooked meal, I’m entertaining a couple of Natalie's girlfriends for lunch tomorrow, . . . ‘after church’. Just hot dogs, hamburgers, and the like, . . . out on the patio. Nothing fancy. . . . You're welcome to join us if you like. By the way, this is my daughter Natalie, and I’m Carol Barker." Patio? Cary had never heard the term, . . . but lunch he understood. The boys accepted her invitation eagerly. She asked them to arrive at three P.M. on the morrow. Next day, the boys spent ten dollars to rent a car so they wouldn’t have to hassle with public transportation or hitchhiking. They found their way to Terril Hills and three teen age girls in sun dresses Greayer Enemies in Love Page 138 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] greeted them out on the front lawn. Since Ed was taller, and looked like a young Errol Flynn, Cary thought Natalie would go for him, but Natalie latched onto him. Cary was five eleven, but she was at least two inches taller in her sandals. Later, Cary felt like a cradle snatcher when he learned she was only fifteen . How tall would she be when she got her growth? The other girls, Peggy and Jackie were seventeen and still considered jail-bait, but outside of Sam, the girls were safe. Cary and Ed were virgins, but compared to Ed, Cary was a man of the world. Ed was the type of handsome you only saw in magazine ads; you never expected to see someone like him walking around on the street. His blush would light-up a room and he was so innocent he never wanted to know what he didn't know. While Cary had grown up in isolation till he was fourteen, Ed must have lived in a monastery till he joined the army. Sam and Cary loved him, and they had become a threesome. The Barker's fabulous home reminded Cary of Pamela Fordham’s home, but here in Texas there was much more land. In Queens, twenty or thirty houses would occupy the plot their house sat on. There were no patios on Long Island either, or at least Cary never heard of one. Natalie and the girls escorted the Cadets out back and all three boys secured dates for the dance the following Saturday. The pairings didn't follow the usual protocol. The girls made the selections. Ed was the only one taller than his date. She was five- foot-two, . . . a foot shorter than Ed. Sam was about five-foot-six and Cary was five-eleven but both Sam and Cary were two inches shorter than their dates. They grew them tall in Texas. Mrs. Barker's spread was more elaborate than she had described. The food was simple, but a linen tablecloth covered the patio-table, and the eight places were set with fine china, and sterling silver. Cary realized she certainly didn't collect it from the Parthenon Theater (like his family had done back on Myrtle Avenue.) Mr. Barker was a Deacon at their church. He looked shriveled or dried out, like there was no juice inside, but he sat like someone in a straight jacket. He must have had starched underwear on. Mrs. Barker was ripe and full of juice. Cary could feel his eyes devour her when she entered the room--and so could she. Dressed in a low cut, rather short, red polka dot dress, she called everyone to the table, indicating where each of them was to sit. Natalie was on Cary's right, and Mrs. Barker sat on his left. "Call me Carol," she said as everyone took their seats. She introduced her husband as Mr. Barker. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 139 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
No informality there. Cary was about to reach for the potato salad when Mr. Barker began to say ‘Grace’. After that, Cary waited until Mr. Barker helped himself to potato salad before he dared unfold his hands. Mr. Barker started the conversation by asking, "Have you boys been in the service long?” “Only been in a few weeks,” Sam said. “Just been to Camp Upton and Mitchell Field, on Long island before they shipped us here.” Mr. Barker said, “Our son, John, joined the Marines when he was eighteen. He's training in North Carolina. His mother isn’t too happy about that.” “My folks wouldn’t let me join up until I was twenty-one,” Cary said. Mr. Barker said, “John wanted to go so I signed the papers. It will make a man of him.” Carol said. “I should have had some say. John was too young,” Mr. Barker smiled condescendingly and said to Cary, “Women don’t understand these things.” He stuffed a fork full of potato salad in his mouth and said, “John came home a few weeks ago. Hitchhiked from New York. Do you boys hitchhike?" Cary said,"It's the only way we can get most places." Sam said, "Busses and trains just take you part-way. Unless you can afford a taxi, you have to hitchhike or wind up walking a hundred miles to go the rest of the way." Cary said,"One weekend, at Camp Upton, I stood out on the highway for three hours before I got a ride. By the time I got home my pass had nearly expired. My sister, Beth, had to drive me sixty-miles to get me back on time." Carol said, "That's terrible, Mr. Grant," "I always pick up soldiers." "Well you're foolish, my dear," Mr. Barker said. "I never pick up hitchhikers. There was a piece in the paper just this morning. Two airmen robbed a couple at knife-point and stole their car outside Randolph Field. Another soldier killed a man who picked him up outside Chicago three months ago." "You've often said that, Hiram, but I think we should help boys in the service any way we can. What do you think Mr. Grant?" Cary sensed this was an issue, and he knew whose side he was on. "I think your husband is right to be concerned for your welfare, Ma’am, there are risks, and those risks are much higher for an attractive woman. But, to be truthful, it seems strange to me that Civilians expect, a Marine to voluntarily put his life at risk and go into combat knowing he has a less than a fifty-fifty chance of survival, yet be unwilling to assist the Marine because they see a million -to-one chance they might be hurt? How long will men volunteer for almost certain death if the civilians they are protecting are afraid to offer them occasional assistance, because they might stub their toe.” Mr. Barker’s face reddened and Carol smiled and changed the subject; "Now eat up everyone, don't be bashful. Ed, please pass the beans to Sam; his plate is empty." Carol entertained everyone with her lively wit, outshining all the immature girls. Her husband excused himself after he had eaten. After serving coffee and dessert, Carol returned to her seat and the party continued. Ed turned crimson at some of Carol's banter and Cary gradually turned crimson for a different reason. Carol's hand suddenly rested on his left knee and gradually worked its way up inside his thigh. Cary couldn't move or speak as the massage continued. After Carol left, Cary remained seated till all evidence had vanished. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 140 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 15
The Bully
It was customary for lower classmen to accord upper classmen all the deference and respect due commissioned officers. This meant the lower classmen were susceptible to hazing, a form of harassment peculiar to the military. Accustomed to regarding them as officers, this experience was very scary for the novice Cadets, most of whom were straight from civilian life and completely unaware of military-school traditions. Although officially prohibited, the practice was nevertheless, common, but the level of torture
that any Cadet was subjected to depended entirely on the sadistic nature of the Cadet administering the hazing. With two or three sadistic imaginations feeding on one-another things could get nasty and very demeaning. Near the end of their lower-class status, some upper class-men invaded their barracks for a bit of fun. As the upper class-men entered the front door, someone called, "Attention!" The lower class Cadets snapped into a military brace and staring each man in the eye from a Greayer Enemies in Love Page 141 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] distance of about six inches, the upper-class-men started walking slowly down the line. Skipping Zebrowski, (A Master Sergeant with twelve years in the military who looked like a recruiting poster) they put each cadet through a grilling. Poor Eddie Flannigan, a good-natured kid with always a smile on his face was at the head of the line and took the brunt of it. They circled Ed, barking commands and berating his every response. "Do you call that attention mister? . . . Stand straight; . . . pull in that gut; . . . tuck in that butt; . . . pull in your chin. . . . Do I see a smile Mr.?" "No sir." "What did you say Mr.? . . . I can't hear you." "NO SIR." Meantime Ed can't suppress another smile. "Wipe that smile off Mr." Ed took his hand and wiped it across his mouth. "Place that smile on the floor in front of you Mr." Ed stooped and carefully placed the smile on the floor. At each command, Ed let another smile escape. "Not there, Mr. . . . Place it next to the others." Then they repeated the whole scenario over, and over, until Ed was no longer smiling; instead he was near tears. Adding to the comedy, he ordered Ed to march his smiles up and down the barracks like a drill sergeant. Any trivial act or event repeated again and again can become torture , . . . even the drip of a drop of water. After his tormentor had wrung the last bit of sadistic pleasure out of the drill, he ordered Ed to march his smiles into the ‘Head’ and flush them down the third John on the left, . . . one . . . by. . . one. The slightest deviation from instructions meant that Ed must repeat the task again, . . . all the while suffering sneers and insults from the upper class-man and a couple of his toadies. This drama had variations reserved for the less athletic, such as touching toes, doing sit-ups, push ups, or any of a dozen other humiliating tasks. They really got creative when they heard an ethnic accent, or a Jewish name. They baited each Cadet with whatever vile insults the particular torturer was best at.
Ed's treatment was mild compared to Goldberg. Goldberg was returning from the shower, and had nothing on but a towel. After snatching away the towel, Goldberg was subjected to taunts and insults about his male anatomy that reduced him to tears. There were many other Jewish boys further along the line, including Sam, and Cary dreaded witnessing the slaughter. Not all the upperclassmen were sadistic. Some had just come along for a little sport. They only inflicted a little light hazing without the ethnic insults or the mean attempts to disgrace their victims. Cary, about halfway down the barracks, answered all his tormentors without a flicker of a smile. Looking them in the eye, his steady, unblinking gaze, exuded hate . Staring these lads down was duck soup compared to the thugs he had stared down in Wallabout Market when he was a lowly messenger. These boys only had insults, the Wallabout Market thugs had knives . Not wanting to look into those eyes that said if I ever meet you somewhere without your buddies - I'll rip your balls off and stuff them down your fucking throat, . . . all the upper class-men bypassed Cary and moved to easier targets. Finally the chief bully, the one who had tormented Ed and reduced Goldberg to tears, was in front of Cary. He was in full form, by this time, all puffed up . . . on a real power trip, really enjoying his domination.. . . The upper class-man's face was just four inches from Cary’s staring into those flinty eyes as he said with scorn. "What's your name Mr.?" Greayer Enemies in Love Page 142 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Cary, standing slightly on his toes (to increase his considerable height advantage) in a stiff brace, his gut pulled in, his butt tucked under, his chest out, and his chin down, (as close to a Zebrowski as he could manage) looked down on his tormenter. He bellowed, "CADET GRANT SIR!". Cary’s face showed contempt. For the first time in his life he felt he could kill. With a sneer on his face, and staring unflinchingly into the bully's eyes, Cary leaned forward until their noses almost touched. Finally, Cary’s baiting got him what he wanted. The upper class-man said, "What do you think you're looking at Mr .?" Cary had waited patiently for this . Cary knew that Underneath, this upperclassman was a coward. All cowards love to torture the helpless. There was complete silence as Cary paused. Other upperclassmen turned toward Cary, wondering when he would respond. When the silence became deafening , Cary fixed his unblinking eyes on the bully, leaned till their noses touched, and thundered, " A piece of SHIT SIR ." The stunned silence lasted less than a second. Then the room erupted into spontaneous laughter. Lower class-men rolled on the floor. There was no containing their glee. The spell was broken. The upperclassmen had lost control, . . . lost the war. They were whipped dogs. They left without a whimper, slinking out with their tails between their legs.
Cary never heard a word about the incident, but the tale spread like wildfire among the lower class-men. Already famous on the hill as the outstanding athlete, marksman, and scholar, now there was reverence in their attitude. To them he had become God. Even the maaaaan , Master Sergeant Zebrowski, walked quietly over and shook his hand. The bully heard nothing but snickers everywhere he went. His last two weeks at Preflight became torture. He knew he would never live it down. There were too many witnesses. Every-time the bully saw two-people whispering he would be sure they were talking about him. Cary did not like his own feeling of triumph. It was unworthy of him to gloat, but he couldn't change his instinctive response. But to him, bullies were the worst type of vermin on the face of the earth. As hard as he tried to feel otherwise, he still wished the bully was dead . Greayer Enemies in Love Page 143 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 16
Victory!
It was five P.M., Sunday, 21 March 1943 when, after fifteen hours of jostling over country highways and rutted back roads in a loose jointed bus, it finally squealed to a halt in front of the administration building at their new home, Victory Field, a grass airfield less than one mile square, near the Texas-Oklahoma border. Tired and dusty, the Cadets tumbled out of windows and doors, and gazed about. Owned and operated by a ‘civilian’ with the honorary title of Lt. Colonel Dan Hunter, Victory Field had a campus-like atmosphere. A small contingent of junior officers administered the base, but the flight instructors were all civilians. Sam was scheduled to go to a brand new Primary at Uvalde, Texas along with the rest of Cary’s buddies from classification, but the day before they shipped out, a call went through for five more students to be shipped to Victory Field. Upperclassmen with the highest averages were picked to fill the vacancies. Cary was still pinching himself at the lucky break that allowed Sam to be here with him. Sam was so happy, he said, "I won't miss them, Cary, they don't mean a thing to me. Everything is perfect now. You know, you could be a commanding officer, and everyone would love you." The only fly in the ointment was that two pests that Cary thought he was rid of also came along with Sam. They were Otto Keller, and Silas Lurch, the weakest students that Cary helped get through Preflight. Why Cary bothered with them he didn’t know, Silas and Otto were hopeless incompetents, but Cary never turned anyone down who needed help. After chow, Sam and Cary roamed the base to check out the planes. Cary donned a flight helmet and goggles and climbed into the PT19 cockpit.
"Hold it like that Cary, you look like a WWI ace.” Sam snapped Cary’s picture. “That should set Catherine's heart aflutter." Cary said, "Everyone seems so relaxed, who would guess this was a military base?" “Just four-hundred miles north and it’s so much cooler than San Antone!” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 144 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
"And, the food! My palate hasn’t had such a treat since Aunt Jess’ Christmas dinner topped off by her mincemeat pie." Sam patted his belly. "If I’m here more than a week, I’ll add another hundred pounds of lard.” Roaming the airfield, Cary pointed and said, “What’s that tumble down building over there next to the hangar?" The door was open so they walked over to take a peek. Sam said, "Looks like an unused horse stall, but there's a wooden bunk in the corner, and rusty bars in the door. Could it be a jail cell?" "Nah. What would they need that for."
Just two weeks into training and Cary had already soloed. He and Sam walked into the nearby town, Vernon, Texas. Sam said, “It’s just a dot on the Texas landscape.” “Two beer gardens and a gas station. Looks like Spotswood, where I grew up. ” Cary smiled. “Perhaps a blot would be a more precise term.” “What did you do in Spotswood for excitement?” “Swam, chased deer, climbed trees, hiked with Nip, and fished.” Looking around, Sam said, "Need a whore to moisten my wick.” “You and Babsie would be a good pair, always thinking of nookie.” Sam let out a whoop. “You’ve come a long way, Cary; you would never have said that five months ago.” "Back then, I was a choir boy, I never broke the rules.” “Guess it’s better to play it safe.” “Who said I played it safe? I did one ‘Real’ stupid thing.” “What was that?” “Some teenager swung a cat by its tail and flung her into the lake. I was ten, but I dived in to save her.“ “Why was that stupid? You’re a great swimmer.” “We were right next to the falls. Just as I got hold of her by the scruff of her neck, . . . over the top I went. That trip down the face of the dam was the biggest thrill of my young life.” “Whoa Nellie, what a ride.” “Plunged so deep at the bottom it seemed my lungs would burst before I got back to the surface, but back to the surface I popped still clutching that cat in my right fist. Had to wring a little water out of her, but she lived.” “Wow. Bet that made you popular.” “Big hero with the kids, especially the girls (sisters). Mom and Pop scolded me, but they couldn’t hide their pride. Do something stupid, like that, and next thing you know you're going over Niagara in a barrel.” “Not me. Like my hide too much.” “We're all suckers for hero worship. Why do you think you enlisted?” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 145 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
“Probably right. Have to prove our manhood. Why did you choose flying?” “In Spotswood, when some pilot got lost and landed in a field to ask directions, everyone gathered round. The hero worship showered on him made a strong impression on my young mind." "Seems you got steered right. Who would think you could top your achievements in San Antonio, but now you've soloed before anyone else. Looks like you can start polishing those bars.” “I told you I was born to fly. Now you’re starting to believe me.” “Maybe your dreams of marrying Catherine will pan out too, unless, of course, by the time you get your wings, she’s already pregnant by the guy she was humping regularly while you were courting her.” “Impossible. You don’t know my Catherine. Next hypothesis.” “You’re so naive. Guys like you think their girl is a ‘virgin’ just because they never get any. Next thing they know she gets them in bed, says she;’s pregnant and the guy marries her, never realizing he ain’t the father.” “That’s what Babsie says, but I’d stake my life . . .” “Guess you have. So far it’s just been no humping, just dumping .” “She’s done that more than once. Right now she swears we’ll never be anything but friends.” “And you keep hanging in there!” Sam scratched his head. “I’d be long gone.” “That’s because you’re not in love.”
Cary was sitting on his bunk, still trying to answer Catherine's last letter. Sam tossed the book he was reading, on the bed and said, "What B.S. Can’t read this crap. Come on Cary, let's get our mail.” On their return, they sprawled on their beds reading their mail. "Oh damn,” Cary said. "What's the matter old fart?" "My family quit their jobs and have moved to Los Angeles. It's a grand exodus! Now they’ll expect me to go to California on my furlough" "Don’t they know you need to go to New York to sweep Catherine to the altar?" "They don’t even know about Catherine." Sam sat up, waving his arms. "What the Christ do you mean? You've been raving about Catherine for months. How you met in highschool and all. How could they not know?” “The love affair has been so rocky, I’ve never been able to make any plans, so I never told them.” "You'll just have to tell your folks you love the girl and can’t go home on furlough." "To my folks, your highest loyalty is to your family. Husbands, wives, girlfriends, . . . they come sec. . . . no third . . . after the family pet.” Sam said, “So you’re just going to let her sit there and stew?” “Let her stew, she’s been holding me at arms length for years.” “You said she loves you. Even asked you to marry her once.” “Catherine is an intellectual. That was temporary insanity. She doesn’t let a little thing like love influence her. Right now, we’re just friends.” “She writes you every day, sometimes twice, that seems like more than just friends?” “Not in her mind. We tell each other everything, even our failed romances. Except for that blowup about Mabel, we’ve been best friends for the past two years.” “Then how come the Mabel blowup? That sounds like a lover thing.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 146 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
“On our double date to Coney Island she let her guard down and we nearly crossed over from friends to lovers. Meeting Mabel the very next day, Scotched that.” “And, during all this hot and cold romance you’ve kept your hands off.?” “She set the ground rules at the outset. I’ve respected her wishes. . . . It’s no different from the way I was raised. I wasn’t supposed to kiss a girl unless we were engaged. My mom had chaperones, and all.” “You sure don’t obey that commandment.” “Doesn’t matter. Even though we’ve been on the outs most of the time, no girl has ever challenged Catherine’s hold on me.” “So how come you’re still trying?” “I’m playing at being her pal, hoping she’ll see we’re compatible and catch her while her guard is down. And so far there have been no blowups, . . . which is a record.” "Well, I'm not able to understand this. I’ve been screwing girls since I was thirteen and loved every one of them. As far as I can see, your relationship is mental masturbation, not love." "I don't agree. When two people are truly close, they hardly need to speak. We can sit quietly on the beach, looking at the clouds, and never say a word. We anticipate each other's thoughts." Sam threw his book on the bed. Sam said, "Listen to this hogwash from The Great Gatsby.” Sam picked up the book he’d thrown aside in disgust and read, “'He smiled understandingly--much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of reassurance in it that you come across four or five times in life. It faced--or seemed to face--the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would want to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.' . . . How do you like that horse puckey? You and Fitzgerald should get together." "The smile that wins. With a smile like that, who would need conversation? Catherine would know exactly how I felt about her all the time." “And that’s from Fitzgerald’s masterpiece." "I agree that’s bull, but our relationship is close to that. If you need someone to tell you they love you, you already know they don't. You're my best friend but we don’t have to declare it; we know we’d risk our lives for one-another without saying it." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 147 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
"Well, I'm a ‘guy’ and I don't demand that you love ‘only me’. If you have that kind of relationship with Catherine, I don't doubt that you love one-another. But, if that’s the case, why aren’t you married?” “I’ve always been too-poor, or too far beneath her to imagine myself a serious suitor. Nothing has changed. What do I have to offer? Stop with all that horse-puckey about not being worthy. You don’t have a college education, but you have plenty on the ball and I’m sure she knows it. You graduated at the top of the class of 6000 students, in Preflight.” "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but our last blowup was over a girl who was just an acquaintance. Once they think you're a Casanova, they never take you seriously." "You have a problem, but going to California won't help you solve it. Start working on that tarnished image. You’re the most honorable guy I know. I can write a letter of recommendation, but will she take the word of a real cunt hound?” “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I doubt it.” “But, this BS about knowing you love one another is just that. The way I hear it, the last thing you did was refuse to marry her, right?” “Fortunately, she didn’t look at it that way. I just refused her conditions.” “More BS. If you sold her that, you have a career in politics. Most girls would be biding their time to get their revenge.” Cary laughed. “She’s not that type. If she’s pissed, . . . pow, right in the kisser, . . . she lets you have it right now.” “Hope you’re not kidding yourself, but if that poor girl loves you and you’re just sitting here thinking she knows how you feel, . . . how long do you think she's going to wait? She's bound to give up one of these days."
On their way to California his family stopped by to visit. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 148 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 17
Her very frowns are fairer far, Than smiles of other maidens are. (unknown)
Saturday, 8 May 1943. Cary was in a pensive mood. Everyone had gone to town to find booze and Cary was alone in the barracks. What else was there to do in Vernon? The doors and windows were open, admitting summer smells, gentle breezes, and the sounds of birds and insects. The melodic strains of Summertime filled the air. With the lyrics "Blue skies smilin' at me", echoing in his ears, the total effect set him off on a romantic reverie. He and Catherine were out in the country. They were walking on the beach with the waves caressing the shore and rivulets of warm water bathing their naked feet. Summer breezes brushed her cheek, fluttered her long flowing hair, and pressed her blouse tight against her firm young breasts. Her wide dirndl skirt billowed and flowed about her thighs, increasing his pulse. . . Just dreaming about her roused his long sleeping desire. Why don't I marry the girl and get her away from her mother?
Cary picked up his pen and started to write:
‘Once, I thought she loved me. At first she did pursue . Now I love naught but her. But know not if she is true.’
Sam is right. I know I love her, but does she know? She writes me daily and her letters say she loves me as plain as she can. She always closes with Loads of love, Catherine , but does she mean it? A woman like Catherine is a rare gem. Guys must be beating at the gates. She needs a clear declaration from me. Without my firm commitment, she would be foolish to wait.
In her last letter she sent an enclosure:
W. Wolf Greayer Enemies in Love Page 149 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
C. Casanova G Gigolo R Romeo A Amorous N Naughty T Teaser
I hope she was pulling my leg. In a juvenile attempt to create a Casanova image , I’ve purposely told her about the girls I’ve met. Now she tells me about her dates. We’ve become buddies, instead of lovers. That’s not what I want. How can I make her take me seriously?
Cary wrote a verse that he titled: Catherine.
‘To see anger in her eye, Or a tear upon her cheek, To take her home and bid goodbye And hear her voice when ere she speak.
To share her thoughts and tell her mine, Oh, would she be my valentine? And should she fall and hurt her knee, to feel her pain as though 'twere me
To listen to music and say not a word and feel what she feels as tho 'twas heard To know such love is hard indeed Free of lust, but oh, so much need
His love so strong, 'twas pure frustration, His pal Sam, called it mental masturbation. But he called it love & his heart did sing, Be he denied, . . . death oh where is thy sting?’
Suddenly the smells, the breezes, the music, combined to overwhelm his rational nature. He worked himself into a romantic tizzy. Throwing caution aside, Cary wrote an emotional letter declaring his undying love and proposing marriage. Next day, feeling that his first letter could have been stronger, he wrote another epistle, and sent it airmail. He had to make his love known in a way that she would not dismiss as mere puffery. Enclosing a one-hundred-dollar bill , he asked her to come to Texas immediately and marry him. Since money , or the lack of it had been a major problem in both their lives, she would know this was no idle gesture. He knew the cash would make her know he was sincere. This was a bonafide commitment. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 150 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
As the week dragged by, his tension heightened. Her reply arrived Thursday and found him quivering uncontrollably. The release of energy after years of keeping his emotion bottled up, made him look like he was in the throws of a St. Vitus's dance seizure. The sight of her handwriting usually had a disturbing effect, but this time it was magnified a thousandfold. Just the envelope was enough. She had written the single word, HELL, in place of the return address. Cary's hands shook so violently he could hardly open the letter. It took ten minutes for him to summon the courage to open the envelope and remove the contents. He placed the letter on the table so the words would stop jiggling.
Queens College Flushing, N. Y. Tuesday, 5/11/43 Dear Cary, This is really one time I don't know how to begin. The causes, as you can imagine, areareare your last two letters. To say I'm flabbergastedflabbergasted wwouldould be putting it mildly. I don't know what to say or where to start saying it. The first letletterter didn't hit me too hard, but, the second letter, containing the $100, really knocked me for a loop. I feel like Carlyle’s, Jane Welsh, when she sent him a letter and used HELL as a return address. Cary, you say pick-up-stakes and come to Texas to marry you. It's such a romantic idea, but gee! it's so impossible. How can I? What about school, my family, and even me?me?me? School isn't even over until the beginning of June and grgraduationaduation June 15. Well that would probably be time enough so we can dismiss that.that. NNaturally,aturally, I wouldn't consider quitting school and I don't think you did either. But, my family, that is a major problem. You know it wwouldould have been easier for them to have gotten along the past four yrs. if I had been working. I told you how my mother wanted me to work at Metropolitan three yearsyears ago. At the time I quit, she was openly antagonistic and quite resentful. Naturally,Naturally, thatthat's's worn off now, but I'm sure she feelsfeelsfeels that when I finish school in June, I'll go to work and give financial support. It's not a selfish attitude, but a necessary one. MyMyMy father works at Sperry's now, but he doesn't makemake a fabulous defense workers salary. When I start working and contribute financial aid we'll be able to move to a better home. Everyone has been planning that for the past two years. Now that graduation is near, we've been discussing where we would like to live, what kind of house, how many rooms, etc. It'sIt'sIt's been taken for granted I'd work a couple of yearsyears and then get married. Doing something like this would shatter everything for them.them. I'd feel like a heel for the rest of my Greayer Enemies in Love Page 151 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] life. And, of course, the most important thing is you and me. I don't see how, after six whole months of not seeing me, you could want to do such a serious thing. Whether you'll be happy for the rest of your life, depends on it. As I sasaid,id, you haven't seen me for six whole months and before that, only several times because we'd bbeeneen on non-speaking terms for almost aaa year. We've had so many temperamental clashes in the past. What guarantee is there that wewwwe wouldn't have them in the future? Before, it diddidn'tn't matter, we just didn't see each other forforfor a while. But, when you're married, you can't solvsolvee it that way. Remember all the little things that used to annoy me about you--they never did cocomeme out in our letters but they always diddiddid seem to cause trouble when we were together. WhatWhat about them--suppose they cropped up? Now that I've torn you apart, I guess I'd better startstart in on me. The whole idea leaves me confused. Doris and I always talk about gettingettingg married and even go so far as to envyenvyenvy some of the girls we know who have gotten married.married. But, when the whole thing comes up and hits me, I don't know what to do. I couldn't give you an answer by letter. It seems like such a serious thing to treat in so trivial a manner. IfIfIf I could only see you and discuss it with you. YouYou know, the kind of heart-to-heart talks we used to have when we went riding. To say I want to go to Texas would be unfair, because, maybe tomorrow I wouldn't want to, and thenthen to say I didn't want to might change ininin the same way next day. I don't know what to say.say. We've had such a complete friendship ... I'veI'veI've been best friends with you and discussed thingsthings wiwithth you the same way I could with Doris. To jump from that to marriage, is a drastic changchangee in relationships. Our romances havehavehave been so brief, you've never had the opportunityopportunity to show how you could act under slightly less platonic circumstances. III don't want you to feel that I'm giving you the gengentletle kick in the face, (like Louis) because, I'm not. I think too much of you for that.that. If I felt sure of saying--NO--at this point, I'd certainly tell you right out, because, I know that's how you'd want it. What I'm trying to do is present all the issues as I see themthem so tthathat you may be able to see more clearly too.too.too. I hope that you have thought of them all and that all the wedding bells and orange blossoms floating around down there aren’t the cause of all this. There are other problems, as you know, but I've thrownthrown eenoughnough at you for one day. Don't feel either one way or the other after this letterletter,, because, as you see you never can deduce how people will act. No matter what happens in ththee future, I want you to know that I do feel highly complemented that you did ask me. And, if you suddenly feel you did the wrong thing (you know like in the Jean situation) I will understand and not consider you a heel. I'll spend the six cents and send this airmailairmail an andd end your suspense sooner. Although, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 152 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] after this, the suspense is probably worse than before. Catherine
This was too much for Cary. He threw Catherine’s letter in his footlocker and began pacing the floor. This just shows how insincere her proposal was. No wonder we resumed our friendship with hardly a ripple. She was just trying to manipulate me. Probably bit her tongue the minute she blurted it out. If I had accepted her ultimatum she would have weaseled out somehow. Cary was so frustrated he had to do something. He needed his punching bag, so he could beat the stuffing out of it. Cary dashed to the flight line, and requested a plane. The Sergeant in charge gave him a quizzical look. “Are you O.K. Mr. Grant?’ Giving him a confident smile, Cary said, “Never better sergeant.” Handing Cary a set of keys, the sergeant said, “I know you don’t touch liquor, Mr. Grant, but,” . . . Thinking better of what he was about to say, the sergeant said, “Take number thirteen, Mr. Grant.” Cary taxied onto the field, shoved the throttle to the stop and took off. He climbed rapidly to six- thousand feet and soared, like an eagle. He dove, looped, rolled, and spun--first to the left, then to the right. Rolling over, he flew inverted, viewing the world from this unique perspective until the gravity-fed engine--starved of fuel--died. Then slowly, letting the nose down, he split-essed into a dive . . . restarting the engine. The open cockpit airplane, with the wind rushing by, was a joy. He never ceased to thrill at being alone, . . . alone with his thoughts, . . . alone with God. He felt omnipotent, ecstasy, it was sheer bliss. Over and over he rolled. He banked, dived, then leveled off just above the treetops. He swooped low over a wheat field, the Texas farmland buzzing by in a blur. A lake appeared just ahead, and letting the PT-19 settle gently, he brought the wheels close to the lake surface. They touched. The wheels grazed the water, spun as though landing, then--they bit in . . . sending ripples to both sides, like the wake of a speedboat. As the drag tried to pull him under, he pushed the throttle forward, holding the plane at the edge of a stall. He was toying with, flirting with . . . death. Leaning out of the cockpit, the wind tugged at his helmet making a roar in his ears, a siren song beckoning him to sweet oblivion. Banking to the left he dipped his wingtip gently . . . just skimming the surface sending up a fine spray, . . . just deep enough so he knew he was riding right on the edge. He felt a thrill; the hot breath of death was on his neck. Just a little deeper and Catherine would no longer haunt him. It would take just an instant. The grim reaper waited. Cary wavered. He was testing his skill. . . . Then easing back on the stick, he climbed up, up, up to find out just how high this plane would go. The plane climbed up, up, . . . rapidly up, . . . up above the fluffy white clouds, . . . then more slowly it struggled, . . . above ten thousand feet, . . . beyond its design altitude. Without oxygen, he could pass-out, . . . could go slowly, . . . happily to sleep. Sluggishly the ship climbed higher, slowly higher. Eleven-thousand feet, then twelve. The ship shuddered as it struggled up. . . . Thirteen. Thirteen-thousand feet. . . . Cary could coax the plane no further; this was the top, the absolute ceiling. The air was so thin that it took him twenty minutes Greayer Enemies in Love Page 153 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] to climb the last two thousand feet. Twenty minutes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Suddenly, glancing at his fuel tank he realized he had been out for over two hours. I’m an hour overdue! The alarm has sounded. Every plane is out looking for me. If I keep the airspeed below the red line, . . . I could be out of fuel in a few minutes. Rolling to the inverted position he allowed the nose to drop, split-essing into a dive sending the airspeed indicator off scale, far beyond the red zone , as down, down he plunged, the wind whistling in his ears, the ground rushing up to greet him. Then praying the wings wouldn’t buckle and rip off , he eased back on the stick ever so gently as he gradually, agonizingly reduced the airspeed. The wings bowed, they flapped, the plane shuddered and vibrated. Gradually the needle came back into view. The airspeed fell below the red line. The wings held. He leveled out. The trip down was fast. . . . From thirteen-thousand feet to five-thousand feet in less than a minute, . . . but, his head was splitting. A vice was squeezing his head . Tears were streaming down. His sinuses had plugged and atmospheric pressure was crushing his skull. He couldn't see! He was blind . The pain was beyond his ability to tolerate. He could go no lower . He must climb back up to relieve the pressure . Up, . . . up he climbed, . . . blindly up. Up, . . . up with tears blinding his eyes. Now death was toying with him for real . . . as he prayed. He was the best pilot in Preflight, but his skill couldn't save him. It was up to . . . God . If his fuel ran out before his sinuses unplugged, . . . he was dead . Time hung suspended, each second . . . an eternity as he nursed the plane upward, . . . ever upward, his heart pounding, . . . his head throbbing. Each beat of his pulse could be his last . . . if the engine stopped.
Then at ten-thousand feet the sinus pressure relieved. He wiped his eyes and glanced at the wing. The gauge read EMPTY, but . . . he could see again. . . . Like a cat toying with a mouse, death was playing games. Now he must go down, gravity was pulling him down. Should his sinuses plug again, the grim Greayer Enemies in Love Page 154 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
reaper would have the last laugh. Cutting the engine, he lowered the flaps, and began a slow glide--just on the threshold of a stall. He was on the edge, . . . on the brink, but . . . there was no thrill, . . . only terror . He held his breath as down, down he fluttered. At one-thousand feet, the engine conked-out, but he was alive, his sinuses were clear, and he was over his own airfield. Raising the flaps and checking the area below, he did another split-ess and managed a perfect three-point landing next to the tee. When his plane rolled to a stop, he was in the center of the airfield. Cary felt triumphant, as he climbed down out of the cockpit.
As he slid down the wing, . . . his heart sank. A jeep was pulling alongside and two MPs greeted him. That was when Cary discovered why . . .there was a prison in Paradise. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 155 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 18
Natalie's pregnant!
Saturday, 15 May, . . . another gorgeous day. Cary gazed out the barrack’s window. Should’ve gone to town with my buddies, but after a day in jail--well; it was a close call. Nearly kissed my pilot’s wings -goodbye. Thank God my instructor saved my ass. That really would have put the kibosh on my hopes of marrying Catherine. Opening his footlocker, Cary saw Catherine's letter laying on top. Don’t need to open it. Every word is seared in my brain. The whole thing is too finely reasoned. She never mentioned love. You would think we were just pals; no one had ever mentioned marriage. Frankly, I was terrified that she might say yes. Wow! Wouldn’t that have been a fiasco. Couldn't afford to get married on seventy-five dollars a month. Guess she knew that, . . . after all, I balked when she proposed it before I Enlisted. She figures every angle. Should be a lawyer. Only wanted her to admit she loved me , but even that was too much for her. She has signed every one of her one-hundred-and-fifty letters Loads of Love Catherine , but when I ask her to marry me she only wonders if she wants to go to Texas or not. But, of course, I’m the pot. She knew I was proposing that she come to Texas and go to work ; how else were we going to live? At least she was gracious enough not to point that out. But I don't want that either. I wanted her to believe I loved her and not just treat it as idle chatter. By asking her to marry me, she had to take it seriously, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything that sounded like a commitment. She acted like I was asking her to come to Texas to play tiddley winks . I’d climbed out on a limb, and she used an axe to cut it off. She’s back there, hanging onto the tree-trunk for dear life. Catherine didn't kick me in the teeth, she kicked me in the balls ! Cary rubbed his eyes. Said our friendship was platonic. Platonic !! She loves me more than she knows; think of all the passion she has when we fight! The thing I loved about her was her logic, but now I hate that logic. Why isn't she empty headed like most girls? Catherine shows all her brains. Now she has brains honed by a college education. What a challenge to marry such a woman. I have brains trapped within the limits of a highschool education. Could she who sought a college education so ardently marry a highschool graduate? Probably not. That’s one of the other problems she alluded to in her letter. Oh God, how do I stop this agonizing. Wish I could drive a nail through my head and erase all memory of her. Suddenly there was the harsh ring of a telephone. Alone in the barracks, Cary casually walked Greayer Enemies in Love Page 156 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] to the lobby and picking up the phone on the sixth-or-seventh ring, he said, "Hello." A man's voice said, "Hello." . . . After a pause the voice said, "I would like to speak to Cadet Grant please." Cary was baffled. Who the hell is this? Don’t know any guys in Texas. He said, "This is Cadet Grant." After a pause the voice said, "This is Mr. Barker, ‘ Natalie's father’ ." Cary's heart leaped to his throat. Natalie's father! We’ve hardly said two words to one-another. What the hell does he want with me? Steadying his voice and assuming a businesslike tone, he said, "Yes Mr. Barker." "Natalie's pregnant.” The words, Natalie's pregnant! resound in Cary’s brain . Cary had to muster every iota of will he possessed to control his panic. He had never even kissed the girl. Is he trying to . . . ? With the tom-tom beat of his heart echoing in his ears, he said, "I'm sorry to hear that Mr. Barker. How can I help you?" "Are you trying to profess innocence young man?" "Mr. Barker, I’m sorry to hear of Natalie's condition, but I am in no way responsible." "We’ll see about that young man. Natalie and I will be down tomorrow on the noon train. You’d better decide what you are going to do about it." Frantic Cary said, "Mr. Barker, you have the wrong Cadet. Natalie and I have been nothing but friends. Your wife always chaperoned us; we’ve never even been alone together.” Trying desperately to quell his panic and sound indignant, he said, “You may not know it, Sir, but my sense of honor does not allow me to take advantage of a fifteen-year-old girl." "If that is your attitude young-man, perhaps your commanding officer will have something to say!" Mr. Barker hung up. Cary ripped the wall-mounted phone from its mooring and hurled it across the lobby, shattering it against the opposite wall. I’m sunk. People always assume the guy is guilty. There’s no way to Greayer Enemies in Love Page 157 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] prove it’s not my baby. Only that fellow, Edwin, in highschool, with a penis the size of my pinky finger could prove it wasn’t his, . . . not someone with my dong . . . I'll wash out of Cadets and have to marry this Texas hillbilly. What an end to my dreams of marrying Catherine. If Mr. Barker only knew--I came closer to getting his wife, Carol pregnant than Natalie. Not even Sam would believe me. Sam! Forgot Sam was Officer - of - the - Day. Cary charged out of the barracks toward the Orderly Room in such a state that he was completely unaware of his surroundings until one of the few officers on the base brought him up sharply. Cary snapped into a military brace. “Yes Sir.” Cary just listened as the officer lectured him. Jesus Christ, now this chicken-shit lieutenant will give me a chewing-out just because I forgot to march and make military corners at every turn. “Yes Sir.” Lay it on me, you tight-assed little prick. Does it make you feel like a man ? “Yes Sir.” I should smash my fist in your smug little face and end my military career in front of a firing squad . “No Sir.” Good, he’s finally winding down. Come on, give me the whole spiel so you can go back to your quarters and jerk off. “Yes Sir.” That seemed like the climax. Probably came in his pants . “YES SIR!” Cary gave a smart salute and marched off in the proper military fashion. When Cary entered the OD's office, Sam appeared to be dozing in his swivel chair with his feet resting atop his olive-drab desk and the visor of his hat covering his eyes. Cary paced like a caged tiger, with perspiration running down his face, his heels clicking against the linoleum floor, in his anguish to begin telling the story. Removing his feet from the desk, Sam sat there looking cool and officious with a slight smirk on his face. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and never spoke as Cary unburdened himself. Cary rambled on in his tormented state until he finished his tail of woe. “I swear Sam, I never touched Natalie except for a brotherly kiss on the cheek.” At this point Sam gave Cary a doubtful look, . . . but there was something in his manner that didn't quite come off. . . . Cary yelled, “ You Bastard! ” Cary dove at Sam, and wrestled him to the floor. Sam's sides were splitting with laughter while they rolled about on the floor, overturning chairs and wastebaskets. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 158 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
"I was so bored, just sitting here, I decided to gab with you to kill some time. When you never recognized my voice, I improvised. I never dreamed you wouldn't catch on." Cary wanted to kill Sam, but he was so relieved he could have kissed him. "Oh yeah. You wouldn’t be so cool if someone called you up and falsely accused you of fathering a child. It happens you know.” Sam was still chuckling about his charade. “For me, it would have been the end. I could see myself married to this infant, and all thought of marrying Catherine was finished.” “I doubt it. You’ll never give up.” Cary continued to contemplate the consequences of the false accusation. “Or the other option didn't look too good either. If I refused to marry her, they would kick me out of Cadets and jail me for statutory rape.” Sam goaded him. “Or they might even lynch you. They don’t mess around in Texas.” “Yeah. Even if by some miracle I wasn’t convicted, . . . as a washed out Cadet what would I have to offer?" "Well, this is all academic, but you’d have plenty to offer. If that girl, Catherine, is as God-damned special as you seem to think, she’s not going to dump you if you fail to become a pilot.” “Maybe not, but she’d sure dump me if I was cashiered out for Raping a teenager.” Sam changed his tone. “Oh yeah, . . . guess she might. . . . I’m sorry Cary, it was an asinine prank. But back to reality. You're somewhat intelligent in spite of being a virgin, and a teetotaler. . . . You make more sense than any other person I ever met. You don't think you'd be my best friend if you didn't have a lot on the ball. Well maybe my friend Yale has you beat, but he's a fuck'n genius." "You're just buttering me up so I don't rip your balls off." "Probably. But, not many guys are willing to give up a trip to town to help out guys they don’t even know. Those classes you conducted nights and on week ends saved many a dumb bastard like me. You're my friggin’ idol. ” "Cut the B.S. I'm still going to have your ass.” "Better not feel like Catherine will dump you if you wash out. . . . Stranger things have happened, even though you're such a hot pilot.. . ." "Yes daddy, thanks for the pep talk. If I believed all your bullshit my head wouldn’t fit through the door." Still churning inside, Cary sat quietly for a few minutes debating whether he should tell Sam about a secret he had been keeping. If Sam only knew the whole story. "By the way Sam, there’s another reason that bogus phone call scared the piss out of me. Since I was dating sweet innocent Natalie, I was hesitant to tell you that Carol Barker was after me like a Beagle after a gopher." "You must be kidding. . . . she is some dish, . . . but she acts so proper, and a Sunday school teacher and all, I never suspected she had hot pants . . .. You sure you're not misreading her behavior?" Greayer Enemies in Love Page 159 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Cary took a lawyerly tone. "I know I'm naive, so perhaps you who are so worldly-wise can help me in weighing the evidence.” Cary paused. “Perhaps you recall, she sat next to me that first day when we were at the picnic table." "Why not? She had to sit somewhere. She was on your left, across the table from me. I remember because I kept staring at those luscious boobs. Her nipples were making a couple of extra polka dots on that polka dot dress." "Her nipples may have been staring at you, but, her hand was on my knee. Could that have been an accident?" Worldly-wise Sam seemed reluctant to jump to conclusions. "She was jumping around a lot, . . . as hostess. I suppose, her hand could have touched your knee by accident, but I admit it would have raised some doubts in my mind." "It raised more than doubts, and not just in my mind. When her hand slid all the way up my thigh, I lost all interest in my sandwich." "I don't believe you. Was Mr. Barker there while this was going on?" "I wasn't taking roll-call, but I know he wasn't there when she took my hand and ran it up under her skirt, all the way to home base. She had no panties on. All-the-while she was talking a blue streak to you guys on the other side of the table. She hid her climax with a delirious scream of laughter." Sam sat there dumbfounded. "I'm going to have to take my antennae in for repair. I usually pick up, I mean, prick up on stuff like that. She is one cool cookie." While Sam was digesting what he had just told him, Cary decided to tell him the rest of the story. "That's not the half of it. A couple of weeks later, when we took Natalie back from a dance, I had to go inside for a pee. You remember that bathroom off the hall? Turned out it connected to the master bedroom. and I failed to lock the bedroom door." "Don't tell me Carol came in." "I was washing my hands when in she popped. She locked the door, dropped her robe, and stood there nude just long enough to grab my attention.” “Whoa Nellie!” “I dashed out through the hall door , like a bat out of hell and didn’t stop running until I was back at the base.” "I can see why you nearly shit when I said I was Mr. Barker." "After that she was after me more than ever, and she was aggressive about it. I was sure Mr. Barker noticed. He always looked at me kinda funny.” Sam sat there, mouth agape. Getting up from his chair, he said, "How did I miss all that?" Sam straightened his spine, grasped the lapels of his jacket and began pacing the floor like Dostoevski's ‘Grand Inquisitor’. “I'll have to take what you’ve reported under advisement Mr. Grant. You claim Sir, you were raped. May I inquire how you resisted the party of the first part, Mrs. Barker, when she attacked you?" Raped?? I never said that! Cary decided to play along with Sam’s charade and dropped right into his role. “Ah, well, your Honor, I do recall trying to ward her off. Yes, I definitely recall putting up a fight.” “Describe how you did that, Sir.” “I believe I grabbed her breasts with both my hands . . . and if I'm not mistaken, I started gnawing Greayer Enemies in Love Page 160 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] on the left one. . . . That only seemed to increase her frenzy so I attacked the right one. Nothing seemed to stop her. I was really doing my best, your Honor." "H'm. . . . And after you started gnawing--did your hands remain on her breasts?" "Let me see. You must understand, your Honor, it is difficult to remember every detail. I was in a frantic state of mind.” “Do your best Mr. Grant.” “If I remember rightly, when I started gnawing on the right breast, I believe my left hand did drop down to nether regions." "Nether regions you say?. . . Hmm . . . nether regions. Did you explore said 'nether regions' and could you describe your findings? . . . In detail . . . Mr. Grant." "Yes sir. I recall two soft hills with a valley between. The hills were free of vegetation, but the valley had some dense undergrowth that was difficult to get through. It was a struggle, your Honor, without a machete, but I finally managed and discovered a soft, moist region in the center." "And did you, Mr. Grant, explore said 'moist region' to learn its boundaries, and/or depth?" "Yes your Honor, the boundaries were fairly well defined with a little ridge all round, but when I probed I couldn't find the bottom, your Honor. That is when I decided to try a different probe." "And all these efforts to repel your attacker failed?" "Failed miserably, your Honor. She grabbed my probe and drove it into said moist region as though she were trying to find the bottom too. Each time I pushed her away she tried to drive it deeper. It was horrible, your Honor. I was in such pain, I began to groan. My body went into a spasm, your Honor." "What did she do then?" "She went into a frenzy of indecision. Kept pushing away and changing her mind so rapidly, she must have hurt herself. She let out a muffled scream and went into a fit of shuddering and moaning. It was awful. Feeling sorry for her, I held her tight to suppress her spasms. . . . Did I do right your Honor?" "You showed admirable compassion toward your attacker. I believe that besides being the top marksman, top athlete, and top scholar at San Antonio, you are in the running for top cocksman as well." "Top coxswain. Oh goody. Am I qualified to steer the Oxford crew?" "The only thing top cocksman qualifies you for is Pope. I'll submit your application to the College of Cardinals immediately." Cary and Sam were lying on the floor laughing so hard that tears were flowing freely. Each time they attempted to rise and gain their composure, they looked at one-another and split their sides with laughter. Cary didn’t think of Catherine for the rest of the day. He and Sam spent the afternoon in general B.S.
All his description about having sex with Mrs Barker came from his imagination after listening to his more experienced Army buddies describe sex, but though these events never happened and poor Natalie was completely innocent, Cary dropped her from his list of correspondents. He thought about being married to Natalie and banging his mother-in-law on the side. Just one big happy family. Anyway, by the time Natalie attained her full growth . . . he would need a ladder to post a letter. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 161 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 19
Onward and Upward.
Monday 17 May 1943. The word was out. Both the list of Cadets bound for Basic training, and the list of washouts were posted. One hundred and eighty-five Cadets converged on the Orderly Room. It was amazing no ribs were broken in the crush of Cadets trying to glimpse the bulletin board. Trapped up front, Cary stayed put and shouted out the names. Sam never showed. Somehow he already knew he was on the washout list. Worried about Sam’s mental state, Cary hurried over to his barracks. "Anyone seen Sam?" "Yo," Chuck answered from the rear of the barracks. "Went to town to get drunk. Said he'd give you a call when he’s really pissed." "Was he alone?" "Said he didn’t need another suicidal-washout to hold his hand, . . . Borrowed five bucks. Said he needed to get laid.” “Five bucks! That won’t get him very far. I'll go in and take a look." "Suit yourself. Doubt you'll find him.” “Oh, I’ll find him. No place to hide in Vernon. His Class B pass limits him to a twelve-mile radius from the base. He’ll get picked up by an MP, if he strays anywhere else.” “Wise up Cary. Drunks are cunning devils. Everyone is required to be on the base between 0100 hours and 0600 hours, but Sam’s been out all night several times. Hard to pick a guy up if he’s holed up with a broad, somewhere.” Chuck made some valid points but Cary went into town anyhow. He spent a couple of hours searching the bars, but never located Sam. When Cary returned to the base he swung by Sam’s barracks, just in case. No luck.
Next day, Tuesday, Cary widened his search. He dropped in at the local jail and chatted casually with the desk Sergeant. Cary tramped every street in Vernon and searched every Holy sanctuary in town, looking in every pew for someone sleeping on, . . . or under a bench. Wednesday, Cary walked the banks of the Pease, Paradise, Wildcat, and Boggy Creeks. When he returned that night, Chuck said, “Sam just called. Been calling your barracks all day. Wanted to know where the hell you’ve been.” Cary looked at Chuck in disbelief. He raved, “Where the hell I’ve been!” Chuck held up both hands, palms forward. “Hold on shithead, I’m just the messenger. He’s holed up with some whore in that small hotel on Commerce Street. Room 205.” Chuck laughed. “He’s run out Greayer Enemies in Love Page 162 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] of money. Says he’s in love.” Leave it to Sam. In four days he had fallen in love with a Catholic prostitute, and she with him. She had to be in love. Everything was on the house, . . . so to speak. Thursday morning. Cary hitched a ride to town and knocked on Sam's door. "Come in you Bastard." Entering, Cary saw Sam lying atop the bed with a shit-eating grin on his face. Dressed in olive-drab boxer shorts and a matching undershirt, he was looking at an old issue of Look Magazine, with a picture of Jean Harlow on the cover. Cary exploded. He wanted to smash Sam’s smug grinning face. “You prick. You lousy shit-head. You fucking Bastard!” “Hold on old buddy. I . . . “ ”Yes, I, . . . I, . . . I. . . .. that’s all you fucking think about.” “But, you don’t know what I’ve been through.” “You couldn’t let me know you were alive . I’ve searched every inch of this county, looking for a body with its throat slit?” “And if it wasn’t for Bernice, that’s what you would have found .” “Bernice! Hooray for Bernice. Chuck told me you’d found some whore.” Sam flared. “Don’t call her that.” Checking his temper, he said, “Come on Cary, you’re not that kind of guy. Bernice saved my life. You’ve seen me drunk before. Usually get happy, but not this time. Bernice picked me up in the bar and gave me some real sympathy. Thought she was an angel down from heaven dispensing aid to the walking dead. I swear there was no sex." Cary glowered at Sam. “And where is this angel of mercy?” "Had to run her six-year-old son to Parochial school. Won’t be back for two hours." Calming down a tad, Cary said, "You look better than I expected." "Should have seen me Monday. Bernice stayed all night. After that first night I was in love. First time that happened before sex. Never knew what she did for a living. " Flaring up again, Cary said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. By my count, this is the sixth Catholic you’ve fallen for. Why do you do that?" Sam shrugged. "Must want them to forgive the Jews for crucifying their savior." Cary waved his arms. "You stupid asshole. Right now Christians are doing their damndest to eradicate the Jews.” "So what’s different. Jews are history’s most persecuted people, but somehow I feel guilty.” “Don’t kid yourself. Jews don’t have a monopoly. Persecution has been going on since Adam and Eve. It’s man’s main occupation once they discovered religion.” Cary paused for breath. “My mother's grandparents fled Madeira in 1846 because the Catholic majority were killing off the Protestant infidels.” Cary hesitated a moment. “At about the same time, my English ancestors were persecuting the Irish because they were Catholic. In both cases the ‘righteous’ persecutors knew what they were after, . . . they stole the land of the fleeing refugees at rock bottom prices." "What's your point, Cary?" “Feeling guilty for the crimes of your ancestors is for suckers. Chances are, it’s been done to them.” Sam reflected for a moment. “Guess that’s what we’re doing now. Settling old scores, I mean.” “Same old story. Now we’re being brain washed to hate Japs and Krauts. Last night I saw Greayer Enemies in Love Page 163 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Hollywood’s latest propaganda film, ‘China’, starring Loretta Young, Alan Ladd, and William Bendix. You never saw such drivel.” “Same old plot.” “The usual. Enemies are uncivilized beasts and we’re God’s chosen people. Alan Ladd surprises a group of Japanese soldiers with a young Chinese girl. The Japs put up their hands to surrender, and he machine guns the lot, saying, ‘I felt less killing those Japs than if I’d swatted a fly.’ After that he and William Bendix look grim, shove cigarettes in their faces and strike matches on their britches.” Sam laughed. “Tried that once. Never could get the match to light. No sense smoking if I couldn’t do that. . . . What dastardly crime had the Japs committed?” “That’s left to our imagination. The girl was fully clothed and they had their uniforms on with all buttons, buttoned. Even had their hats on. The only first aid Loretta Young administered to the young girl was to bathe her face with cold water. This failed to save her and she died with a rapturous smile on her face as Loretta read her the Lords prayer.” “Oh goody. So she accepted Jesus as her savior and went straight to heaven.” “What else. Our propaganda implies that all our enemies are sub-human and that no American soldier would ever dream of violating a young girl .” “Unless, of course, she was a Jap . Using derisive terms helps turn them into sub-human savages. Torturing and eradicating heathens is obviously God’s work so you can rape or kill them without compunction.” “You got it. Vengeance is mine sayest the Lord. God always exacts his pound of flesh, like what's- his-name in the Merchant of Venice." Sam threw the magazine at Cary in mock anger. "You should have used a different example. Your what's-his-name was Shylock, and he was a Jew." Cary ducked the magazine and said, "So, that makes me a secret Jew hater?" "If you buy all that psychological crap." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 164 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] After a pause Cary said, "Seriously, I don't believe I have a Jew-hater bone in my body, but who knows, Sam? Some of my emotional reactions are contrary to my beliefs. The automatic responses are still there. Can't eliminate words like whore or tramp from entering my mind if an unmarried couple live together, yet no adverse thoughts crop up about the man ." "Know what you mean. Certain cultures fear loss of identity and indoctrinate their children to marry within the tribe. Used to see red if I saw a Goy with an attractive Jewish maiden. With practice, you can overcome your early training." “Hope so. One thing that doesn't bother me enough is ethnic humor. Some of it is damn funny, and I don't feel guilty when I laugh." "Love a good Jewish joke but the key to my laughter is the guy telling it. If the comedian is Jewish, I always laugh louder than if some Gentile tells it. If some Nazi prick tells it, I'm ready to kill."
Early on Friday morning, 21 May, Sam and the other washouts were whisked away to a relocation center. That evening the Mess Hall was gaily decorated with colored streamers for the Graduation Dinner. Till now, fraternization between Cadets and their instructors was forbidden by the Military caste system. Tonight, each instructor sat at a table with his graduating students and for the first time the Cadets had a chance to get to know him. Before the festivities began there was a moment of silence in memory of George A. Bearshear, an instructor, who had died on 6 April in the second week of training. Bearshear steadied the plane long enough for his student to bail out. By the time the student cleared the ship, it was too low for Bearshear’s chute to open. (He was one of the 15,330 men who died in flight training accidents during WWII.) Cary quickly took the proper reverent position with bowed head. Poor bastard. Wound up a dead hero. Probably a victim of his automatic responses. Some of us are pre-wired to flee in an emergency and others just act without thinking, like that time in Spotswood when I went over the top of the falls to save a cat. I’m no hero, just pre-wired to do stupid things. At least Bearshear died saving a life. If I die, it will be while taking lives.
Ed, their instructor, didn’t arrive until after the benediction was over. He had spent an hour in the bar before dinner and arrived at the table already well lubricated. Shortly, Ed began to babble about his boys. "You're all my boys. I keep track of my boys. My boys write me and tell me what they’re doing, even the ones that washed out.” Gesturing with his hand he knocked over a glass of water, drenching the tablecloth. After moping things up with his napkin he said, “Where was I? Oh, yeah, I want to know what happens to you. You’re all good pilots and I want you to promise to write and keep me posted." He made each of them promise. He was very drunk. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 165 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Ed babbled on about how he envied them. "Tried to enlist, eight years ago, but my poor eyesight kept me out. Had to settle for civilian instructor." He said Civilian-instructor as though it was a dirty word. Still bitching, he said, "It's rough. We work for the army but our uniforms aren’t regulation. If I wear my uniform, the regular army instructors make snide remarks like feather-merchant.” Cadet Fischer said, "But, without civilian instructors there would be no pilot training program.” (Everyone thought, Brown-noser .) "Who are you? Oh yes, Fischer. Glad you said that Fischer. And if I wear civilian clothes, some woman with a son in North Africa accuses me of ducking my duty to my country. Both civilians and the military believe we're avoiding combat." This reminded Cary of Babsie’s claim that women shamed men into volunteering. Guess Babsie was right. Still glowing from his previous comment, Cadet Fischer said, “Military instructors are in no more danger than civilian instructors. Wearing a uniform doesn't put them in jeopardy." Cadet Murray had just learned a new word and decided to use it. “Far from putting them in jeopardy, Sir, the uniform shields them from both civilian and military hostility.” He grinned at the rest of the Cadets. Deciding he could brown-nose with the best of them, Cary said, "There are nearly sixteen million men in the service, and only about one million will see combat. All the other guys (auto mechanics, instructors, clerks. etc) are as safe as babies in his mother’s arms." Ed beamed. This discussion fitted in with one of his pet peeves. "Right Grant. Most of the cowards I know are in the military.” Not to be outdone, Cadet Murphy said, “Civilians don’t know if a man in uniform is a combat veteran or a desk jockey.” Ed countered, “Don’t get me wrong, not everyone in a safe job is a coward, but many are. The military is the best place for them to hide . The more a man struts and blows his horn, the more likely you're looking at a coward." Cary decided to throw in a little of Babsie philosophy. “Men can’t win for losing. We’re taught by our momma to cherish and protect women. Then, without a woman’s sensitivity, we’re accused of being brutes.” Fischer said. “I was raised to feel it was shameful if my wife went outside the home to work to support the family, but now my girlfriend accuses me of wanting to prevent her from reaching her full potential.” Really feeling sorry for himself, Ed told again how he tried to throw the whole thing up and enlist as a private. He knew his job was important but it was hard to take the abuse. Mixed in with Ed’s self pity were many congratulations on their flying ability. It was a mutual admiration fete. When the party was over, all the Cadets felt he was a great guy, he was tops. Cary loved the guy because he made them feel so wonderful.
The next night, Saturday, they had a graduation dance. Cary had been subdued since Catherine’s letter a week ago, but Ed’s glowing praise had buoyed his spirits. Deciding to attend at the last minute, . . . he went ‘stag’. There were plenty of girls and Cary was a popular dance partner. Early in the evening, two of his buddies got crocked and had to be put to bed by the not-so-crocked. A couple of the crocked Greayer Enemies in Love Page 166 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cadets had brought Mary and Lisa to the dance. The girls had no transportation so two teetotalers, Ralph Hertz and Cary volunteered to take them home. (Being teetotalers had its compensations.) On the cab ride to town the girl’s affections quickly transferred and things got a little warm. They decided to stop off at a soda store, in Vernon, for pie and ice cream. As they finished their desert, Cary, . . . still glowing from his recent triumphs, uncharacteristically said, “Ralph, why don’t you run out front and hail a cab while I settle up here?” (Picking up the tab was not one of Cary’s habits.) As he laid his 10-percent tip on the table a sleight shudder traversed Cary’s body. (He remembered his first big date with Catherine. When the waiter presented the tab for $4.95, Cary removed his wallet from his pocket, and as he had seen so many times in the movies, he placed a fiver on the waiters tray with a flourish, saying, . . . in his best imitation of Don Ameche, . . . “Keep the change.” The scorn in the waiter’s ‘thanks a lot, Sir’, as he accepted Cary’s five cent tip, has given Cary nightmares to this day. Just as Ralph left, Cary's instructor, Ed, walked in with his girlfriend, Alice. Usually Ed was very reserved, but tonight he was happily soused and in an expansive mood. Spotting Cary and the two girls, he yelled, "Cary, my boy, what are you doing here?" (He had never called him ‘Cary’ before, it was always ‘Grant’.) "Well never mind, come and sit. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Not to worry, I’ll get you back on time. Just say the word. I’ll take your young ladies home too." Cary said, "Ralph went out front to hail a cab. Shall I get him?" "Who’s Ralph? Oh, your other lady’s date.” He put his arm around Cary and mumbled, “Thought you were spreading yourself a little thin.” (The odor of bourbon on Ed’s breath nearly decked Cary.) Then he said, “Sure, let’s all go and find Ralph. We’ll go up to my apartment for a drink." (Ed didn’t need any more drinks but Cary wasn’t about to tell him.) The two cadets sat in back with Mary and Lisa on their laps, while Ed drove, weaving back and Greayer Enemies in Love Page 167 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] forth from curb to curb. (Cary’s heart was in his mouth) Ed kept raving, "Cary's my boy; he's my boy," again and again. Ralph leaned over and whispered to Cary, “Boy, is your instructor schnockered.” Cary whispered back, “You’re just jealous.”
Ed’s apartment looked like a storage shed with clothes, furniture, tools, and other paraphernalia dumped inside. Ed said, “Toss that stuff on the floor and have a seat.” Alice made the drinks while Ed rummaged around looking for his album. Finally spotting the book, he said, “Ah, there it is.” He reached behind the cushion Cary and Mary were leaning on and extracted a ring binder, with pages falling out. Alice served the drinks and nuts while Ed assembled his album. (Cary and Ralph, . . . the teetotalers, had to fake it but no one noticed they weren't drinking.) Ed showed pictures of all his former students, identified each Cadet, and told which had washed out and which were his best pupils. "They’re all my boys, but these are my team. Grant is the master, he’s the best." Cary sat reveling in all the praise. Ed patted Cary on the head and said, "This is my boy.” Nearly falling down, Ed steadied himself by grasping Cary’s shoulders. Looking Cary in the eyes, he said, “ There’s only one thing you can’t do, Grant. If I cut the throttle and say forced landing, you stick the nose down and the airspeed goes up to 120 mph! Your glides are awful! I tried to break you of it, but I know you can teach yourself. It will come with practice, . . . just don't forget." "How about Basic?" "Don't worry about Basic. You can handle the BT-13 and the AT- 6 too. You can do it. Just stay on-the-ball and keep from thinking you're a hot-rock, because you're not. You're tops for this stage, but you have a lot to learn. Don't get cocky because of what I said, will you? . . . No, I know you won't." Cary had never experienced such a high. By the time he and Ralph got back to the base, he could hardly get his head out of the car. Ed took the girls home after he dropped the boys off. (Alice drove.) On Sunday, Ralph and Cary rented a car and took Mary and Lisa for a drive. By acting chivalrously, they managed to displace their drunken buddies in the girlfriends’ lottery. Mary fairly gushed as she related Ed’s continuing saga. “He said, 'Any girl that lands Grant is a lucky girl indeed.” Cary blushed. “You’re making this up. He didn’t really say that.” Hanging onto Cary's arm and gazing starry-eyed into his eyes, Mary said, “No, it’s true, isn’t it Lisa? Tell him what else Ed said.” Lisa disengaged herself from Ralph’s arm. “Cross my heart, this is exactly what he said.” With all the sincerity she could muster, she tried to assume Ed’s voice. “‘She’ll be lucky, not because he’ll be an Ace , but because . . . Grant is a man .' So help me God, that’s what he said." That really floored Cary. Despite his efforts to dismiss Ed’s praise as the babbling of a drunk he couldn't help glowing (and blushing). He was a man . Cary felt ten-feet tall, invincible, like God. Perhaps his father’s pride was finally justified.
That night Cary lifted Catharine’s picture from the shelf next his bed and gazed into her eyes. I’ll be worthy yet, darling. Once I have my wings , you’ll marry me; I guarantee it. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 168 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 20
Icarus
Cary arrived at Air Force Station 152, APO 559, in Enid Oklahoma. Wearily, he climbed the barracks stairs to the second story, dropped his gear on his bunk, made his bed, and unpacked Catherine’s highschool photograph with the words, ‘Loads of Love, Catherine’, inscribed just below. Gazing at her smiling face and looking round carefully, to make sure he was alone, he kissed the picture, and said, “It won’t be long, darling, before I’ll be able to do that in person.” Lying on his bunk, he set the framed picture on a shelf at eye level so it would be the last thing he would see as he drifted off to sleep. Cary heard footsteps and jumped up. Oh, oh, here come my twin plagues. Otto Keller and Silas Lurch, . . . the only two guys left of the group who were with me at Camp Upton. Silas and Otto were two plow jockeys and had a distinctive lurch that came from striding from one furrow to the next. Before Cary could stop him Silas picked up Catherine’s picture and giving Otto a wink and sideways glance, Silas exclaimed, “Hey, some dish.” Snatching the photo from Silas, Cary said scornfully, “She’s not a dish.” Otto said, “Give him a break, Cary. He meant it as a compliment.” Cary shrugged. “I’m overly sensitive where Catherine is concerned.” “Didn’t know you had someone special.” Otto said. “Figured you for a stud with all the girls you write.” “They’re just friends.” Replacing the photo on the shelf, Cary said, “What do you guys want now?” Silas held up his hands. “Hey, we can take a hint. So it’s none of our business. Come on Otto, we’d better scram. Don’t want to rile Cary.”
They spent the first day in orientation and it was noon of the second day before Cary could think about writing letters. Since her iffy reply to his proposal, Cary had suspended all letter writing, but success was a heady tonic. He could hear his flight instructor’s voice proclaiming, “He’s my boy, Cary’s my boy.” Just seven months since that train ride to Camp Upton, and here he was in Basic-training with a record unequaled by any Cadet. His triumphs in Preflight and Primary had him in a euphoric state of mind. He could see the mountaintop. Surely he could think of a fitting response to her letter. Cary placed Catherine’s picture on the corner of the desk by the window. While weighing the problem, Cary began catching up with other mail. Using his assembly-line technique, he worked on several letters at once, copying appropriate newsy passages from one letter to Greayer Enemies in Love Page 169 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] another. Several completed letters were addressed and stamped, on the corner of the desk next to Catherine’s picture. While working on letters to Marilyn and Jeanette, (two sisters of his army mates, whom he had never met) he gazed out the window, thinking about his letter to Catherine. Another gorgeous day like the day I proposed. How should I respond to her letter? Frankly, I'm relieved she won't be my wife just now. Her arguments are more realistic than my romantic proposal. I only wanted to declare my intent to marry her, . . . I've managed that, but now she expects a follow-up letter to pursue my original proposal. Can I write a letter accepting her position of ‘wait-and-see’, without looking like my ardor has cooled? Still pondering the problem, Cary laid Marilyn and Jeanette’s letters aside and prepared to write Catherine. Can we become engaged without a specific date? She wants more than her mother had, and I don’t blame her. Like Babsie says, a woman’s whole economic future depends on the ‘man she marries’. Catherine would think of that no matter how her hormones were raging. Thinking of his approach, he picked up an envelope and addressed it to Catherine. He placed the envelope on the corner with his two unfinished letters He picked up a clipping from the local newspaper that his sister had sent him and noticed that the reporter had placed him in ‘Texas’ instead of ‘Oklahoma’, where the airbase was actually located. Still upset about her failure to declare her love, he began his letter in an angry mood.
Enid Oklahoma Sunday, 23 May 1943 Catherine, I received your reply to my proposal over a week ago. It was not your usual wham, bam, right in the kisser type response but rather an equivocation. You raised valid points about your family duties and your desire to finish your schooling, but I’m having difficulty with your plea not to consider it a NO, for I’ve looked in vain for any hope of an eventual yes. When I asked you to come to Texas to marry me, I never dreamed the trip would be the main attraction. Sadly, your wording left me with that impression. Frankly, my proposal was an effort to declare my love in a way that you would believe. I also hoped to affirm that you loved me. I seem to have accomplished my first objective but, if you love me I fear I have not discovered it. Instead, your salutation made me feel I had discovered the reverse. Of the hundred and fifty-odd letters you have written, this is the only letter that did not close with Loads of love Catherine . You did manage a Dear at the outset, but if the word love appears anywhere in your letter, I’m afraid I missed it. Perhaps my proposal scared the love right out of you. All your finely reasoned objections would have been valid had you confessed love for me. That omission makes me dubious about your maybe , for a maybe is the most positive interpretation I can find. In my more cynical moments I can only see HELL NO. But, if I have misconstrued your intent, I am most anxious to discover it. I began this letter trying to find hope. Instead, . . . .
"Everybody outside on the double." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 170 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Suddenly , a loud shout interrupted him. Cary left his letters where they lay as he and thirty cadets formed a double line out front. A Staff Sargent assumed command. "Attention! Left Hace, Forward Harch, left, left, left, double time, harch. One, two -- one, two - one, two - . . . " As they double-timed down the street, Cary was thinking of his letter to Catherine. I’ve made a bad start. Too hostile. Can’t beat her up and expect to win her over. Forget your bruised ego, you want to marry the girl, for Christ sake. Show a little understanding for her dilemma. . . . You refused her ultimatum last time . . . how does she know you love her? . . . (except he did just propose) As they passed the front of the hospital, Cary’s attention and the attention of the squad was abruptly commanded by two attractive nurses. Amid the whistles and wolf calls from the Cadets, the squad leader barked out "Quick time harch." As the squad changed pace, Cary missed a beat and stepped on the foot of the Cadet in front. He went down hard, hitting his head on the pavement.
When Cary awoke, he was lying on a bed, halfway down on the right side of a double row of beds, in a hospital ward. His head and ankle were bandaged, and his leg was elevated by a pulley and weight contraption. The guy on the next bed said, “Hi. . . . See you’re awake.” Cary rolled over on his side to take a look. The guy had a mop of red hair and an ear to ear grin. Cary took to him immediately. “Hi. Were you here when I came in?” “Yup. Came in on a Gurney. Thought they’d operated on you.” "Geez, not that I know of. Last thing I remember, I was jogging down the street.” The redhead said, “Half a dozen nurses and orderlies rigged you up. . . . The nurse at the end of the ward, can fill you in.” Cary called, “Nurse, can you tell me why I’m here and when I can get out?" The nurse strutted over, checked Cary's chart, and said, "You have a sleight concussion, and a severe ankle sprain. The Doctor will give you your . . . ‘prognosis’." ‘Prognosis’? Cary didn’t know what prognosis meant, so he said nothing. He wasn’t about to reveal his ignorance to the very attractive, young nurse. When the nurse retreated out of earshot, he turned to the guy on the next bed and asked, “What’s a prognosis?" He shrugged. "Beats me. By the way, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 171 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] my name is Joe, . . . Joe Ramsey, . . . what's your moniker?” “Cary.” “Got a last name?” Cary grimaced. . . . “Grant.” Joe put two fingers to his right eyebrow and gave Cary a mock salute. Changing the subject, Cary said, “What’s your problem?" “Appendix. They cut it out two weeks ago.” “Yips. Bet that smarts.” “Not bad. Worst part, I washed back to 43i. Had to postpone my wedding. No new date yet." “Wish that was my problem. When I asked my girlfriend to marry me, she gave me a ‘maybe’. Says I have to get back home before she can give me a definite answer.” “Eileen did that. That’s just a stall. She’ll come round. They like to be coaxed.” Just then Cary heard the familiar footsteps of Otto and Silas. Cary thought their lurch went well with their moronic look. Something like Charles Laughton looked in the hunchback of Notre Dame, as Quasimodo. Quasimodo was deaf from the bells but Cary figured Otto and Silas were kicked in the head while milking a cow. Addressing Joe, Cary said, “Here come Tweedledee and Tweedledum, my twin plagues. Otto and Silas walked in. "How's it going, Cary? When you fell and hit your head, yesterday, me and Silas thought you were dead." "Heck-fire, . . . ! Have I been here overnight? Was supposed to meet my instructor today." “Oh yeah.” Silas said, "You’re stuck with the same chicken-shit Captain we have. Seems real loony. I'm terrified of the prick." Cary wasn’t listening. He had other things on his mind. “Hey guys, do me a favor. Had a bunch of letters on my desk, ready to send out. Would you collect them and bring them over?” Silas glanced at Otto, and winked. “We took care of everything.” Otto cut him short. "Knowing what a tight schedule you keep, me and Silas mailed your letters last night." Cary was aghast. "What about my unfinished letters? What did you do with those?" "About ten were addressed and stamped," Silas said. "You had another envelope already addressed, so we put your loose pages in that. You owe me three cents for the stamp." "You mean you put all the loose pages on my desk in the envelope I addressed to Catherine?" Otto said innocently, "Why? Did we do something wrong?" "You idiots took letters I had written to three girls and posted them all to my girlfriend! You may as well have shot me." Otto said, "How could we know those pages were three letters?" "You could have looked! One letter said Dear Marilyn, one said Dear Jeanette, and the third said Dear Catherine. With the envelope addressed to Catherine, you might have figured it out." Silas acted indignant. “We never looked at them. We tried to respect your privacy, . . . like you asked us to.” Cary was speechless. He had no one to blame but himself. He’d as good as told them to but-out, and they had. Otto said, “Were those other letters love letters?" The ink isn't dry on my proposal and Catherine finds me writing letters to other girls. Do I Greayer Enemies in Love Page 172 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] say I was just keeping my options open? How would that fly? Doubt she'll cool off by the turn of the century . In sotto voice Cary mumbled something. Silas said, “What was that?” "Forget It, guys. Playing a dangerous game. Trouble is, last time I got burned, was with the same girl. She may be gun shy about now.” In a pleading voice Silas said, “Sorry we screwed up, Cary, we were only trying to help.” (Otto and Silas didn’t dare look at one-another. They’d fixed that bitch Catherine.) Sorry guys, forgot my manners. This is Joe, . . . Joe . . . Otto and Silas." After Silas and Otto left, Joe said, "Are those guys jerks or are they as stupid as they make out?"
"Yes to both questions.” “Seems fishy to me. Sounded like they may have it in for you.” “Nah. No way. I’m their savior. They wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me. I got them through Primary; they’ve no reason to queer me with my girlfriend. They don't even know her."
By the following week, Cary was antsy and anxious to get moving. He had already missed a week of ground school and three days of flight instruction. What is Catherine thinking? Can I salvage whatever remains of her trust? I need to get back there and undo the damage. "How long were you here before they washed you back, Joe?" "Same day as the operation. ” "How tough is ground school?" "You can do ground school standing on your head, but, that BT-13 is a real bear. You lose a week, and it's all over. Like wrestling a greased pig. Miss a week on that and you're behind the eightball." "You heard how I screwed up with my girlfriend. It’s been a rocky romance. I’ve got to go back and straighten things out." "Surely three months won’t make much difference." "You don’t know Catherine. Right now she wants to kill me. I’ve got to see her as soon as possible. I've already missed three days flying, and from what you say, I should get out today or forget it; I’ll wash back." "What I said is 'forget it.' You’d better wait until you're fit. Your ankle is killing you. No matter how hot a pilot you are, . . . that airplane takes both arms and both legs." Joe’s words of caution were drowned out by the echo of Cary’s Primary instructor’s raves. Cary’s ‘my boy’. Cary’s ‘my boy’. . . . He’s the best. “Thanks for the advice, but I hear the doc. coming. I'm going . . . if I can. Wish me luck." Joe mumbled, " Stubborn Bastard ." The doctor breezed in and said, "How are you this morning Mr. Grant?" "Great Sir. Raring to go. Let me out of here." "That would be a remarkable recovery. You’re sure you can walk on that ankle?" "Never better, Sir.” Cary sprang out of bed and walked up and down to prove that the ankle was sound. . . . "Not a twinge, Sir." (Actually, something was grinding inside Cary’s ankle. Hanging on the cross Greayer Enemies in Love Page 173 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] with a nail through his foot would be child's play next to the pain he was feeling.) The Doctor shook his head. "That swelling looks like it needs another week, but I'll release you if that is what you want. . . . I'll excuse you from gym and drill, which will help some. . . . Keep your ankle elevated as much as possible." "Thank you Sir." After the doctor was out of earshot, Joe passed judgment. “Hope you know what you’re doing.” “You and I will graduate together, I guarantee it.” Joe mumbled under his breath. " What a lunatic. . . . Must really love that girl .” Cary heard, and said, “Guilty.”
Cary's flight instructor, Captain Luger, was a five-foot-four, little Napoleon. Chicken-shit and more than a tad demented, he reminded Cary of a bantam cock with his feathers ruffled, ready for a fight. Without warning, he would grab the controls, kicked the rudder-pedals, and scream obscenities over the intercom; . . . a terrifying person to be in an airplane with. Cary wondered if he would live till graduation. The kicks on the pedals didn't help Cary's ankle, either.
Cary was sitting on his bunk wrapping his ankle when Joe walked in after his release from the hospital. Joe said, "Hey, hey, hey, looks like I have the bunk next to yours." "Hi Joe. Hope I don't regret getting discharged from the hospital." "You've been at it a week now. How are you doin’?” “The ankle is killing me, but that’s not the problem.” “Warned you that BT-13 was a bear to handle." "Not the problem either. It’s Captain Luger. I swear he's crazy." "Christ, you don't have Luger. Luger washes almost everyone, out. He has a hot piece-of-ass in town and wants to spend all his time screwing her.” "So that’s his problem. Tough keeping up when he credits me with twice as many hours as I’ve actually flown. Really only have three hours, but he has me down for six. " "That's the scuttlebutt I've heard. How do you handle the lunatic?" "Fly the plane and let him rave. I'm ready to solo, but Silas and Otto are nervous wrecks. Don’t think they’ll make it." "Forget about them. Can't hold their hands forever." “I’m their mentor. Since I got them this far, I feel responsible. Besides, they’re getting a raw deal. Even if they are jerks they don’t deserve to be shafted .”
Cary soloed on 20 May. He spent the next two weeks happily honing his skills, practicing takeoffs and landings and maneuvers. He forgot all about Silas and Otto until they showed up at his barracks on Sunday, 6 June. The three of them went outside. Sitting on the lawn, Otto's voice was unsteady as he said, "No way should Luger be an instructor. . . . Silas and I are washing out.” "You're getting a raw deal, but what can you do?" "Me and Otto would have a chance if we had a new instructor.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 174 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cary nodded “I agree. Who wouldn’t. The guy’s a lunatic.” “Is he padding your flight record too?” Silas said. “Charges me double time, but now that I’ve soloed I don’t need the bastard. I’m teaching myself.” “So you agree, Luger shouldn’t be an instructor?” Otto said. “Hey, it’s an imperfect world. I feel for you. Nothing you can do about it, though.” “They have a Review Board that hears appeals. We want to ask for a new instructor. Silas and I think we have a case. " "Gee, I didn’t know that. It will be your word against his, but hey, your goose is cooked anyhow, so what do you have to lose?" Otto and Silas looked at one-another. Otto said “We don't have a chance without you. You're not washing, . . . you’ve soloed, . . . so if you join our petition, they’d have to give us another instructor." Oh, oh. Now I’m in the soup. They want me to front for them. "Are you crazy? Why would they listen to me?" Silas said, "You're the top Preflight student here, man. You’re one of the best ever out of Primary; . . . your primary instructor told you that. He already has you pegged for fighters. You'll get the P-51 for sure." Oh, oh, me and my big mouth. “Who says?” Otto said, "You said. Your Primary instructor put a letter of commendation in your file." Silas said, "You know the shafting we've been getting. You can't let Luger get away with it. You owe it to other Cadets to get this guy busted." "Everything you say is true and I despise Luger, but you should do it on your own. I shouldn't get involved." Arguing that the review board would have to listen if they presented a unified front, Otto said, "Without you, we don't stand a chance." They began to beg. Tears ran down. They looked as pathetic as Quasimodo. They were weak candidates, to start with, but Cary felt sorry for them. It wasn’t fair that they should have the added handicap of someone like Luger. Already puffed up by his Primary successes, his instructors compliments, and feeling he had this BT-13 well under control, he was mentally agreeing with Silas and Otto’s contention that he was as good as graduated. Swallowing their flattery whole, Cary said, "OK. If you-guys want moral support, I’ll help you present your petition." They went down and filed the application.
When Cary got back, he told Joe. "You're crazy. You've cooked your goose now." "I'm not washing out; it’s their petition. I’m just a witness for these guys. " "Review Boards never find themselves guilty. Their whole function is to flush out the malcontents and destroy them." "Surely not? This is the United States Army Air Corps.” "You mean 'officers and gentlemen.’ Rather meet some thug in a back alley than one of those. Thugs only have muscle and perhaps a knife; these guys have brains.” “How can it hurt to help them out?” “Silas and Otto were no-threat. You're the threat. They’ll have to destroy you." “I don’t see how. There are three of us. They can't ignore that." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 175 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Three of you? Don’t count on it. Luger will get to Otto and Silas before the day is out. Back out of this petition while you have a chance.” “A man can’t renege on his word.” “Was nice knowing you. They'll cut you up and bury you. Won’t leave a trace.” * * * A week later, the three Cadets entered Colonel Maybury’s spacious office and stood at attention. The old soldier sat barricaded behind a massive walnut desk, insulated from lesser mortals. Colonel Maybury’s chest bore three tiers of ribbons, attesting to his martial past. Nicotine stains discolored the middle and forefinger of his right hand and his grey, wispy mustache. On the left wall were Colonel Maybury’s West Point diploma flanked by the American and Army Air Corps flags. Paradoxically, beneath Colonel Maybury’s display of crossed Civil War swords, on the far wall, were a chintz sofa and easy chair, complete with coffee table and hook rug. Crochet antimacassars adorned the backs and arms of the sofa and chair attesting to Colonel Maybury’s more recent conquests.. Looking imperiously at the three Cadets, Colonel Maybury waited for them to speak. Silas or Otto remained mute, looking at Cary to take the lead. With Otto and Silas playing dumb, Cary had to present their case. Once Cary outlined their petition Colonel Maybury said, "Mr. Keller, . . . Mr. Grant has outlined your complaints. Do you concur?" "I'm sorry Sir. I'm not sure what you mean." "Let me put it plainly. Are you petitioning for a change of instructor?" Otto drew himself up. . . . "No Sir." Cary’s heart sank. Joe was right, he was being betrayed. "I see. Mr. Lurch, are YOU petitioning for a change of instructor?" Silas shifted and leaned away from Cary. "No Sir." Cary realized his goose was cooked. Joe was right, their instructor had gone behind his back and bribed Otto and Silas to withdraw their petition. Colonel Maybury said,"Mr. Keller and Mr. Lurch, you two gentlemen may leave.” After Otto and Silas filed out, the Colonel said, "I would like to have a private word with Mr. Grant. Everyone else, please leave." The members of the board filed out, leaving Cary standing at attention in front of the Colonel. The Colonel ignored Cary, studying the papers on his desk. Finally rising, he slowly walked around the desk and stood in front of Cary. Glaring up with contempt into Cary's eyes, he paused and said, "I believe I see a piece of shit, . . . Mr. Grant?" Like Icarus, Cary had flown too close to the sun. He came plunging down in flames.
Cary staggered out of the review board in a daze and slumped in a corner of the hallway. Oblivious to the stares of Cadets coming and going, he gazed blankly at the opposite wall unable to grasp the magnitude of the calamity. Twenty-minutes ago he had entered, planning to help Otto and Silas with their brief for a new instructor and now he had unceremoniously washed out of Cadets. He’d just blown his last hope for Catherine . . . Greayer Enemies in Love Page 176 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 21
M/SGT Barnes
In the three weeks since they met, Joe and Cary had become close friends. Joe’s marriage plans were back on track and he had constantly urged Cary to write Catherine and straighten out the letter debacle before too much time elapsed, but, Cary wanted to wait for her response to see exactly what she was feeling. He didn’t want to over-react, and make matters worse. After all, she had realized the Mabel thing was an over reaction and had learned to laugh at it. Also, she had taken his enlistment in stride, so perhaps she had laughed at this mixup too. It was comic if you thought about it. The bits of letters to Marilyn and Jennifer were simple letters to friends. But Joe disagreed. Joe said their simple presence in the envelope would be such a shock, they would devastate her. She couldn’t assess their content rationally since the letters were incomplete. She could surmise whatever she liked for the unfinished part. That morning, before Cary left for the review board, Joe won the discussion. Cary said he would write Catherine the moment he got back from the hearing of Silas and Otto’s appeal. As the day wore on and Cary didn’t return, Joe began to worry. They usually hooked up in time for their evening meal. Joe finally left for chow without Cary. Cary was still missing upon his return, and Joe went looking for him. He found him slouched on the floor in a corner of the hallway, totally disoriented. Cary looked like a cadaver; Joe didn’t have to ask what had happened. Back at the barracks, Cary opened Joe’s footlocker and extracted a fifth of Scotch. Joe didn’t intervene. For the next few days Cary huddled in bed nursing the bottle, keeping his brain numb with alcohol. Being a non-drinker, it didn’t take much. Meanwhile, Joe looked after him and nosed around trying to find out what had happened. He learned that Luger had bought off Silas and Otto by promising they would graduate in exchange for their betrayal of Cary. Joe kept that a secret. After that, he knew the rest of the tragedy was predictable. Cary had graduated from Preflight at the top of a class of six-thousand cadets. He had qualified for Bombardier, Navigator, and Pilot training. Normally after washing out, he would have automatically had his choice of Bombardier or Navigator, but Joe wasn’t surprised when word came back within twenty-four hours that there were no openings . Cary was persona-non-grata. Within three days Cary was stripped of his cadet status and given the rank of private . The shock was too great for Cary’s system. He no longer needed alcohol. He just disappeared somewhere inside. Joe had to turn in Cary’s cadet uniform and insignia and pack his gear for the trip to the relocation center. Joe didn’t bother Cary with any of the packing details until he came to Catherine’s picture. Holding Greayer Enemies in Love Page 177 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] her picture in front of Cary, he said, “Where should I pack this, Cary?” After repeating the question several times, Cary finally focused his eyes and saw what Joe was holding before him. That brought Cary out of his trance, . . . at least briefly. Grabbing a box of matches off of a nearby table, he tossed it to Joe. “Burn it,” he said. “You can’t be serious, Cary.” Struggling to his feet, Cary opened his footlocker and handed Joe two shoe-boxes full of Catherine’s letters. “Burn these too.” “Cary, you’re not thinking rationally.” Cary gave Joe a withering look. “That life is dead. Burn it all.” “I won’t do it, Cary. I can’t.” Cary picked up the matches, the photo, and the letters, and marched into the latrine. Piling them into a sink, he set fire to the lot. He and Joe stood there until the last embers had turned to ash. Then Cary turned on the faucet and flushed the ash down the drain. Joe’s face was grim. Cary’s eyes were dry. “You shouldn’t have done that, Cary. You need Catherine now, more than ever.” “Of course I need her; I may die without her, but she doesn’t need me; I’m not worthy of her.” “What do you mean? She wouldn’t desert you because you washed out.” “Fortunately for her, she’ll never know. I finally got her reply.” Joe was shocked. “How? You haven’t been out of my sight for days.” “Charlie brought me Catherine’s letter after the Review Board washed me. I got a double- whammy.” “I don’t have to ask what she said. Your expression tells me. The marriage is off.” “Worse.” “What could be worse?” “Catherine has always been my best friend. Now she says she never wants to see me again. If I write she’ll burn my letters without opening them.” After a pause he said, “This is Christmas morning, Joe.” “What does that mean?” Cary, slumped on his bunk, said, “That’s when you stop believing in fairy tales .” Cary told Joe about Nip. “Nip was an old, blind dog of no use to anyone but me. He was my friend. I had to shoot him before we left Spotswood.” “Why?” “He had been shot in the face by a trigger-happy hunter and blinded when he was just a pup. I found him and nursed him back to health. His other senses got so keen he ran around as though he had eyes; chased every car down our street. Local drivers knew he was blind, so they kept a nice steady pace so he would be O.K.; but he wouldn’t last ten minutes in the city.” “Couldn’t you tie him up?” “Broke every chain we had. No one wanted an old, blind dog. Wouldn’t have been happy with a bunch of strangers, anyhow; I was the only one who loved him. Putting a bullet through his head was the kindest thing I could do for him. He died happy. Wish somebody would do that for me.”
Three days later, on 15 June 1943, they shipped Cary to Sheppard Field. At the precise moment that Cary stepped off the train in Wichita Falls, Texas, Catherine was standing on the podium at Queens College, receiving her BA. Catherine had reached her mountaintop, unaware that Cary lay crushed and Greayer Enemies in Love Page 178 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] grieving, in the bottom of a pit. His plan to gain his pilot’s wings and sweep her to the altar had ended in disaster. Sheppard Field, a city of dingy-white, clapboard barracks mired in a Sahara of red dust had earned its reputation as the asshole of creation. Swarms of men trod this desert plain, plodding, shuffling, trampling the red earth, whipping it with their thousands of boots into a suffocating red froth buoyed and billowed up by the heat rising from the baked earth. The cloudless sky provided no shield. No cooling breeze eased their misery. Flags hung lifelessly from their flagstaffs. Everything was red, red faces, red fatigues, red shoes, red socks, red underwear, red feet, arms, legs and body. Red inside and out. The sun glaring down, and the heat radiating up, broiled the men. Rivers of perspiration wound their way through caked earth upon the men's faces creating Martian landscapes. Ceaseless marching day after day, numbed the mind. Sleepwalking apparitions, they deposited their minds and emotions apart from their being. They became automatons, without ambition, without will, without hope--a trained army. Happily lost in this faceless band of drones, Cary became one of them. During any pause in the day, he would lie down and sleep. When not marching he slept. And then he needn't lie down. He could sleep standing up--even while marching. He bathed not, wrote not, read not, and never changed clothes. He dreamed not, not of home, not of Catherine, nor of suicide. He no longer had the self worth for suicide. Cary learned the art of self hypnosis, not through trying, through not trying. Sleep was the great escape, the great opiate. Inflict enough pain and all transmission lines shut down; the mind seeks deliverance. A total blackout. Love was lost, hope was lost, he was lost, a walking corpse.
Brian Larry Walker a tall, slim, draftee from Delaware occupied the bunk next to Cary’s. Brian was married, so the draft board took longer to cull him. Nine months younger than Cary, Brian had just turned twenty-two. Brian’s dark eyes and swarthy complexion always attracted the ladies. He noticed that Cary seemed preoccupied, . . . spaced out. At first Brian thought Cary was just quiet. Half the time he never responded when someone spoke to him. He was walking around in a trance. One night Cary never came to bed. Next morning Brian found him sleeping on the parade ground. It was then that Brian knew Cary was grieving. He knew the symptoms. When Brian was just a lad, his little sister died suddenly of a mysterious illness. First, his mother went into withdrawal. Then she disappeared . . . not physically - the shell was there - but she was gone, vanished. Brian took care of her, kept watch over her. It was over a year before she returned. She was Greayer Enemies in Love Page 179 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] never the same. After that Brian never let Cary out of his sight. So Brian looked after Cary, took him to chow and took him to drill, which comprised all their activities at Sheppard. Cary wasn't much trouble. When he wasn't marching, he was sleeping. Blessed oblivion.
One day a new element entered the equation. Master Sergeant Barnes, a career soldier with a Mount Rushmore face and a body to match, stood erect, immaculate, amid the swirling dust. Barnes had been observing the trainees. Sgt. Barnes singled out one man and checked his service record. Then he acted. A nod of his head and the squad leader brought the troops to a halt. Sgt. Barnes growled, "What a pitiful looking bunch of dogfaces." Sgt. Barnes walked along the ragged lines looking each weary man in the eye. Returning to a position in front of the squad he said, "This is the sorriest lot of mother-fuckin' babies I've ever seen. Looks like you were just yanked from your mother's titty.” He paused. “This is the Army of the United States of America, the proudest nation on this here earth. The Army needs men, not a bunch of sniveling, whimpering infants still soiling their nappies. Why do we waste time trying to make soldiers out of puke like this? Not one man here is worth a cup of warm spit." Sergeant Barnes stared at Cary. "Private, step up here. . . .” Cary looked up. “Yes, I mean you." Cary took two paces forward and, standing at attention, said, "Yes Sir." "Sir! . . . Yes Sir! " Sgt. Barnes bellowed. "You don't address me as SIR. . . . I am Master Sergeant Barnes. . . . Address me as Sergeant." "Yes Sergeant." "What's your name Pri-i-i-i-i-ivate?" "Private Grant, Sergeant." "So . . . you're private Grant." The sergeant walked slowly around Cary and back to the front. Pacing back and forth in front of the troops, he said, "Men, take-a-look at this sorry piece of dung. This here turd is officer material.” You hear that, Sergeant Barnes bellowed, “ OFFICER material! Graduated at the top of his class. His I.Q. is higher'n six of your’s put together.” Looking Cary in the eye, he said, “He's feelin' kind'a sorry for hisself. Thinks he is better'n you and me." Sgt. Barnes leaned closer and sniffed the air. He said, “If he led you-all inta battle, you wouldn't have to keep him in sight, just follow the stench.” There was an uneasy chuckle in the ranks. “Want to know his name? This here is Mr. Cary Grant. Get that? MISTER CARY GRANT. Named after that pansy limey actor. Even that queer should be insulted having you sporting his name." Sergeant Barnes glared at Cary. "Grant, show me what you learnt in that-there officer’s candidate school. Take this squad and drill them till sundown. Don't want you takin' any breaks, mind you. Want them to be real fond of you, 'cause you're the reason they're getting this special treatment. Don't stop until twenty-hundred hours, . . . then march them back here to this very spot!" Cary took command and marched the squad smartly off, as instructed. Because of him, these men would march three hours longer than usual. Cary had adjusted to his own misery. He had wallowed in it, but he didn’t like inflicting pain on others. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 180 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] From deep inside a glimmer of pride surfaced. He thought of his father, that day in Spotswood. Hobbling down that dusty road on his crippled leg, on his way to the railway station, after the auctioneer had sold all his earthly goods, the whole town stood by the side of the road, knowing his dream of becoming a country gentleman had ended in disgrace. For him the ultimate disgrace was, he had taken charity. On that train ride to the city, Percy turned to Cary and said “Son, it’s not the number of victories you can count that makes you a man , it’s the number of defeats you survive.” Cary set his jaw. His Primary instructor had declared him a man . And, somehow he remembered Sergeant Zebrowski. Zebrowski, the maaaaaan , shook his hand, once. Cary’s spine stiffened. Cary became Zebrowski. He adopted a military posture, and marched step for step with the troops. His commands were sharp and full of authority. When he returned at eight o'clock and reported to M/Sgt Barnes, the men were staggering. Some collapsed, once they stopped, and were carted off to the hospital by the meat wagons, but Cary still carried himself in a military brace. M/Sgt Barnes dismissed the troops, but detained Cary at attention. "Private, you are a disgrace to the uniform you are wearing. Tomorrow at oh-five-hundred hours you will fall out at this spot. You will be wearing a clean uniform and those creases will be so sharp, you could shave with them. Your fingernails will be trimmed, your hair will be regulation, and you will smell of nothing but Lifebouy soap. Your shoes will shine, and I'll see my face in your brass. Do you understand me, Private?" "Yes Sergeant." "Diiiiiiiiiiiiiismissed." Cary drilled the squad every day until he shipped out. Each day he reported to Sgt. Barnes in a freshly-pressed uniform with his brass and shoes polished. When he reported to Sergeant Barnes at day's end, he looked as if he had rolled in the red dust. Then he labored ‘till after midnight to ready his gear for the next morning’s inspection. Gradually he developed a cold resolve. He would not be beaten. M. SGT. Barnes wouldn’t break him, nor would life . Whatever fate had in store for him, he would carry on like a man. The first day, the men in the barracks scorned and ostracized him. By week's end, they paid him silent respect. When he got his orders, they were sorry to see him go. On his last day, Cary went to the OR and saluted Sergeant Barnes. "Thank you, Sergeant." Sergeant Barnes returned the salute and said, "Good luck, soldier. Dismissed." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 181 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 22
Tyndall Field
On Tuesday, 17 August 1943, Cary reported to the Army Air Force Gunnery School at Tyndall Field, right on the Gulf of Mexico, near Panama City, Florida. A typical army base of two story barracks, it was set amid grass lawns and towering palm trees. Evenings, the gunnery students could walk down to the white beach and swim in the warm, crystal clear waters of the Gulf. While Sergeant Barnes had found the manhood in him and Cary had recovered from his deep despair, he was a long-long way from the man that entered the service ten months ago. His life had no center. Some of the gunners took it seriously, but Cary saw the farce. (After Cary joined the Army, he had followed all the rules and had risen to the top, exceeding his wildest dreams. He had become the top student and the top pilot in Primary, but then when he succumbed to the pleas of two cadets and joined their petition for a change of instructor, his ‘friends’ betrayed him and withdrew Wes, Chinning himself their petition (behind his back) and left him dangling in the breeze. The ‘brass’ closed ranks and washed Cary out of ‘Cadets’ clear into gunnery school. He was on the verge of suicide for weeks, and became a bonafide cynic looking for the farce in every situation. Along the way, he became an expert at working the system) All thought of Catherine had vanished. Cary needed something worth striving for. Since he was seventeen, Catherine was that prize. For five-years he had dreamed of her, and now the dream was dead. What would fill the void? The requirements at gunnery school were simple, but Cary excelled at nothing. From top student in Preflight, competing against six-thousand of the top two-percent in the nation, to Greayer Enemies in Love Page 182 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] bottom-student at gunnery school. From top athlete at Preflight to a non-competitor at gunnery school. From writing eight letters a day in Cadets to writing just one short note each week to let his parents know he was alive. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 183 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Most of the gunnery practice was done on the ground at a stationary target: twenty-two-caliber rifle- practice, and forty-five-caliber pistol-shooting. The only moving targets they had were skeet shooting with a twelve gauge shotgun, and firing a machine gun mounted in a turret- once . Other than that, training consisted of classes in cleaning, oiling, assembling and disassembling the fifty-caliber machine-gun until they could accomplish he task in their sleep. And then came Finals. The finals were the only time they fired a machine gun from an airplane!! The thirty-five-caliber machine gun was mounted in the waist of a B25. Each gunner took turns firing at a target towed in a fly-by , by an AT-6. Each gunner had a different color bullet which would leave telltale marks on the tow target -- if he hit it --which wasn’t likely. Firing from a moving platform, at a moving target several hundred yards away, with wind velocity altering the trajectory, and all that, was different, . . . they had, had no practice . . . but, it didn’t matter. Even if you scored ZERO hits, you couldn’t fail.
Why would the army give you an out? No man in his right mind would volunteer to be an aerial gunner, with zero life expectancy.
Their next opportunity to fire a gun would be in combat , with a fighter closing at your turret at two-hundred miles an hour, and bullets and flak whizzing by your head. Perhaps the Air Corps figured you’d become a sharpshooter when you were being shot at. Or maybe that didn’t matter either, as long as the enemy lost too. Cary realized it was a numbers game , a game of attrition. The assembly lines were cranking Greayer Enemies in Love Page 184 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] out lots of bombers and the training commands were cranking out lots of crews to man them. They could lose fifty bombers and crews a day without any letup in the attack on the enemy. You almost had to figure out how to get rid of them to make room for the new equipment and new bodies. America would win in the end. The pipeline was long and endless. You could count the individuals, but individuals didn’t count. Early on, four missions was the average life expectancy, but meanwhile, civilians were getting rich . Everyone was happy.
Over eight hundred gunners were in the class, divided into thirty-two sections, with twenty to thirty gunners per section. Every Saturday morning they had a barracks inspection, and the gunners of the winning barracks were issued passes. The competition was ferocious and the chance of winning was slim. Fifty passes each week out of eight hundred desperately lonely men. The guys in Cary's barracks, sections twenty- five and twenty-six, busted their butts every week, but never came close to winning the prize. One day Cary remarked to the gunner in the next bunk, "Poor bastards. They have no idea. I could show them how to win the prize every week." The gunner, George Pellicano, hailed from Steubenville Ohio, near Pittsburgh. Quiet, manly looking, his square-jaw had a deep cleft, almost a dimple, and his bronze color hair was kinky-curly. George sneered. “Bullshit. Just because you were a Cadet you think you know more than us. What makes you so fucking special?" "Hey, I don't care if I never get to town, but I hate to see you guys trying so hard. We had a Master Sergeant in our barracks in Pre-flight. He’d been in the army for twelve years. Out of six-thousand men, we had the top barracks every week, so he knew a few tricks. But pardon me, forget I said anything." George sat quietly for a long time. . . . Then he challenged Cary. "Well if you're so fucking smart, tell me how to do it." Cary shot back, "I'm not so fucking smart, but compared to the likes of you I'm fucking Einstein. When you learn how to fucking ask for a favor, I may fucking help. Until then you can; fucking piss up a rope." George's face turned scarlet. He looked like a weight lifter, but the weight he had lifted was coal. Working in the mines since he was twelve, he could have picked Cary up and thrown him against the opposite wall of the barracks next door. The two men stood nose to nose, glaring at one another, but Greayer Enemies in Love Page 185 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] George controlled his temper. Finally, he said, "Sorry." After a few more tense moments, Cary shrugged and said, "There are two things you are doing wrong. You're just mopping the floor with soap and water, and the beds are awful.” “What’s wrong with the floor?” “That pine has to be as close to bone-white as possible. Those boards have to look as though they just came from the sawmill.” Cary waved his arms. “You need to use bleach, . . . lots of it. And we get down on our hands and knees to scrub them. It will take elbow grease the first time, but after that it's a cinch. By the time we’re finished crawling around, our knees will be raw, but you can’t get them any cleaner.” A dim light seemed to blaze in George’s eyes. “What about the beds?” “The military is about precision. When the inspection team comes in here, and the officer looks down the row of beds, every collar must line up; the blanket has to be tight enough to bounce a quarter a foot high, and every collar has to be identical.” Cary stripped the blanket and top sheet from George's bed. Replacing the blanket, with hospital corners, he said, "Now take the top sheet and fold it in half making a dummy short-sheet. Then lay it with the fold thirty-six inches from the top of the bed.” George laid the folded sheet atop the drum-tight blanket placing the fold thirty-six inches from the top. “That's right. Now fold up exactly six-inches for the collar and make your hospital corners. Every collar must line up.” “How do we do that?” “Draw a string from end to end of the barracks. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 186 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Line your collars up to that."
George finished tucking in his sheet and said, "That's easy. We can do that if the other guys will listen." "That's up to you George. Don't want my head handed to me." "I'll round up the guys, but you have to show them how." After Cary washed out, he had lost his confidence. Gone were the natural leadership qualities he’d discovered at Camp Upton. It was an enormous struggle to overcome his stage fright. Many gunners were hostile and scorned Cary's attempt to tell them how to make a bed. Without George to encourage him and keep the gunners in line, they would have walked out. This was the hardest thing Cary had done in the army, but he got his message across. That Sunday and every Sunday until they shipped to Salt Lake, the gunners in their barracks had passes to Panama City. Cary had turned a corner. It was a small step in rebuilding a shattered ego, but an important one. After that, Cary’s scholarship improved, his marksmanship improved, and his morale improved. And Cary noticed he had a new disciple, his first since Cadets. George looked up to him. Why such a tiny success should make him a role model was beyond him. George tagged along wherever he went. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 187 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Just like at Camp Upton, being a role model had an effect. He needed to become worthy of this admiration, so Cary began to challenge himself. When Cary heard they were being shipped to Salt Lake City, he snagged George and walked into the OR. Addressing the clerk, Cary said, "We're shipping to Salt Lake City in a few days and I have my own car. We need special orders with per-diem and gas coupons for the trip. George Pellicano here is going to help me drive." George stood open mouthed. "OK Corporal. Both of you need to fill out these forms and we'll have your orders cut by tomorrow morning. You’ll report to Salt Lake on Monday 11 October.” When they left George said, “Didn’t know you had a car.” “I don’t.” George was flabbergasted. “How are we getting to Salt Lake?” “The package will include per-diem and a travel voucher, calculated at eight-cents a mile. The per- diem and mileage allowance is more than enough for our bus tickets and food. We’ll have money left over. George seemed to wake up. “We’ll cross the country in comfort while our buddies are traveling on a lousy troop train.” “That’s not all. The gas coupons are pure gold. With luck some guy on the bus will pay me enough Greayer Enemies in Love Page 188 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] to buy a cottage in the Bahamas, after the war.” “That’s against the law.” “Really? Maybe they’ll catch me one day and throw me in jail.”
The day before he left for Salt Lake, a letter arrived from Cary’s mom. Babsie’s ship had been torpedoed in the Gulf of Mexico. Babsie was dead. Still grieving his lost love, Cary envied Babsie. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 189 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 190 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 23
Well-laid plans
George and Cary walked to Panama City for one last dip in the waters of the Gulf. They wouldn’t get their orders for Salt Lake until the next day. A broad expanse of white sand lay next the clear water, warm as a bathtub, and fragrant as a spring shower. Schools of fish swam between their legs or at their elbow as they snorkeled just below the calm surface. Bathing in the water and basking in the hot sun soothed Cary’s body and he put his heartache aside. With air temperatures in the eighties, these waters were a popular tourist attraction. Public beaches were next to private beaches maintained by the hotels. Many tourists were young girls and the hotel management wanted their guests to enjoy themselves. Soldiers frequently drifted across the line without incurring any protest from the hotel staffs. George said, "What do you think? Should we cross the line and check the scent of high class pussy?" That remark reminded Cary of Babsie. Cary was sure he’d never look at a woman again, and he certainly was not in the mood for pussy, but George was unaware of Cary’s shattered dreams, so Cary tried to sound lighthearted. “We'll be on that bus tomorrow morning at eight. Do we really need to leave all those broken hearts behind?" George shrugged. "Guess not. Never have cheated on Ruth. We're promised, but haven't set the date. No sense straying on my last day. ” “Let's take in that Jeanette MacDonald, Gene Raymond movie, and head back to base for an early night." “Good Idea. We have a big day tomorrow.”
One hundred yards down the beach, lying on a blanket, two Long Island girls were on holiday after graduating from college. Doris was joining the WAVES on Monday , the eleventh, and Catherine was starting at Metropolitan Life. She had not yet recovered from her last letter from Cary. "How are you doing Catherine?" Catherine said, "Tell me about the WAVES." "What's to tell? It's a chance for adventure, a change from my drab life in Ridgewood. My only other chance to escape would be marriage, but I’d have to live at home. Half the girls we know got married, not because their knight in shining armor rode up, but just to escape the boredom." "You could have gone all day without saying that." "How you can bear the hell your mother puts you through, is beyond me. She's the real reason you Greayer Enemies in Love Page 191 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] didn't grab the brass ring when you had a chance." "It's hell, but they made it possible for me to go to college."
"And she never lets you forget it. Hope you don't live to regret it." "Already do. No-news is good news, they say, but I have my doubts." "Haven’t heard anything?" "Not in months. When I stopped being childish, I realized something had happened. Hasn't answered my last two letters, so I don't know if he's alive or dead." “Why would he write? You said you’d burn his letters.” Catherine grimaced. “I’ve broken it off a dozen times and he never gave up before.” “Serves you right. You were too confident.” “Guess I got caught playing games.” "Why didn’t you go to Texas when he proposed?" "Couldn't trust myself. Wanted to hold love at arms length until I finished school. If I gave in to love, my career would go out the window." Catherine sat up and looking plaintively at Doris, she said, "All those years I was in control, juggling everything and everyone so beautifully, . . . never in doubt of the outcome. Then something happened I never expected. Now, life is turmoil, confusion.” "Did you ever figure out what that envelope full of bits and pieces was about." “At first I was crying so hard, I couldn’t look at any of it, not even his letter to me. I was as upset as I was over that silly tiff about Mabel, but now I realize they were just letters to friends. He had already told me he wrote dozens of people, sisters, cousins, and even a couple of girls he never met who were sisters of his army buddies. The bits I saw were simply newsy, about what he and his buddies were doing, certainly nothing like love letters.” “But why did he send them to you?” “He didn’t. Mom just got a letter from Uncle Otto, bragging how Sparky just graduated as a pilot. Both he and that creep Silas Lurch were in 43i.” “Wasn’t that the same class Cary was in?” Catherine looked sick. “Whatever happened to Cary was my fault. Somehow those creeps got a Greayer Enemies in Love Page 192 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] chance to get their revenge on me.” “Now what will you do?” “Don’t know. I’ve given Cary such a rough time over the years I wouldn’t blame him if he found someone else who was less trouble.” “At least you have your career. That’s what you always wanted, isn’t it? Hope that will make you happy.” “That’s the way I had it figured. But, now someone or something is juggling me--some unseen, unknown juggler--and I fear he may drop me. I see myself lying there, crushed and broken, a cripple for life. I fear I may live a long empty life . . . without love.” When Doris remained silent, she said, “Don’t blame you for laughing.” “Gee, don’t say that. I’m not laughing, I’m crying. Not like you to give up hope.” “This trip to Florida to celebrate my graduation was great, but we’re leaving for home tomorrow morning. When I get to work, maybe I can forget this pain."
* * * Sitting in the bus depot with George, Cary unconsciously studied the face of every passerby, searching for that face--the face that matched the image etched on his heart. When they called Bus twenty- seven bound for Denver, he and George walked outside and stood inhaling exhaust fumes while they waited to board with the other passengers. Just as Cary stepped aboard, his heart flip-flopped. He glimpsed a girl, just a fleeting image of her profile, her hair, her carriage, as she entered the lady's room. Grabbing a window seat, by the exit, he kept his eyes riveted on the restroom door. "You look ghastly, Cary. What's the matter?" Cary couldn't answer, couldn't tell George why he was in the grip of a spasm. He was hoping the impossible. It’s ridiculous. My mind is playing tricks. Can’t be Catherine; she’s in New York. Cary held his breath, hoping to see the girl, one-more time. “Look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Cary remained transfixed, . . . afraid to move his eyes. “What? . . . Oh, George.” Cary pointed. “Saw a girl go into that ladies room. Looked like Catherine.” “Who? . . . Where?” “Hasn’t come out yet.” “Go wait for her.” “What good would it do? She dumped me. Probably not her, anyhow.” “Don’t be stupid. Go now. I’ll hold the bus.” Cary hesitated. She doesn’t even know I’m not a Cadet any more. Before Cary could move, . . . the bus . . . pulled out.
George and Cary arrived at the Army Air Base in Salt Lake City at ten P.M. Monday, 11 October 1943. They were experiencing shock from a drastic change in climate. George and Cary plodded through the many processing lines, dressed in woolen, olive drab uniforms, olive drab overcoats, olive drab gloves, and olive drab hats. mingling with gunners who just arrived on the troop-train from Florida. They huddled Greayer Enemies in Love Page 193 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] together with their coat collars turned up against the gale force winds and swirling snow. Cold sliced through their clothing, threatening to form icicles on the tips of their noses. A hoar frost clung to Cary’s unshaven face. Silently the travel weary men trudged along as they sought only a warm meal, a bed, and sleep. Assigned to Squadron B, part of a huge tent-city stretching in all directions, George and Cary found tent nineteen, dumped their belongings onto an unclaimed cot, and ventured back into the winter storm, headed for chow. The mess tent, an enormous drafty enclosure, was open twenty-four hours a day to handle the constant flow of airmen. The chow line provided an island of warmth emanating from the many overhead heaters blasting hot air down in the center area. Coffee and roast meat odors blended to remind the men they were hungry. “Come on Cary, let‘s grab a table near the center.” Sitting under a heater, away from the thin, drafty walls and open doorways, Cary and George clasped their hot coffee mugs between their frozen hands, sending a thrill of warmth clear through to their frozen toes.
“Better chow down, Cary, these tin trays are ice-cold.” “They must wash the trays in snow; the grease is already congealing around the edges.” After bolting their food, George and Cary reluctantly left the warm mess tent and braved the gale as they sought their bed. Ice on the floor and on the bed railings gave mute evidence that this would be a restless night. A single twenty-five-watt bulb illuminated the tent revealing an unlit wood-burning stove in the center. There was no fuel in sight. Some guys were already in bed with the covers pulled up over their head. Cary switched off the light. George and Cary slept with all their clothes on, including their shoes, coat, gloves, and hat. They arose at first light to hunt for wood to make a fire. With no duties, they stayed close to the tent. Poker and boredom occupied the time. On the third day a messenger summoned George to headquarters. Twenty minutes later, he returned looking grim. "My father worked as a lineman on high voltage power-transmission lines. Tuesday he was electrocuted. The Red Cross got me an emergency discharge. It’s back to the coal mines for me. I'm the only support for Mom and my sisters and brothers. I’m out’a here tomorrow.” "What about Ruth? Will you marry her when you go back?" "Ruth will have to wait. Pop had no pension and there’s no insurance. It could be ten years before all six kids are grown. Then there'll still be Maw. Don't know how Ruth will feel about living with her." "Meanwhile, your life just melts away?" "That’s the breaks. Aunt Bertha was seventeen when Granddad died. She cared for her mother while the other kids married and raised families. Her boyfriend got married to someone else. She's fifty now. Gram. is still hanging in there. If Pop had lasted five more years, I'd be married and Lizzie, my sister, would be trapped ; instead it’s me . . . that’s life. Someone always has to take care of their folks." George looked glum as he left for home: These were the facts of life in a society with no job insurance, health insurance, or pensions. Families had to take care of their own. George would avoid combat and would see Ruth, but he had a crushing responsibility. A mixed blessing. For Cary there was no blessing to it. Poor George. He’ll never marry Ruth, but he’s better off than his aunt Bertha. My pop started his family when he was nearly fifty. A man can do that but not many women can. I’ll miss George. He’s been my lifeline. What will I do without him? Greayer Enemies in Love Page 194 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Pop is seventy. Mom is fifty and has no skills. Someone will have to care for her . . . someday, and I doubt it will be me. A gunner’s life expectancy is six-months. I'm glad I have two sisters. One of them will be stuck. What else are children for? Then he thought about Catherine. Catherine has a younger sister, poor kid. She’ll probably be the one. During the first few days, Cary had noticed one of his tent-mates studying him. When George left, Brian came over and introduced himself. "Hi. You seem more with it than last time I saw you.” “Don’t remember meeting you.”
Brian smiled showing a row of white, even teeth. “Names Brian Larry Walker. You had the bunk below mine at Sheppard. You nicknamed me Assless Larry.” “Don't remember much about that chapter of my life.” “That Sherman-tank you palled around with looked like he ate nails for breakfast. . . . I was afraid to come over until now." "Who, George? He's a real pussycat, . . . the sweetest guy you'd ever want to meet.” Brian grimaced. “Really.” Changing the subject, Cary said, “Guess you just finished gunnery like the rest of us." "After basic at Sheppard they shot me right down to Florida. Section eighteen. What section were you in?" Cary said, "Section twenty-five. Been in the army almost a year. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 195 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Washed from Cadets, that's why I've been in the States so long.” “Do I detect a little bitterness?” “Yes you do. Graduated number one from Primary; . . . had already soloed in Basic when I crossed swords with the brass ; washed my ass clear into gunnery school.” Brian grimaced. “No wonder you’re bitter. Busted from second lieutenant to buck private. Quite a drop in pay. . . .” “That’s not the half of it. I lost my home.” “Where’s your home?” “Was Long Island, but when I was in pilot training, my family moved to California. That bollixed up my life." "How? . . . California sounds great to me." "The girl I wanted . . . correction, ‘want’ to marry lives in New York." "Must be rough, but hey, it's not too bad to be single right now. No need to suffer too much loneliness." "Girls were no problem until I washed from Pilot training. Since then, my morale is shot. Haven't gone to a USO dance since May. That's when things blew up with Catherine." "She dumped you when you washed?" "No. I screwed up before that. She has no idea I washed.” Brian looked puzzled so Cary related the whole ‘letter’ fiasco.” Brian grimaced. “I don’t believe it. Those dumb asses had it in for someone, no matter what you say. Maybe they had the ‘hots’ for your girl, ‘what’s her name.’ “Catherine.” Changing the subject, Cary said, “Where are you from, Brian?” “Town called Middletown, Delaware. Usually say I'm from Wilmington. Everyone knows where that is.” “How did you and your wife get together?" “How did you know I was married?” “That telltale white band around your finger tipped me off.” “Damn. I’ll have to keep my hand in my pocket.” “Problems?” “Naw. You know how it is. After highschool, got a job in a grocery store. The owner liked me and invited me for a fishing weekend at his cabin on Shallow Cross Lake. His wife and daughter were there, too. Next thing I know, I'm married." "You don't make it sound too exciting." "Oh, June’s OK. We were barely out of school. Sometimes, I wish I’d known a few more Babes before getting a ball and chain.” “I’ve met dozens of girls. Never met one to challenge Catherine.” “Sounds phoney to me. The way you rave about Catherine, how come you met so many girls?” “You kidding?. Before the war it wasn’t so bad, but her mother wanted her to marry a ‘nice German boy’, so she kept dumping me. Then when Japan attacked Hawaii and we joined Britain in the War against Germany, I became the enemy, as far as her family is concerned . Her mother can’t stand the sight of me. Been on the outs with Catherine most of the time . . . since then.” “Gosh, this is America, why does she care?” “Some of those ethnic communities in New York are like living in Europe. Half the population just Greayer Enemies in Love Page 196 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] got off the boat. Some still worship the fatherland. Look what they did to the Japanese out west. If they treated German immigrants that way, most of the residents of Ridgewood and Glendale would be in concentration camps.” Brian grimaced. “Never thought of that. So is her old lady a Nazi?” “Maybe not a ‘Nazi’ but Catherine’s father was in the German army in WWI.” “Doesn’t sound good. You’re lucky she dumped you.” “Maybe so. So you and June are all sweetness and light?” Brian shrugged. “It's tough, going with the boss's daughter. My folks are poor and June’s family has a bit of money.” “See what you mean. . . . He was the boss and you kind'a felt obligated.” “Who knows. Anyhow, I'm married. I'm not unhappy, but am I happy . . . how do I know?” “You may be worse off than me.” “Haven't met anyone I'd trade her for, but I hadn’t dated too many before we were thrown together. We never really dated; I just became a member of te family, . . . and . . . well, you know." After a pause Cary said, “Have you heard the scuttlebutt?” “You mean the fifteen-day furlough?” “Yeah. I’ve been in almost a year, . . . with Cadets and all, but it will be my first furlough.” “I’ve only been in three months. Wonder how come?” Brian had a thought. “Maybe we're getting close to combat!” “Nah. After gunnery, we have to be assigned to a Crew. Crew training will last a few months, so we won't go over right away. Brian said, “Good. Was hoping to sew a few wild oats before I went back home.” Cary sighed. “Planned to see Catherine on my furlough and get married. Then she dumped me. Now I guess I’ll see my parents in California. Naturally, they can’t wait to see me.” “What happened anyhow? Why did she dump you? Cary laughed. “With her mother beating on her it’s a miracle I was still in the running. Then I get caught cheating even when I wasn’t.” Cary told Brian about Mabel and about his letters to Jeanette and Marilyn. "So, that’s what caused the rift. She may change her mind, just like with Mabel.” “No. Since then I washed, so it’s final this time. I’ll give up and get on with my life.” “Guy like you should have no problem finding a new girlfriend.” “No problem except I haven’t been able to forget the old.” “That’s bull. You’re hanging on because you think you have a chance. You'll never discover the answer by visiting your parents Go back and see her. ." Brian really impressed Cary with that bit of logic. Might be a good guy to know? If they were on the same crew, they could make a good team. After a long silence, Cary said, "You may be right, but, I'm too bruised to tackle her. Need to improve my morale first. I'll go and see what sunny California has to offer. In my present mood, I’ll grab the first girl I see." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 197 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 24
Hubba-Hubba
In 1942, everyone was flocking to Los Angeles, as the city of opportunity. Besides, they all reasoned they could save lots of money, because it was so warm, they didn’t need any heat. After Cary’s father flew out and obtained a job, the rest of the family used Cary’s car to move to California. His ‘brother-in-law drove, but after arriving in LA, the two families rented separate homes. Since neither Cary’s parents nor his two younger sisters could drive, they stored Cary’s car up on blocks, in the garage, to help the tires stay inflated. They walked to the market and used public transportation to get back and forth to work, as the always had done, so Cary’s car was still available when Cary arrived in California. He quickly put his car into working order and whiled away the hours driving in LA and the surrounds. Driving gave him a sense of freedom and feeling of control. This lifted his spirits. He commanded and the car obeyed. Driving like crazy proved he had superior reflexes. Flirting with death made up for the emptiness he felt inside. Besides, it got him out of the house and killed the time until his return to Salt Lake. Suddenly, he began having second thoughts. What am I doing in LA? I'm surrounded by family. Aunts, uncles and cousins are coming out of the woodwork and I’m bedeviled with celebrations. Talk about boring. Should have gone to New York to see Catherine. Have to give it one more shot before I accept defeat. She won’t accept my letters so my only chance to open up communication is a confrontation like the time I drove out to her college. I must escape.
Meanwhile, Cary’s sisters saw him moping around and knew he was unhappy. Concerned, they decided the cause was the lack of female companionship. One evening, at dinner, Ann announced, "I'm bringing a girlfriend home to dinner tomorrow night. Her name is Jane and she's gorgeous, . . . isn’t she Beth?” “Guys at work won’t leave her alone,” Beth said. Cary said, “Yeah, I’ll bet. Probably some old cow.” “Old! . . . She’s only nineteen! Isn’t she Ann.” “Nineteen! Now you have me robbing the cradle.” “Wait ‘til you see her,” Ann said. “She’s no infant. Wish I were a boy so I could have her.” Ann embellished, “She’s five foot six, and loads of fun.” “Is she ever. Long blond hair, blue eyes, luscious lips, and a creamy, milk white complexion. Wish I looked like her,” Beth said. Cary protested. “You guys must think I’m hard up.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 198 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Ann ignored him. “At first she said she was engaged to a Marine. Showed me her ring.” She laughed. “Had to whip out my magnifying glass. No, poor guy . . . shouldn't make fun of him. I'm sure it was all he could afford.” Beth said, “Ann kept telling her how handsome you were. Yesterday, Ann showed her your picture. That cinched it. She’s coming to dinner tomorrow." Acting nonchalant, Cary said, "Dave called, . . . so I may not be home. We’ll probably go to a movie." (Who the hell Dave was he didn't know, it just popped out.) "Over my dead body,” Ann said. “Look Cary, this girl is exactly your type, narrow-wasted and broad minded . . . . No, I'm just kidding. She's really a sweet kid. Soft-hearted. Actually got tears in her eyes when I related your rotten deal in Cadets." Cary exploded. “God, you didn’t tell her about that! I don't want some girl slobbering over me with her pity ." "For Pete’s sake, Cary, you're impossible. Beth and I try to introduce you to a real movie queen and you're so terrified , you'll find any stupid excuse to worm out of it.” Beth chimed in. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, for Pete’s sake. You don't have to marry her ; you just have to meet her.” “You don't even have to sell yourself; Beth and I have done that for you. Just try to be pleasant." He knew they were right. Reluctantly, he said, "O.K., I'll be here."
Next evening Cary agonized as he paced his bedroom floor like a reluctant bridegroom. Give yourself a chance. Catherine has kicked you in the teeth often enough. If this girl is as special as Ann and Beth say, maybe I can forget Catherine. But, who am I kidding; I ‘am’ terrified . It’s not Catherine that’s worrying me. I haven’t dated a girl since I washed. He tried to bolster his courage. Where’s the confident guy I discovered in Cadets? Once I put that uniform on, I knocked them dead. (Even danced with that actress Donna Reed . . . not that I knew she was an actress . . . but she was beautiful) Now the threat of a beautiful woman makes me quake in my boots--brains or no brains. If Jane’s a knockout, I’ll only be able to mumble some gibberish. Then another terrifying thought hit him. God my whole family will be there. Eight-eyes watching me squirm, eight-ears listening to every syllable, . . . recording each tremor of my voice. Feel like a nasty specimen on a laboratory slide. The German Luftwaffe holds less terror than meeting a girl under the scrutiny of my entire family. Cary had been on the other side of the table so he appreciated the invitee’s state of mind. Christ, if I'm nervous imagine how ‘what’s her name’ will feel, poor girl , like one of the Christians entering the Roman Coliseum to be devoured by lions . Cary waited until he heard Ann's guest arrive. Then, ‘showered, shaved, and drowned in aftershave’, Cary sauntered casually down the wide spiral staircase. Spying Jane, Cary missed a step, tripped over a throw rug, and made a graceful entrance . . . flat on the floor . . . at her feet. Turning scarlet, he arose and managed a feeble, "How do you do?" Jane smiled sweetly and said, "Hey." Cary gave her a wan smile. God, after that display, she's probably looking for the nearest exit. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 199 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] . . . Oh, oh, . . . wasn't wearing that ring from her Marine that Beth mentioned. If she slips it back on it will be my signal to get lost . Seated next to him at dinner, he managed some small talk, but with his family listening to his every word, he felt like a performing seal. Cary withdrew within himself. After my grand entrance, I’m glad she’s looking elsewhere. I’d shrivel up and blow away if I was subjected to her direct gaze,. . . . Her blue eyes are soft, . . . not withering like Catherine’s. Catherine’s eyes could blast holes right through me. Though she was out of his immediate field of view, he examined her with his peripheral vision. She’s everything Ann and Beth claimed, and more. It’s that more that has me petrified. Ann didn't mention her figure. As Alex would say, she’s a knockout. If Helen of Troy launched a thousand ships, Jane could launch ten thousand. Her perfume is making me giddy, and her body-heat radiating against my arm feels like I’m seated next to a furnace . Impressed by her wholesome, makeup-free charm and well modulated, sexy voice, Cary worried about where he could look when he faced her; . . . not that looking at her was painful, but Jane’s low-cut dress invited scrutiny. Should have worn my sun glasses to hide my hungry eyes. In my wildest dreams I never hoped to meet a woman like Jane. She’s not more beautiful than Catherine, at least not to me, . . . but. . . . ? It’s not just her figure either, . . . though Catherine can't match that. Jane has something special that I’ve never experienced before. She’s much more . . . animal . Ann and Beth have saddled me with a difficult test. If anyone can make me forget Catherine, Jane can. But, she’s only nineteen, for God’s sake. I’m not comfortable courting a minor . . . but, can I keep my hands off? After dessert and coffee Cary retreated to the living room with his father. His father sat in an armchair by the radio. Cary fled to the window seat on the far side of the room, near the fireplace, from there he could see Jane bustling between the kitchen and dining room, as the ladies cleared the table and washed the dishes. Her sight caused his pulse rate to zoom higher than after a hundred-yard dash. Trying to calm down, he asked his father, "How are things at the shop, Dad?" "Busy, very busy. Everyone is putting in fifty, sixty hours a week." “Guess the ‘overtime’ comes in handy. Cary's mind was elsewhere while his father droned on. . . . "There has been a lot of politics on the shop floor. The place is crawling with Nazi sympathizers." That woke Cary up. "Nazi sympathizers! How can that be? You’re doing defense work." “Our shop is just as bad as Gardena, full of Germans. One day the German air force shot down a hundred of our bombers and I heard them celebrating. I reported the incident to the FBI. Two weeks later they arrested three of the men. They no longer work there.” "Gosh, you never mentioned any of this in your letters.” “My job has been unpleasant since then, but I’m under suspicion as the whistle blower. Things have quieted down, but the management and most of the staff are German ." “Holy cow, I never realized that sort of subversion was going on." “This is a nation of immigrants. Many of us aren’t even citizens, . . . including me. Some are bound to be sympathizers, no matter who the enemy." Cary was uncomfortable with this subject. Cary remembered walking into his German speech class Greayer Enemies in Love Page 200 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] in Richmond Hill Highschool. He shuddered. That first day, everyone was talking German. Perhaps they should be in concentration camps like the Japanese . My family sympathized with Britain, why wouldn’t the families of German immigrants . . . ? Dad continued, "That’s one reason we came to California. Ridgewood was crawling with Nazi sympathizers. If we lived in New York now, I wouldn't rest easy in my bed. You remember the young thug who punched me in the eye and dashed off the subway shouting ‘lousy limey’ just because he heard my accent.” “But that was before America joined the war.” His father rambled on but Cary sat mute, lost in his own thoughts. This is one more nail in my coffin. There’s no way Catherine and I can surmount the obstacles. Babsie called it a Romeo- Juliette romance. Catherine said there were other problems; was this was one of them? Is it hopeless? Should make a play for Jane. From what I see, she would make a great consolation prize. Dad strolled down the hall toward the bathroom, leaving Cary alone. Pop is looking old. Five years ago, no thug would have attacked him, no mater what the age difference, . . . Pop would have murdered him. Now, he seems to have shrunk inside his suit. Where are those massive shoulders that could pick up a three-hundred pound die and place it on the bench? His eighteen-inch shirt collar looks three inches too big. Dad returned, and the ladies came into the room. Mom took the seat next to Dad’s, Ann and Beth quickly grabbed the other two chairs, and Ann motioned Jane to sit next to Cary on the window seat. Pop turned on the news and everyone paid attention to the radio, giving Cary and Jane a chance for a ‘semi-private conversation’. It was still daylight so Cary invited Jane to go outside and sit on the lawn. Cary had only one more day in town; it was now or never. As they lounged on the lawn, he said, "How about taking in a movie tomorrow evening?" "I’d love to. The main feature starts about eight o'clock. Pick me up about seven thirty.” That went OK. She’s letting me know she isn’t expecting dinner. "Seven thirty it is." After a pause, he said. "Could I have the pleasure of escorting you home this evening? . . . That way I’ll know where you live." "Great. My sister and I live near Vermont and Wilshire." After a sleight lull, she said, "May I take you up on your offer . . . now ? It's getting late and I work tomorrow." "Of course." As Cary rose, he said, “I’m taking Jane home. I'll go out back and bring the car round front." Cary left, hurridly, glad to escape the prying eyes and ears of his mother and sisters. . . . (Pop was dozing.) "Thank you so much Mrs. Grant for a lovely evening. Dinner was delicious. See you two at work, tomorrow. Glad to have met you Mr. Grant. Goodnight." Percy awoke and mumbled something. On the way home Jane said, "I really didn't have to leave quite so soon, but I was feeling like an exhibit. Hope you didn't mind." Cary struggled with her confession. Seemed like an encouraging statement, but he tried not to read too much into it. He said, "Everyone, except Pop, was recording both our pulse rates. Beth and Ann will give you the third degree in the morning." Pulling up in front of her apartment, Cary put his hand on his door handle, planning to leave the car to escort her to her door. Jane put her hand on his arm, restraining him. She slid over and said, "How Greayer Enemies in Love Page 201 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] about a kiss goodnight for being such a gentleman?" Kissing in a car was always awkward for Cary, . . . and he hadn’t had much practice. The Pontiac had a spacious bench-seat, but turning to his right seemed unnatural. Cary slid the seat way back so he could face Jane without interference from the steering wheel. They bumped noses on the first pass, but they soon got the hang of it. What started as a simple ‘kiss goodnight’ escalated into a torrid exchange. It was a volcanic eruption. Cary kept his hands placed around her shoulders, well away from her bra-fastener. Despite his blameless behavior, Cary experienced an unexpected bonus. The muffled groans Jane emitted left little doubt that she had a similar reaction to his. They sat in a long embrace while they cooled down. Cary was grateful for the respite otherwise he could never have left the car. The last time he had such an experience, was with Jean Brown . . . a long dry spell. But this wasn't Jean. Jean was wonderful, but Jane was the major league. He needed asbestos gloves to handle her. They never left the car; they sat and napped in a semi-embrace until dawn. When Cary awoke, he brooded about Catherine. He remembered every word of Catherine’s response to his proposal. That word ‘platonic’ galled him. Catherine wasn’t old-fashioned. Her conversation was bold but her behavior was irreproachable. Said love and lust were different things; sex wasn’t wrong, simply unwise. Separating one from the other would be impossible if they let down their guard. To talk so boldly of sex was so different from other girls; . . . and so different from her behavior. Later, we read romantic poetry to one another, but I never dared touch her. We contented ourselves with expressing our love through poetry . Now she says we had a platonic relationship . . . of course we did . . . she demanded a hands-off relationship . . . but our feelings were anything but platonic. What was she trying to say? Is she implying she’s had less platonic relationships with other men? Do I need to catch up with her? I’m ready for sex, but my first real encounter shouldn’t be with Jane. She seems more than willing, but Catherine is right, . . . sex would confuse things. If I succumbed to Jane’s charms, I’d be honor-bound to marry her. Love should come first, but can I control myself? Oh, this is stupid. This may be the last time I see Jane until after combat, . . . if I live . Shucks, it’s so late now she’ll never be ready for our date. . . . . Guess I blew that too. Par for the course. Jane awoke and looked at her watch. "No use going to bed now, I'm due at work in an hour.” Disheartened, but trying to salvage something, he said, “How about, I take you to breakfast and drop you off at work?” “Great! First, let me run in and tell my sister I'm O.K. Wait for me?" "Guess our date tonight is off? . . . You’ll need to sleep.” "You can’t weasel out that easily . There's a cot in the lady's room. If one of the lady boss sees me, she’ll think I'm ill. . . . Hold on, be back in a jiffy." Jane dashed inside to contact her sister.
After dropping Jane off at work, Cary drove to Santa Monica beach. Sitting on the sand, looking at the horizon, he listened to the waves crash rhythmically upon the shore, reminding him of the many movies that used such imagery to describe a sexual climax. Jane was a new experience. Girls Cary met at the Roseland Ballroom and in Cadets never aroused such passion. In those instances his hands roamed freely to every vital spot the girls permitted. Some would clearly have gone further but he was just learning his trade. At the time he thought he was saving Greayer Enemies in Love Page 202 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] himself for marriage. What a pompous ass, thinking I was virtuous. Jane is different, though. Jane exudes sex. This is Na and H20, . . . spontaneous combustion. What an unbelievable reaction to a little human warmth. I'll need my jockstrap if I'm going to walk around in public. It would be wonderful to make love to her, but I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen . . . I hope. I’ve loved Catherine for five years without one impure thought entering my mind. Even now, I can’t mentally undress her. Though my mind can strip Jane bare-ass-naked, I have Catherine on such a pedestal that she isn’t human. Babsie says I equate Catherine to the Madonna. By definition, Madonna can’t have carnal knowledge. He says the moment I bed Catherine she’ll cease to be a goddess and my love will evaporate. Jane is the most interesting woman I’ve met since Catherine. If Babsie is right, I need to explore this attraction further. I don’t want to lose this woman who has aroused such a reaction in me. Better call her at work and move the date up to six o'clock to maximize my time with her. Cary had second thoughts. Whoa, take it easy, slow down, you’re playing with nitroglycerine. Don't offend her. Your record for fouling things up is perfect so far. You want a love affair that will last until the next time you see her! * * * It was almost November, but the temperature was in the nineties. Cary wore his bathing trunks under his slacks and had towels, a blanket, and a picnic lunch, just in case. Cary picked Jane up at her sister’s apartment.
"It's such a wonderful evening. Thought we might skip the movie and eat down at the pier." "Sounds like fun. I’ll run back and put on my bathing suit. The water will be too cold to swim, but we can lie on the beach until the breeze picks-up." She ran back inside. This may go faster than I thought. I’ll have to be careful. Jane came back in a casual sun-dress, a poncho, and an extra blanket. "It can get mighty chilly in LA after sundown." There was no space between them on the trip down to the pier. With things heating up, his mind was a riot of possibilities, . . . and taboos . What is she thinking? Neither of us knows when we’ll meet again. Like the song, Don't know where, don't know when. She’s supposed to be engaged, yet there’s no ring in sight. What does that mean? Can I dislodge an engagement with one casual encounter? Wouldn't that make her pretty shallow? Look Who’s talking. I love Catherine, but look what I’m doing. Am I shallow? Of course, Catherine dumped me , so I’d be stupid . . . or is that just an excuse? Who am I kidding, I'm no Apollo. I’ve never swept a girl off her feet, unless you count Carol. Carol wasn’t a conquest, I was the trophy. A boy toy for a mature woman. She was married to a dried-up prune, no wonder she swooned at the sight of someone with some juice. I'm such an amateur at this. She’s only nineteen, and I'm almost twenty-three. Don't want to be a heel and take advantage of a child. Cary laughed to himself . Don’t kid yourself . . . You’re probably the child. They were trying to rape her in kindergarten. Wonder how many notches Jane has on her ‘chastity’ belt? Cary turne to Jane and said, "Came down here this morning after I dropped you off. On a hot day in New York you couldn't step between the bodies at Coney Island." "Do they have hot days on Coney Island in November?" Greayer Enemies in Love Page 203 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Forcing Catherine’s image out of his mind , he said, "It’s quite warm. What difference does the month make?" "Jump in that water and you'll know." Cary recalled his date with Catherine just before the Mabel episode. He felt a thrill just holding her hand. So my feelings weren’t completely passive. She aroused my dormant lust. Babsie is wrong. My love of Catherine is real. Being in the military has certainly changed my perspective. I’ve shed some of my hang-ups. I’m two years older now and less inhibited.
They spread the blanket in a private area so they could talk without every word being overheard. As they walked along the hard, wet sand, Cary’s eyes devoured Jane. At nineteen she’s ripe. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 204 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] I think the word is nubile. Mother nature made that body for just one-thing and she wants it to happen soon and often. Women say they don’t want to be considered sex objects, yet they do everything they can to arouse a man: the way they dress, the way they walk, everything including their makeup, hairdo and perfume is designed to inflame a man's lust. Like Babsie says, women are walking advertisements saying, ‘Come and get it.’ If you have no self control, you’re at their mercy. Cary needed this lecture to help him control his urges.
The tide was in. Huge breakers thundered, as they crashed and dissipated their energy on the sandy beach. Long fingers of water swept up the sand and lapped at their feet. The hot sun sank gradually in the sky till there were two orange balls, one just above the horizon and one just below. Then the two balls joined hands while the orange ball above the horizon gradually dissolved into the ocean, leaving a romantic afterglow. The population of the beach dwindled to just a few couples. Neither of them noticed. Then Jane lit a cigarette and introduced Cary to a new experience. She put the cigarette between her luscious lips, took a long, long draw,
Taking a long drag and holding her breath, she gave him an open-mouthed kiss, exhaling the cigarette smoke into his lungs. They remained locked together for almost a minute, exchanging lung-fulls of tobacco smoke. Finally coming up for air, they were giddy from the effect of the nicotine and the prolonged lack of oxygen. It was a quick high, increasing their pulse rates dramatically. As a nonsmoker it was doubly intoxicating for Cary. There were no traffic cops to deter his roving hands as they retreated beneath the blanket but Cary discovered other impediments. Damn, her swimming suit makes her feel like an iron maiden. All those soft, voluptuous curves feel as hard as aunt Maud’s ass when she wore a girdle. Oh well, it’s for the best. This assures that I’m a good boy. My bathing suit even works better than my jock strap. No need to walk on all fours like a deranged camel, like I did at the concert in the park with Catherine. She was never the wiser. I’d forgotten. That was another time she aroused my lust; so she wasn’t the Madonna like Babsie says. They slept, woke, and slept again in a long embrace. The blush of dawn finally roused them and they collected themselves for their trip back home. As Cary dropped Jane off, she asked him to write. As she dashed off she said, "I'm returning Tony's ring. . . . Bye." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 205 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 25
Cora
Lying on his bunk, Cary still heard Jane’s lyrical voice saying, "I'm returning Tony's ring. . . . Bye." Brian burst into the tent . Dropping his B-4 bag on the floor, he flopped on the bunk next to Cary. "Hey, Cary, was the furlough as bad as you thought?" Shielding his eyes from the sudden flood of sunlight, Cary sat up, and said, “Worse, . . . until I met Jane . Now I don't know which end is up." "Sounds the same as when you left.” "Christ no. I left wishing I was in New York. Now I’ve lost my compass. Forget Catherine for a couple of days, I guarantee.” “Isn’t that what you wanted?” Cary nodded. “I’d love to rid myself of my obsession.” Cary shook his head. And, this Jane is the most exciting creature I’ve ever met, bar none.” “More exciting than Catherine?” “Catherine never excited me, she just challenged me. How’d it go for you?" "OK I guess. Went home reluctantly, confused about my feelings, and came back reluctantly.” “That’s an improvement. What changed?” “Before, she was clingy. You know the type. Never gave me room to breathe.” “Too much of a good thing.” “In six months she’s a new person. Has a job. Joined all kinds of activities. Much more exciting.” “Great. That’s the kind of woman you said you liked.” “We were kids when we married. Now I’m not sure I love her or just afraid she’ll dump me." "Sounds similar. I feel Catherine outgrowing me every day.” "Maybe I'm one of those guys afraid of an independent woman. That type always attracted me, now I detect pangs of jealousy.” “Not jealousy, Brian, just insecurity. Now you know she’s a whole person and doesn’t need you anymore.” "Maybe I want it both ways? An independent, dependent woman. Do they make those?” Cary laid back down on his bunk. “That may be my problem. Afraid to marry a woman of clearly Greayer Enemies in Love Page 206 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] equal, or superior intellect.” “June earns way more than me. That’s scary. More comfortable when I had an economic hold.” “Catherine is determined that won’t happen to her. But, I've never been afraid she would dump me.” Cary sat up. “Did you hear what I just said? She’s dumped me ten times and I still know--deep down--that she loves me. . . . Or is that just my Ego, unwilling to believe any woman would reject me?” Brian sneered. “Good old male ego. Better learn to face reality.” “Yeah. Still can’t forget her. Burned her letters and picture, but it’s no use. So far, she’s the only girl for me.” “Get real Cary, she dumped you. Get that through your thick head.” “And, you’re married . Get that through your thick head.” Brian grimaced. "Yeah. I hate this, Cary. Before I met you, I never played mind games. If I had a hard-on, I was in love. The trouble was, my pecker doesn't discriminate. Every broad under the age of sixty gave me a hard-on. But I'm no better off when I think about it and try to analyze everything like you." "Frustrating isn't it?" Cary scratched his forehead. This Brian has brains, he just hasn't used them much. He said, "Brian, I think we would make a good team. How about trying to get on the same crew?" "You mean find some drones who take names from lists and assign them to crews?” “Drones are males, Brian. Let’s find queens, it will be more fun.” After a little digging they found out who made the crew assignments and staked out the area. There were a few officers and several enlisted personnel in the department. Peeking into the office from the hall they spotted several desks with enlisted personnel. Brian said. "Check those two stacked WACS." Cary laughed. " Stacked WACS, that's a good one." At quitting time, Brian and Cary lay-in-wait outside the building. When their quarry emerged, Brian sidled up and flashing his most ingratiating smile, said, "Hi. You gorgeous gals look like sisters." "How did you guess?" Said the tall angular one.” The short, well-upholstered one said, "We’re identical twins. My name is Cora, and hers is Laura. Our parents liked rhyming names." Brian said, "I'm Larry and he's Cary, our parents liked rhyming names too.” Cary said, “Could we go to the PX, have a Coke and compare our pedigrees?" Looking at Cary, Cora said, "Sure, let's go. I'm a cocker spaniel out of lady Hildegarde. I’ve won two blue ribbons at the Middlesex County Fair in New Jersey.” "Sure you're a middle sex?” Cary said. “Sure look all one sex to me.” Cora smiled wickedly. “Lost the county championship because my tail was too short. That’s when I enlisted." Cary followed her lead. “Your tail was too short! Uh, uh, no way. Let me see.” "Can’t check the equipment at the PX, but I'd love to show you at some other place at some other time.” Brian jumped in. “There's a big dance at the Rec. hall tonight. Our tent mates are going and our tent will be empty. Is that a possibility?" Cora batted her eyes at Cary in mock flirtation. "You two mongrels look just our type. We're thoroughbred ourselves, but we get tired of the aristocratic life. We like to cavort on the other side of the tracks occasionally.” She yawned. “Adds spice to our otherwise dreary lives." “Spice!” Cary said, “You look hot as tabasco sauce.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 207 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cora said, “Meet you at seven-thirty where we met today. OK guys?" Brian and Cary headed for the chow-hall. Cary was a little dazed by it all. "You were sure quick to throw in that Cary-Larry line, Brian. We can use that again.”
“Cora was two-jumps ahead of me all the way.” “Surely talks a good game. If we get them to the tent, they could turn into pumpkins.” Cary worried. “Wasn’t exactly ready for that tent suggestion, Brian. Now Cora is expecting sex.” “She was expecting sex long before I butted in. Where did you think you were heading, with all that snappy banter?” “That’s the story of my life. Get carried away with my sharp tongue. Gets me into all kinds of trouble. Then I wind up doing things to save face. Caused the Mabel fiasco and got me cashiered from Cadets.” “Can’t back down now, you’ll queer the deal.” Cary looked sick. “Usually my sexy talk doesn’t matter. The girls love the banter but always back down in the end. Even Catherine had her moments, but managed to turn off the tease before things got out of hand.” “Well you met your match this time, Cary. Cora singled you out. After you and Cora got started, Laura and I were shut out.” Cary shrugged. “Guess I’m trapped. If I’m ever going to forget Catherine, this should do it.“ “She looks like a hot number. Lots of luscious curves. Would love to see what's underneath.” “Hey, stop coveting my girl.” “Just trying to get you worked up. Beats me how anyone can look sexy in a WAC uniform. Should be wow, wow, wow, when she takes it off." "Or, would that be bow-wow-wow? Seriously, Brian, remember our objective. We want to be on the same crew. Don’t screw that up by being too anxious to screw these girls.” “You’re the one who’ll screw things up if Cora is ready to screw, and you back-down. Nothing makes a girl madder than being turned down.” “Guess my tit is in the wringer.” “Not your tit, exactly. Besides, you say you need to forget Catherine. There’s nothing like hot sex to take your mind off your troubles. This is your chance to get her out of your system.” Cary was sorry he’d started down this path. Looking for a way out, he said, “Maybe we should forget the whole thing, and take them to a movie.” “Cut the crap, Cary. You’re going to have to take the plunge some day. You’ll never forget Catherine if you don’t.” “You’re right. Cora looks delicious. I’d love to lose my cherry with her, but I hope she’s not looking for a long term relationship. Right now the girl in California looks like a more likely prospect." Brian was disgusted. “Christ Cary, stop trying to weasel out. Cora’s looking for a big cock, that’s all. Hope Laura is at least lukewarm. Like her looks. Would be nice to have those long shapely legs wrapped around. May even be some boobs under there. Hard to tell, but not like Cora." Trying to sound enthusiastic, Cary said, “If things work out tonight, we may even regret having to leave this place." “That’s the ticket. You always sound like you know your way around. It’s time to live up to your big talk. No one would guess you were a cherry. Bet you fooled Cora." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 208 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "My convincing act is one reason Catherine and I were always on the outs. But, let's not talk about that. Thinking about Catherine will make me impotent when I see Cora's bush.” Brian laughed. “It would be great to get her ready to pop her cork and then be unable to get the cork in the bottle. If you’re so inexperienced, where did you learn all the lingo?"
"Twelve months in the army will teach you all the lingo you need to know. If some guy is spouting the most lurid lingo, you know he's a virgin.” “Probably. Guys that are scoring never need to talk about it.” “Notice you're not having any problem with this, Brian, though you just had a great furlough with June." "Knew you were wondering. We’re headed for war, Cary. Those Jerries are knocking down one hundred of our bombers every day. That’s great for Boeing, but not too great for us. I figure on letting life happen and worry about the consequences later.” “Do you think that’s fair to June?” “I'm not the true blue type like you. June has fifty or sixty years to live. A gunner’s life expectancy is less than six-months. I’m cramming all the living I can into that time. If I die, June will find someone to keep her warm. If I get back, I'll make it up to her somehow." "True blue. Look at what I'm about to do." “Oh, come off it, Cary. At Sheppard you impressed me as a refined sort of guy, choir boy as a kid, dag-nab-it was a swear word. That sort of thing.” “That’s about right. What’s your point?” “Here at Salt Lake I find another side, the white pine country curser. A guy who can talk sex with the best of them.” “So, I’m in the army. I learned to talk like this before I left boot camp. So what?” “So, you’re in the army; this isn’t Sunday school. Just figure you’re dead . You’re going to do things you wouldn’t do in civilian life, so stop agonizing about it or you’ll flip your lid when the killing starts. Don't keep your pecker locked up on the chance that you might live through this. Time to become a man." "You sure know how to cheer a guy up. Having one foot in the grave is no excuse for messing up other people’s lives. My hormones are willing, but, I’m no gigolo. Besides, when I’m dead, I won’t miss the sex I missed.” “Stop bucking for sainthood? You’re not picking Cora’s cherry, it was crushed long ago. Just worry about your dangle when you slip it into her meat grinder.” “My, what a pretty picture you paint. Let's pick up those girls before I get too happy." After checking that the tent was empty and making sure the fire was blazing, they strolled toward the assignation spot. Cary’s mind was in turmoil. Reverend Severance’s voice was booming Romans, (1, 24) ‘Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts. . . .’ Blotting out the sound ringing in his ears, he said, "Will be cozy, Brian, on those narrow cots.” "Some balancing act. Like making love on a picket fence."
Cora spotted them coming and said, " Bow wow ." That was more than enough encouragement. Cary and Cora walked with their arms wrapped Greayer Enemies in Love Page 209 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] around. Cora kept one hand in Cary's pocket to keep it warm. It certainly was warm. When they got to the cot, Cora suddenly became tender and submissive as he kissed and slowly disrobed her. Just her touch as their hands caressed sent electric shivers. Lying between the sheets next to a nude woman - was an exciting first for Cary. When you never get to the main event, you get lots of practice on the preliminaries. He had served a long apprenticeship in fore-play. Following all the rules, he savored every moment - her scent, her sight, her feel, her taste. Cary found all the right buttons. Had he lost his virginity early, he may never have discovered those buttons. Men who skipped the basics were unpopular. They left their women at the starting gate. Cora had left the starting gate and was at full-gallop when she stopped and whispered, "My cup runneth over." Then she whispered, “I may seem . . . unrestrained, but if I didn’t already know you were a Gentleman, I wouldn’t have come on this date.” Cary said, “Oh?” He sat bewildered. What is she up to? “As you can tell, I love making love . . . I’ll say, she needed little warming up; she needed cooling down. “It’s just that . . . I can’t do . . . ‘ it’ , . . . I know you understand..” “Can’t do . . . ‘it’?? . . . Can’t do . . . what?” “I can do anything else , but I can’t do . . . ‘ it’. ” ‘It’ . Cary didn’t understand. “Huh?, What do you mean . . . ‘it’?” “Oh, you know . . . ‘it’ . . . I want to remain a . . . Virgin . . . until I marry.” Cary couldn’t be more relieved. He had always said, ‘If a man expects to marry a virgin, the man should be chaste too,’ but he was feeling all sorts of pressure from his mates and from women too. Everyone seems to think it unmanly, somehow. But hey, if Cora wants to remain a virgin, I’m honor bound to respect her wishes. That didn’t prevent them from experiencing all the pleasures of a brothel . They didn’t stop until they were both exhausted, Then they started over again. Cary lost track of what Brian was doing. Though he was deceiving no one, casual sex- play didn't come naturally to Cary. Early religious training and high ideals filled him with guilt. He worried about everything, and though he drove Catherine from his daytime consciousness, her disapproving but lovely mien still haunted his dreams. Her nightly visits quadrupled his feelings of guilt. Perhaps they would abate with time, but guilt changed nothing. Even though he and Cora never did ‘it’ Cary wished he was Catholic so he could confess and receive absolution, . . . or whatever. Cora confirmed they would be sent to Blythe, a southern California desert town near the Arizona border, two hundred and twenty miles from Cary’s home. What irony. Fate was toying with him again. He was happy he’d met Jane, but he would have met her anyhow. Now he’d see her regularly for the next six months . Meanwhile, Catherine still haunted his dreams. When they finally got their orders, they read in part: (SPECIAL ORDERS) HEADQUARTERS 18TH REPLACEMENT WING :51 SOUTH STATE STREET: Salt Lake City 1, Utah (NUMBER.....329) 25 November 1943 Under the provisions of AR 615-200, & pursuant to auth of CG, 2AF dd 18 Oct, 1943, under auth indicated below the following named EM, 18th RWD, AAB, Kearns, Utah are trfd in gr to Orgns & sta indicated, & WP, WD, o/a this date, that place, & will report upon arrival to the CO thereat for duty. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 210 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
HBA ATTCHD TO 38TH BOMB GP, AAB, DAVIS MONTHAN FLD, TUCSON ARIZ (Pfc - unless otherwise noted) (TO #904) (SL #931) CREW #965 NAME Bernard D. Dominick, Winfred C. Grant, Fritz (NMI) Junker, W Justin D. Potts, Wolfgang W. Radcliffe, Brian L. Walker
(Hooray, both Winfred and Brian were on the same crew.)
For their last night they rented a room in Salt Lake. Four in a double bed was as cozy as the cot, but more comfortable and much more exciting. Though Cary resisted the booze, he couldn't resist the happy carefree mood. They didn't swap partners, but there was plenty of horsing around in the nude. If one naked nubile woman is exciting, try two. Brian and Laura were so busy they never noticed what Cary and Cora were ‘not’ doing. Inseparable for three weeks, they had grown fond of one-another. When they said goodbye there were a few tears, but no pretense of undying love. He had heard of mutual sexual gratification . . . without hurt feelings, . . . but Cary had never believed it. Even though they never did ‘ it ’ Cary knew there was nothing he could experience by doing ‘ it ’, that he hadn’t already experienced, . . . except . . . getting a woman pregnant! And, the sudden return of his confidence surprised him. I’m finally rising from the dead. Did my brief-encounter with Jane restore my bruised ego? If so, it’s a welcome change. Am I confident enough to conquer Greayer Enemies in Love Page 211 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Catherine’s reservations? Damn, there I go again, thinking of Catherine. Brian said sex would make me forget about her, but he was wrong. In spite of three weeks of wonderful sex, I love Catherine more than ever. Like Babsie said, “Love and sex are two different things and never the twain shall meet.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 212 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 26
Crew Training
Blythe, California was located on the Colorado River in the middle of a vast desert area extending for hundreds of miles in every direction. The local Chamber of Commerce boasted that Blythe had three- hundred and sixty-five flying days a year. Midday summer temperatures exceeded one-hundred degrees Fahrenheit, dropping only slightly after sundown. Survival required about a gallon of drinking water per day, and meat wagons (ambulances) constantly patrolled the training area picking up men who had fainted from dehydration. General Patton trained his Desert Rats for their Sahara Desert campaign in an area just thirty-miles west of Blythe. The airbase, located six miles west of Blythe, was comprised of a hangar, a mess hall, base operations buildings, and long rows of squat barracks nested just east of the runway. Barren, low-lying- mountains, surrounding the base, dominated the horizon. A practice bombing range was located forty-miles south-west of Blythe in the Chocolate Mountains. On their first day, Cary and Brian met with the other crew members on the flight line. This was their first look at the B-24 bomber which they would fly into combat. Nicknamed the Liberator by the RAF, the B-24 and the B-17 Flying Fortress comprised the four-engine heavy bomber capability of both the Eighth and the Ninth Air Forces which were stationed in the European Theater of Operations (ETO). This clearly meant they were ticketed for missions over Nazi Germany. They had all seen newspaper headlines blaring that a hundred or more bombers had been shot down in a single day. These were always bombers of the Eighth Air Force, flying daylight missions and facing both the Luftwaffe fighters, and the intense flak barrages put up by the enormous antiaircraft batteries surrounding large cities and all military targets. (The Eighth Air Force suffered the highest casualty rate of any organization in World War II, upwards of 60,000 men.) Their pilot addressed the first order of business. “I’m your pilot, Ray Stewart,. As you can see, the B-24 carries a total of ten fifty-caliber machine guns at six positions. There are twin guns in the ball turret, nose turret, tail turret, and top turret, just above the flight deck, and two waist guns, one on each side. The engineer mans the top turret, the radio operator mans one of the two waist guns. I’d like to have a volunteer for the other four positions starting with the tail turret.” The pilot was being diplomatic. Ray could have assigned the positions by lot; that would have been the impartial way, but he wanted the best men in the tough jobs and he reasoned that those who volunteered for the most hazardous assignments would be the most courageous. Those were the men he wanted. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 213 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Since most attacks came from the rear, everyone knew that tail gunners had the shortest life
expectancy, and there was no way to determine which gunner was the more qualified so it made no sense to designate a gunner for that position.
Cary reasoned that a tail gunner who froze would jeopardized the lives of everyone on board and he didn’t want his fate to depend on any of the motley crew assembled, so Cary instantly said, “I’ll take the tail.” With his pencil poised above his list of crew members, Ray said, “And you are?”. “Grant, Sir.” “We’re a team, Grant, every man is as important as any other, . . . call me Ray.” He made a note on his list. “I see here that your name is Cary and you are a pilot. Is that correct?” “Washed after I soloed in Basic Sir . . . I mean Ray.” “Good.” Ray had a private bet with the co-pilot that Cary would volunteer for the tail. Ray said, “After Roland and I get the hang of this crate ourselves, I’ll check you out as our third pilot. Never know when we’ll need you to take us home.” By establishing an informal tone, Ray immediately became the hero of every enlisted man on the crew, . . . especially Cary. Though two years younger than Cary, and perhaps the youngest man on the crew, he was obviously in charge. He needed no titles to demonstrate that. After that was settled, Brian volunteered for the ball turret, and Bernard Dominick volunteered for the nose turret. The other waist gun went to Justin Potts by default. Justin had remained inconspicuous throughout the proceedings and Ray doubted he would be of much use. Both the engineer-gunner, Fritz (Frank) Junker, and radio operator-gunner, Wolfgang W. Radcliffe, were kept busy on training flights. The engineer-gunner, assisted the Pilot and Co-Pilot on the flight deck and the radio operator-gunner was busy on the radio. Occasionally the other gunners woke up from their naps to practice dispensing chaff, but mostly they slept on the floor during flight training. (Except for Bernard, that is. Bernard Dominick always got airsick and spent all his time wrapped around an empty chaff carton, vomiting.) Chaff (shredded aluminum foil) would be disbursed in combat during the bomb run. It ‘supposedly’ disrupted range finding equipment, making it more difficult for enemy antiaircraft batteries to destroy the attacking bombers. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 214 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] At their first opportunity, Cary and Brian walked two miles east of their airbase, on route 66, to Blythe and caught a Greyhound bus to Los Angeles to get Cary's car from his parents' home. With stops to board and debark passengers, the two-hundred-mile trip to downtown LA took five-hours, giving them time to discuss the pros and cons of their crew in private. Cary sat by the window and watched the desert sweep past. "What about those doozies we have on our crew." Brian groaned. “What's with our co-pilot anyhow? Orders us around like we’re his servants. And that name, Roland J. Abbot!” “He was born ‘rich’ so his superior attitude comes naturally. The J probably stands for Jesus Christ.” Brian laughed. “Nearly clobbered the chicken-shit snob that first day when he ‘ordered’ me to carry his bag to the bus.” “F. Scot Fitzgerald’s story, 'The Rich Boy,' describes him to a T. When people suck up to you from the time you’re born, you just know you’re a superior creature. Like God, he expects everyone to kiss his ass. He just assumes obeisance." "I'll give him obeisance, whatever that means." Brian gave the absent Roland J. Abbot the finger. “Once the Krauts start shooting at him, he’ll get some humility. At least Roland is on our side. It’s Justin Potts and Fritz Junker who have me worried. They hate everybody." "So far they've only mentioned Japs, fags, kikes, limeys, micks, niggers, polacks, wops, and women, why do you say they hate everyone?" Cary laughed. "Shucks, Brian, how presumptuous of me." "The way Fritz talks, he'd much rather bomb the limeys." "He’s unpleasant, but I don't half buy Frank’s tough-guy act. It's Justin that gives me the willies.”
Brian shuddered. “There's something sleazy about him. His yellow beady-eyes remind me of a rattlesnake." Cary shook his head. "Great guys to go into combat with. Hate to have my ass depend on either of them.” “At least Bernard Dominick and Wolfgang Radcliffe are sweethearts.” “Our pilot, Ray Stewart, and our bombardier, Walter Harrison, are aces with me, too.” “But Roland, our co-pilot, doesn’t like Ray’s first name mandate one bit. He’d not only want us to salute; he’d want us to bow and kneel before his majesty.” "If it were up to him we’d be genuflecting every time we turned around.” “Thank God he’s not our first pilot, Cary.” “After Pop talked about all the Nazis in his shop, I had a problem with Wolfgang. That name sent up a red flag." “Nah. He's a sweet kid, Cary. Not much praise for a man, but even though he’s from Louisiana, he never sides with Potts and Fritz on all their nigger talk.” "Right. Hard to figure that pedigree. Wolfgang doesn’t fit with Radcliffe. I've even started helping him with his love letters. Haven't done that since Cadets." Brian looked incredulous. "What happens when you leave town and they can't spell cat?" "That's their problem. I love to do it. Gives me a chance to fantasize and tell ‘their girls’ all the things I want to say to Catherine, but can’t. Two guys in Cadets weren't too bright either, in the letter Greayer Enemies in Love Page 215 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] writing department. They’re married to girls I proposed to." "Try not to have Wolfgang, with his gap-toothed, wide-eyed innocence, start sounding like Lord Byron. The girl might just catch on. I've started calling him Fang." "Fang? That's great, one rattlesnake and one fang."
Jane, was waiting with Cary’s car as they climbed down from the bus in LA,. Cary introduced Brian as Larry. “We call him ‘ass-less Larry’ or ‘hose-nose Larry’, take your pick." (Brian had an instant appeal with the ladies so perhaps Cary was trying to reduce this effect on Jane. He was anxious to find a moment to warn her (and his sisters) that Brian was married.) (Or was he anxious to eliminate possible competition?) Jane was looking like a blond, blue-eyed pin-up. Brian's wide-eyed, raised-eyebrow, facial expression showed Cary just how impressed he was. Jane said, "I'll take Larry if you don't mind." "That will be a novelty. Kick me If I don't recognize it. Haven't heard Larry since Cary christened me hose-nose.” Cary said, "Thanks for coming, Jane. Hope Mom and Pop are in bed.” Since it appeared that he and Catherine would never marry, he needed to find a new love and Jane was the most likely candidate he’d ever met. "Dad was snoozing when I left, but the whole family is home waiting for their hero.” Jane tossed Cary the keys. “I’ll sit in back to give you fellows some elbow room." Brian said, “Fat chance. Sit in the middle, Jane, a nice, soft, sweet-smelling, honey-bun sandwiched between two hot dogs, smelling of mustard and catsup." Jane's lilting laugh showed off her perfect teeth. Jane slid to the middle of the bench seat. (The 1939 Pontiac with the stick-shift on the steering wheel left the floor clear of clutter.) Looking coy, Jane said, "Sounds like fun, squeezed between two handsome men.” Cary repremanded her. "Larry is just a bookend, an inanimate object. Larry, keep your left arm on the back of the seat and your right hand on your knee." "Are you trying to tell me Larry is dangerous?" "Take a look at him and you tell me." Jane took an appraising look at the handsome, swarthy devil to her right. She opened her eyes wide. "He's dynamite!" Cary felt a twinge of jealousy. Jane was a new acquaintance whom he would like to make an acquisition, and at this stage of their friendship, Brian might be competition. Cary was uncomfortable with the banter and tried to think of a graceful segue to a more mundane subject. After a pause, he abruptly changed the subject. "Where do Larry and I get to sleep?" Enjoying the sexual undertones, Jane continued in the same vein. "You get the same double bed you had last time, only you get to share it with Larry. Or, you can share with your sister, Ann, and I’ll share with Larry." Cary, pulled over to the curb. “Sorry I brought Larry along. Larry, I'll drop you off here. That curb looks comfy. Pick you up in the morning on my way back to Blythe." Jane swatted Cary. "Pay no attention, Larry. Maybe he'll notice me if he has a little competition." Cary resumed driving. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 216 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "I'm no competition, but it's nice of you to flatter me." "Don't kid me with that fake modesty. I’m just a country girl, but I see those bedroom eyes."
Cary had lost complete control of the banter. Jane was enjoying his discomfort too much. While he was overjoyed at an opportunity to see Jane on a regular basis, he was deeply troubled. He’d have to handle his courtship of Jane with asbestos gloves. She was a major league sex kitten, competition for any Hollywood starlet. After arousing his sleeping libido with Cora, he hoped he was up to the challenge. He rationalized that he and Cora were two adults enjoying guiltless sex, but he had no such illusions about Jane. Jane would be seeking matrimony and once sex entered the equation he would feel honor-bound to marry her. That didn’t seem all that bad, but as long as Catherine remained unmarried there was still a glimmer of hope. He didn’t want to do anything to extinguish that flickering flame. Jane, of course, was unaware of Brian's marital status, an oversight Cary would correct at his first opportunity. Cary was glad when he pulled up in front of the family home. Everyone was out front to greet them. Cary introduced Brian as Larry and could tell that both Ann and Beth were also impressed with Larry. He hoped they wouldn’t scratch one-another’s eyes out before the evening ended. The dining room table was set and everyone sat down for coffee and desert. Pop sat quietly at the head of the table. He wrote Cary every day and had embraced Cary, and kissed him on the cheek, when he arrived. Cary was embarrassed by his fathers embrace, but after that, he faded into the background and let the conversation be dominated by the four women. For desert, Mom had her famous pound cake and also a loaf of cousin Maggie’s fruitcake left over from Christmas. Cary prompted Larry. “Try a piece, Larry. It’s really delicious.” As Larry helped himself to a slice from the proffered tray, Mom said, “Didn’t you give Larry a piece from the loaf Cousin Maggie sent you at Christmas?” “Never got one.” Rose looked shocked. “You know how touchy she is. If you forgot to thank her last year, she would never send you another one.” “Never got one last year, so how could I thank her?” “That’s funny. She wrote me for your address when you were at Camp Upton, expressly for the purpose of sending you a cake.” “Probably addressed it to Winfred. If she did, I’ll never get it.” “That’s your name. Why wouldn’t she address it to Winfred?” “Guess I’m cut off, then.” Meantime the three girls were all fawning over Larry, and Cary was anxious to get Jane alone to reestablish his primacy.
It was after three AM before the rest of the household settled down. Jane and Cary were alone and spent a few minutes getting reacquainted. Still suffering a bit of jealousy, Cary said, "Have you been a good girl while I was away?" She fired back, "Do I get to ask you that question?" Damn, there I go again. Who am I to question her? Before I know it, I'll be in one of those senseless arguments Catherine and I always managed to arrange . There's no way out; I'll just bat the ball back. "Do you want to ask that question?" Greayer Enemies in Love Page 217 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “It's none of my business. Your many sweet letters said you missed me. That's all I care about." Cary was relieved. He had no desire to reveal his affair with Cora. Jane knew her P’s and Q’s. Catherine would have met him head-on. Switching to safer ground Cary took her in his arms, kissed her softly, and told her how much he missed her. She was so willing, it was difficult to control his ardor. Determined to keep things under control, Cary had to tread a fine line between turning her on and turning her off. Making sure things didn’t get too hot, he decided to go to bed. Before hitting the sack he took the first of many cold showers. Getting to sleep took another hour. Next morning, Cary and his sister Beth were the last ones in the kitchen. "Ann and I stayed up talking after we went to bed. We think Larry is the handsomest guy we've ever met. That swarthy Latin look reminds us of Rudolph Valentino." "He gets the girls, that’s for sure. But, try not to get too worked up. His wife's name is June." "Great! Guess Ann and I can call off our duel to see who has dibs on him. Wish we knew this last night. . . . Would have had a lot more sleep." "Think of your pleasant dreams. Wasn't that any fun?" "Not if they were pipe dreams. Next time you bring boys home, make sure they're handsome and eligible . Before you tell Ann he’s married, let me tell her that she can have a shot at this one if she’ll agree the next one is mine .” “Let your conscience be your guide.” “Keep quiet until I make the deal, OK? I'll act shocked when I find out he's married.”
On their way back to Blythe, Cary and Brian dropped Jane off at her sister's apartment. California seemed like one big orange grove, once they passed Pomona,. The fragrance of orange blossoms overwhelmed their senses. Route 66, the main highway connecting LA to the east, was a thin two-lane road undulating over the hilly terrain, with small towns scattered every few miles along the way. "Your girlfriend is some looker. Really bright and a great sense of humor. She'll make you forget about Catherine." "As my friend Alex would say, she’s a knockout. But, Catherine is just as beautiful. A blue-eyed brunette stunner instead of blond.” “Jane’s built like a . . . you know what.” “Catherine is a tiny thing. Has a regal look, but I admit, she’s not built like Jane. She really challenges my mind. I've hated her at times, she can make me so mad. It's not just chemistry. She never bores me.” “Forget Catherine. I’m trying to talk about Jane. You said you wanted to concentrate on her now.” “Sorry, my mistake. Jane’s lots of fun and has a sharp mind, but she’s so physical I only see her body and her face. Hard to keep my hands where they belong.” “After Cora, you’re still playing the reluctant suitor?” “This isn’t Cora. Dare not sleep with her or I’ll wind up married. Couldn’t just walk away after I did that.” "Cut the crap, Cary, you’re not responsible for everything that happens. Women are cock teasers too. They try everything to get you to screw them, . . . then they lay on the guilt to get a marriage proposal.” ‘You sound like Babsie. He says women play our guilt like playing a harp. Every one of them puts Greayer Enemies in Love Page 218 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] on an academy award performance and men are suckers for it.” “Listen to Babsie. A woman has you by the ying-yang, and she knows it.” “Babsie says a man’s dangler is both his greatest asset and his Achilles heel. We’re addicted to sex, like opium, but it’s our sex drive that makes a man a man.” Brian laughed. “That Babsie had it figured out.” “He said, it made us ford rivers, climb mountains, paint pictures, write poetry and books, build bridges and skyscrapers, and dream impossible dreams. Claimed it fuels all our creative energy and would take man to the moon one day.” Cary laughed. “He says without our sex drive we’d just be women.” “I like Babsie. Wish I’d known him.” “He was a character all right. If I listened to him, I’d never suffer guilt pangs.” "You put on a good act. I’ll bet Cora never suspected you were an altar boy." "It’s still only an act, Brian. Now we’re two thousand miles apart, I realize I volunteered to make Catherine miss me. Even after Cora I’m not really a cunt hound. I’m walking a high wire. All I ever wanted was Catherine. I’d be happy to be faithful to her for the rest of my life.” “Hard to work up much passion from that distance.” Cary grimaced. “Now Jane is knocking on the door. With Catherine all I could see was her mind. With Jane all I can see are her knockers.” “June and I never got past the physical. Until I was in the army and started writing her letters, I never knew she had a brain” “Outside of wrestling with Catherine on a couple of dates, I never had her in my arms. She set the ground-rules and I followed them.” “Why didn’t you just grab her?” “Thought I was showing respect. Lately I’ve discovered they like a little muscle.” “You and Catherine are a good pair, always figuring things out. No wonder you never kissed. Your mind was always in control.” “Yeah, well I’m always talking about Catherine even when I’m talking about Jane. Other women are just surrogates for Catherine.” "That could be my problem. I cheat on June but she’s always on my mind.” “I think you sell June short. You care more than you think.” “Maybe. Seems that some mystery and romance disappear, if you know someone too well, and if you don't know them well-enough there's nothing there when you lose your hard-on." "With Jane it's the second problem that worries me. That’s one reason I won’t bed her. I’d wind up like you; . . . I’d never get to know her. " “Hey, I’m not that bad off. Besides, you should sample the merchandise. You could marry her and find you’re sexually incompatible?” “The odds on that are slim and none.” “You’re probably right. She looks like hot stuff. If you satisfied Cora’s ravenous appetite, you can satisfy anyone.” Brian sighed. “Guess you shouldn't let your pecker pick out your wife. You wouldn't believe how bored I was after six months.” “Jane’s presence is so exciting my brain cuts out when I’m with her. Can’t seem to get past that. Maybe I still won’t know her, if we marry.” “Pandora’s box, . . . and you haven’t even dipped into her box, . . . yet.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 219 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 27
Playing With Fire
Each weekend half the crews on the base received their biweekly pass. At their crew’s first turn, all nine crewmen gathered at Cary’s car outside the gate. Most of the crew were green country boys and going to LA was an exciting prospect. Hollywood had an awe-inspiring sound. Cary offered everyone a round trip ticket to LA in exchange for a five-dollar donation toward fuel and upkeep of his car. It was a ‘bargain’ compared to the Greyhound Bus round-trip fare. Besides, they left the instant they got their passes and needn’t return until the moment their pass expired. That’s where the luxury ended. The problem, of course, was squeezing nine men (and luggage) into a six passenger automobile. With wide running boards on each side and a tiny trunk molded into the back, the ‘39 Pontiac had a long, narrow interior. Front and rear seats were a tight-squeeze for three across. Fortunately, the long body gave room in the rear for two to sit on the floor (crosswise). There was no room for a ninth person unless he sat on someone’s lap. Naturally their co-pilot, Roland J. Abbot, fancying himself ‘Aristocracy’, felt entitled to the front- window-seat. Autocratically , he commandeered the front window seat as his birthright. Here he could stretch his legs to their full, regal length, and he could crank the wing window out to blast hot desert air on his face. In stark contrast to the co-pilot, their pilot and bombardier, Ray and Walter, Democratically, insisted on sitting on the floor behind the front seat. They sat facing one-another with their backs against the doors and their knees drawn up under their chins. Their presence restricted the leg-room of Wolfgang, Frank, and Justin, the three rear seat passengers. Brian, sandwiched between the co-pilot and Cary, had his leg-room restricted by the transmission hump. The only space left for Bernard was the co-pilots lap. That prospect was unappealing to both Roland and Bernard, so, diplomatically , Bernard, the farm boy, decided to take the bus. (When he discovered the ‘fare’ he decided not to go.) Since Roland’s luggage filled half of the tiny trunk, those who couldn’t squeeze their luggage into the remaining space carried it on their laps. The men sat crammed together stewing in their own juices. Sardines packed in a tin had more wiggle room. Not a happy situation, for the trip into LA was non-stop, for once everyone was aboard, Cary floor-boarded the accelerator and kept it glued to the floor for the entire trip. With eight passengers, it took several-hundred-yards for the six-cylinder, sixty-five- horsepower-in-line engine to get up to speed. The speed was regulated by the terrain: thirty miles-per-hour uphill, one-hundred and ten downhill, and as close to ninety as Cary could nudge it, on the flat. And once Greayer Enemies in Love Page 220 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] they got rolling, watch-out, . . . the puny brakes couldn’t stop the three-thousand pound car and its sixteen-hundred-pound payload in less than four-hundred yards. Friday night traffic made Cary slack off a bit, which slowed their progress. As they got nearer to LA, traffic lights stopped them at every corner. It was after midnight before Cary dropped the crew off in front of the Biltmore hotel in downtown LA, across from the park. He would pick them up Monday at 8:00 A.M. This became the biweekly routine. After his fifth weekend at home, Cary sat at the dining room table and gazed surreptitiously at Jane sitting opposite to him. He felt like there was a family conspiracy to torture him. He could look, but could not touch. Jane and my sisters have become inseparable chums. Seemingly my parents have adopted her; she's here every weekend when I arrive and never goes to her sister’s apartment until after work on Monday. My parents assume we’re engaged; she calls them Mom and Dad, for crying out loud. Mom and my sisters make elaborate plans for the days I'm home and Jane and I are expected to attend all these functions. We're either at a picnic, at some commercial outing, or, like now, we're all playing Pinochle around the dining room table. It’s agony, sitting next to, or across from her. Everything about her is sensuous: her beautiful hands, her wrists, her long, young arms, her luxurious blond hair caressing her shoulders, her smell of Pepsodent toothpaste, the music of her throaty laugh, her low modulated voice, the way she moistens her tender lips with her tongue, the gentle curve of her breasts. How I envy her locket, as it disappears in the valley between those luscious breasts. Everywhere I look arouses a longing to touch: her lap, her thigh, her calf, her butt. My mind undresses her. I feel her flesh 'gainst mine. There is no feature of her being which is not endlessly fascinating, sexy, sensual: her neck, her jaw, her ear. I recall her feel that day on the beach as my hands explored. Even caressing her breast on the outside of her swimsuit, I felt the thud of her heart. Our blasted swimsuits prevented further examination. What would she feel like . . . naked? Cary was jolted from his reverie by Jane’s voice. “Cary, on your next trip to LA I’d like you to meet my parents if it’s OK with you and Mom.” “Huh? Oh sure. Why not.” “Is that OK Mom?” Jane asked. “We haven’t any plans for that Saturday yet. Cary could pick me up at my sister’s apartment and we could drive out to Apple Valley.” “That would be lovely, Jane dear. It’s time your parents got to meet our Winfred.” “The name’s Cary, Mom. I haven’t used Winfred since Spotswood.” “More’s the pity. Cary is so common, and Winfred is so dignified. I don’t know why your father insisted on Carrington for your middle name.” Cary cast his eyes heavenward. He knew he couldn’t win this one. Mother still has visions of grandeur despite all our years of poverty. She can’t accept that I worked as a messenger. Always says I was a banker. Hated it when I became a machinist even though I made twice as much money. Only embraced that menial trade when she thought I would avoid the draft . She’s a little ashamed that I’m not an officer, though she is thankful that my washout delayed my entry into combat by several months. Now she wants to impress Jane’s ‘Okie’ parents with what she sees as a dignified name. To her, Winfred Grant sounds like Winston Churchill. She never gives up. Oh well, . . . neither do I. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 221 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cary arrived at Jane's sister’s apartment at noon on a bright sunny Saturday, to take Jane to her parent's home, one hundred miles East of LA. As he left the car to approach her door, he grasped a ‘red rose’ in his left hand. Before he reached her step, out she bounced, all decked out in a pullover sweater, tailored blouse (buttoned to the throat), and a new pair of beige slacks. She was covered head to toe like a pig in a blanket. He couldn’t even see her ankle or that lovely little mole on her throat. Slacks were a fairly new fad, spawned by the many women working in defense factories. Cary recalled that six years earlier the police arrested and jailed a woman for walking down Hollywood Boulevard in slacks. He was in highschool at the time and it created a sensation. Headlines claimed that Hollywood, the sin capital of the world , was leading the moral decay of the nation. People all over the country debated the issue. Cary thought slacks were disgraceful. What would women say if men suddenly started prancing around in dresses, silk stockings, and high heeled shoes? It was a hot subject that Catherine and Cary fought about. Now, as more women added slacks to their wardrobe, it was a non issue. If he and Catherine were together, he would have to eat crow. Not that he liked women in slacks. It definitely was an unflattering, unsexy outfit. They didn’t call women broads for nothing. Suddenly remembering that Jane’s brother’s name was Eric, he said, “Hi there, Eric, I’m Cary. Supposed to meet Jane and drive out to your parent’s place. Are you joining us?” Jane wasn’t amused. “Is that supposed to be funny ?” “Oh, hi. Is that you hiding under all that burlap? Didn’t recognize you.” “Cut it out Cary.” Cary persisted. “If we're driving way out to the valley, how about wearing something a little less masculine?" She was incensed. "So you think I look masculine?" “In my mother’s day, during the gay nineties, modesty demanded that women cover themselves head to toe and bind themselves so nothing bounced, . . . but at least they wore dresses. You could still tell they were women.” Miffed, Jane said, “Get lost Cary,” and turned to leave. This needed defusing in a hurry. Grabbing her arm he said, “I was kidding. Your face could launch ten-thousand ships.” “Horse feathers. Is that your idea of flattery?” That wasn’t working. Cary had to do something quick to salvage the day. “You’ve tortured me for weeks with your sexy dresses and come-hither glances. Now you come out in slacks that look too much like a chastity belt to me. I wanted your sweet spots a little more accessible." Cary winced. He said more than he intended. She looked startled, . . . but pleased. "OK," she said coyly. "You can come up and dress me, if you like. . . .” Good, She was willing to play. . . . But, Cary wasn’t counting on that, either! Oh, oh, things might get out of hand. As Hamlet might say, I feel stirrings in my loins. “Isn’t your sister home?” Enjoying Cary’s sudden panic, she said, “You didn’t count on that, did you? What’s the matter, you look pale. Did I call your bluff? ” Cary blushed. This girl likes to play with fire. He was trapped, but he too could bluff. “OK, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 222 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] let’s go.” Now it was Jane’s turn to hesitate. . . . “First you must promise you'll . . . only . . . dress me. My parents know I'm coming and though I'd love to chuck the whole thing and make love all day, I don't think that would be wise. Too many people know our plans." Cary was uneasy. I’m accustomed to girls who set the limits. She just invited me to go all the way, but made it my responsibility. It was easy when I took girls out on the trolley car. Now with apartments and automobiles there’s all sorts of ways to get into trouble. If I disrobe her how am I going to control myself? But, I can’t back-down, I’d look like a wimp. . . . Suddenly he had an inspiration. She did ask me not to make love. That gives me an out. "OK, I promise." In the apartment, Jane teasingly removed each garment and carefully folded it and put it away. Posing before him . . . nude . . . with a silk scarf draped across her torso, she said, "Hurry, give me something to wear. I'm getting goose-bumps all over." "And, such beautiful goose-bumps they are." Boldly, he ran his fingers over her erect nipples. She didn’t resist as his hand drifted to her abdomen. Yanking his hand away abruptly and turning, . . . Cary rummaged through her closet and dresser drawers. Selecting a full, green skirt, a white tailored blouse with buttons down the front, and a beige cardigan sweater, he laid them on the bed. Then dashing out, he said, “We have to stop or I’ll never keep my promise. Meet you in the car.” Ten minutes later Jane emerged in her outfit. The top buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned, revealing a fair amount of cleavage. Obviously, she had no bra on. Noticing his glance and blush she said, "You didn’t lay out any underwear, so I figured this was what you had in mind." Oh, oh, that means she has no panties on either! Things were warming up . . . again. She was legal as far as the law was concerned, but Cary prided himself that he had higher standards. This wasn’t Cora; . . . Jane had an agenda. Foreseeing there might be problems on the trip to Apple Valley, Cary had to think fast. Handing Jane the keys, Cary jumped into the passenger seat. he said, “You know the way, . . . you drive.” Cary stayed glued to the door with his hands clasped in his lap. . Cary’s plan succeeded in putting their passion on hold for the rest of the trip. The horseplay had gone further than Cary had intended and he vowed to exercise better control on the return trip. Jane was miffed. She sat, tight lipped, as she drove to her parent’s, making other plans.
Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were nice. Mr. Taylor took Cary out back and showed him his orchard while Jane filled her mother in on Cary. Mr. Tyler said, “Bunny and me met in highschool. We hit it off right away. Never had another girlfriend. Don’t know what I’d do without her, . . . Curl up and die I reckon “ Mr. Taylor took out his pocket knife and cut off a small branch of an Orange tree. “I’ll graft this on that tree over yonder. This has a better root-stock and may yield sweeter fruit.” He stuck the twig in the ground and tied a yellow ribbon on it. “Quit highschool at sixteen and got married. She started droppin’ babies soon after. Bunny wanted to keep on havin’ them but I cut it off at three. If you find someone worth keepin’ you don’t take chances on losin’ her. No sense in wearin’ her out. Jane’s the baby of the family.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 223 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cary realized he was being groomed as a son-in-law . He liked Mr. Taylor and could see the feeling was mutual. Guilt pangs assailed his conscience, not because of his deeds, but because of his fantasies. Standing with Mr. Taylor, he tried to blot these images out of his mind. Having Jane pose nude for him in her sister’s apartment made this impossible. He saw Jane standing next to her father without a stitch on. Jane and Ms. Taylor were preparing supper in the kitchen. Mr. Taylor gathered a basket of fruit and they walked back toward the house. Cary sat on the couch in the living room and Mr. Taylor sat on a straight-backed chair with a broken rail. (Cary was very mechanical, so he began, mentally, repairing the broken rail.) “There’s talk that FDR will run for a fourth term. What do you think Mr. Grant? Hoover did nothing when the Depression hit; . . . just let people starve.” FDR’s been President since I was twelve. Dad never had any vacations until FDR. Or pension either until, Social Security. They say FDR packed the court, but at least he did something.” Cary shook his head. “I’ve never been old enough to vote, but I guarantee, I’ll vote for FDR if he runs six more times, . . . if I’m still alive.” That if I’m still alive, did it. Cary sensed that Mr. Taylor was embarrassed. Mr. Taylor got up and put his hand on Cary’s shoulder. “Bless you son. The movies make out like war’s a grand adventure, but I don’t buy it.” “Oh, it’s OK, Sir.” Mr. Taylor shook his head. “Makes me so sick to cut off a chicken’s head for Sunday dinner, sometimes I throw up.” “That’s just like my Dad. Whenever he killed a chicken for our Sunday dinner, he could never eat any.” Mr. Taylor looked sad. “Killing a man, . . . or worse, . . . a woman, would surely be harder than killing yourself.” He walked over and looked out the window. Cary sat, looking around the room. Didn’t mean to embarrass him, poor guy. He’s had it rough. Some kind of laborer, I guess. Barely makes ends meet. As a farmer he may not be covered by Social Security. May wind up in the poor house like in the old days, before there was Social Security. We kids didn’t mind being poor as long as we were together, but before Social Security everyone worried about winding up in the poor house. Dad was so old, we worried that if he died they’d farm each of us out to some Foster home. Jane’s family is like that. Mr. Taylor is poor but he’s lucky in love. Mrs. Taylor just needs the man she loves. Jane’s like her mother. She’d be happy with me just the way I am. Cary shook his head. Catherine couldn’t be poor and be happy. Catherine is aiming higher .
After dinner they all sat in the living room. Mrs. Taylor said, "Jane, let's show Cary the album with all your growing up pictures!" "Oh Mom. Cary doesn't want to see those." "Yes he does, don't you Cary?" "I'd love to see them, Mrs. Taylor." They showed Cary the family album: Pictures of Jane at three, Jane going off to kindergarten, Jane playing on the beach with her sand bucket, Jane at twelve with braces on her teeth, Jane with her date for the highschool prom. Jane was their baby. , , , They loved her and she was daddy's girl. . . . Cary sensed they trusted him Greayer Enemies in Love Page 224 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] . . . he was . . . uncomfortable. . . . Finally it was time to leave.
"Goodbye Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, . . . it was nice meeting you.. Thanks for dinner and a pleasant evening." "Don't be so formal. Call us Harv and Bunny. We feel you're part of the family. Drive carefully, . . . and take care of our baby . . . won't you?" "Yes ma'am." They could have gone all night without saying that. Cary made sure Jane was still driving. Jane was visibly miffed. Cary's peter had gone into hiding. Gradually, Cary realized Jane had taken a different route to LA. The road was deserted. They were in the middle of nowhere on a very warm night. The railroad embankment on one side and the high hills on the other made it seem they were inside the bowels of the earth. Suddenly, Jane turned and drove through a short tunnel underneath the railroad tracks. Reaching a small deserted park, she circled and drove to a remote area near the railroad embankment. She parked the car well off of the pavement. It was dark, and the moonless night gave them complete privacy. Jane jumped out of the car saying. "Let's spread our blanket on the grass near the embankment. We’re so far from the road, we should be safe." He was completely under her spell. Safe from what? Cary wondered. He soon found out. After spreading the blanket, Jane disrobed him. Then slipping off her skirt and blouse, she stood before him in all her enchanting beauty. Bunny’s last words haunted him. It was a bit chilly in the buff, but they were having too much fun to notice. Feeling like a couple of kids, they romped on the grass playing tag. The heady combination of the outdoors, . . . danger, . . . freedom, and the intermittent embraces, . . . was stimulating, . . . intoxicating. Suddenly, lights burst from the tunnel. A black-and-white state police car started circling the park. The pair of headlights knifed through the darkness. Panic stricken and far from their car, (hidden behind some shrubbery) they huddled together on the ground, . . . petrified and hoping the police wouldn't find their clothes and come looking for them. Making a complete loop around the park, the headlights panned across their prostrate bodies lying in the grass. Slowing for a better look, the officers used a spotlight to search the grassy field. The light swept within ten feet of their prostrate bodies. The driver put the car in reverse and backed up slowly, . . . the pool of light inched toward their naked bodies. The light came within inches, . . . then switched off. The car moved on and exited the park. Cary and Jane ran for their car, put on their clothes and drove frantically out of the park. You would think the headless horseman was after them. A few miles down the road, they looked at one-another and burst out laughing. That broke the tension, but their adventure was over for that day. Jane drove to Cary’s home and they each retreated to their separate beds under the watchful eyes of Cary’s family. It was several hours before either of their hearts stopped pounding. Finally, they drifted off to sleep.
As Cary was driving his crew back to Blythe . . . he found a rose-petal on the dash. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 225 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 28
The Apartment
The next week Cary got a letter from Jane.
Wednesday, 26 January 1944 Sweetheart, AtAtAt last, I have my own apartment. I move in on TuesTuesday,day, February 1 ststst ... I’m so excited, I hope I don’t wet my pants. The address is on the envelope. Apartment number 205. Top of the stairs at the end of the hall. Get there Friday night, no matter how late. Call PlymPlymouthouth 8-0616 from the gasgasgas station on the corner. I’ll have a pillow on thethe telephone to muffle the sound, so I maymaymay not hear the first few rings. After your call, I'I'llll go down and unlock the vestibule door. The landlady’s apartment is opposite the frontfront doodoorr and she’ll kick me out if she finds a man in my room, so I can't use the buzzer to let you in. I'll try to make it worth your while. All my Love, Jane PS The landlady rises early, so you'll have to leave about five A.M. to go tototo your family. I've told them I won't be there tiltilll noon Saturday. They may have suspicions if you don't show up either. Sorry to put you on such a spot, but I need some time ALONE, with you, I'm going crazy.
Cary showed Brian Jane’s letter. “And take a gander at this picture” “Hubba-Hubba. Guess that means you're about to score, Buddy.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 226 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “But, I don’t want to score. I date a woman cuz I want to get to know her . . . and maybe. . . love her. Once I ‘score’, as you put it, I’ll never get to know her.” “Oh, come off it, Cary. You and Cora had sex. What’s your hang-up now?” Cora and I did have sex; most exciting sex, . . . but we never had ‘intercourse’, so by all physical evidence she was still a virgin, . . . but Brian doesn’t know that, . . . and I’ll wager ‘our sex’ was as exciting . . . or more exciting than anything Brian has ever experienced . “I’m not after sex.” “Whoa Nellie. Where to now?” “I’m looking for someone to replace Catherine. Jane is the best candidate I’ve met in five years. I don’t want to fuck it up.” “Why will sex fuck it up?” “Jane isn’t Cora. Cora and I had an understanding. Jane declared herself when she ‘returned’ Tony’s ring. Once I bed her, I’m honor bound to marry her.” “Bullshit.” “It’s not bullshit. May as well face facts. That’s who I am.” “Ok, so you’re an asshole. What do you propose to do?” “Don’t know. Need to know her. . . . I’m so infatuated with her body, it would be impossible if I bed her. . . . Have to resist her without offending her? ” “That’s a tall order. Women put on the virgin act and turn men down with no problem. If a man says he’s a virgin, she thinks he’s either a fag, or suddenly thinks she’s repulsive.” “Come on Brian, I need your help, buddy. Got to solve that problem by Friday.” “Don’t look at me. I’m only an expert at making them drop their drawers, not kross their legs.”
It was a chilly night. As instructed, Cary called from the gas station, then dragged himself to Jane's apartment. Perspiring profusely as he turned the corner, he sawJane waving from her window. The vestibule door was ajar and Cary pushed it open . . . carefully. A squeak from a sticky hinge curled his toes. He sat on the bottom step and removed his shoes. The tomtom beat of his heart echoed in his ears as he mounted the stairs stealthily, . . . like some midnight bugler. To him, every creak, every groan of a stair sounded like a rifle shot. At the top, he scratched softly on her door. It opened instantly. Jane stood radiant, breathless, as moonlight cast a soft halo glow on her long blond hair framing her angelic, childlike face. A trace of exotic perfume enveloped her person. Seductive music murmured in the background. Looking deeply into his eyes, her soft, soulful expression commanded his attention. Transfixed, . . . he stood motionless. Gently taking his hand, she led him in and silently closed the door. Standing in a shaft of moonlight, Jane's translucent black negligee revealed her young, firm breasts . . . gently throbbing, . . . their two rose-colored nipples dimpled her gown. His eyes were drawn down to where the gentle curve of her hips separated her frock, revealing her naval and the soft fluff between her thighs. Her tender lips were parted and she was panting softly, . . . breasts gently heaving. She took his right hand, placed it on her bosom, drew him toward the bed, and turning her head, softly caressed his lips with hers. Holding him with her eyes, she removed his jacket, trousers, tie, shirt, and socks. Each touch sent electric shocks through his body. Unbuttoning a single pearl fastener at her throat, she let her gown slip slowly to the floor. She stood quietly, letting his eyes feast on her aroused beauty before she turned and dimmed the lights. His hands gently brushed her breasts, abdomen, and thighs as she receded beneath the sheets. Slipping in beside her, he deftly removed his last garment. Face to face they lay, panting softly, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 227 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] their bodies touching. They were hungry for love. Cary broke the spell. “I can’t do this.” She looked startled. “But, I want you to.” Cary clasped Jane’s voluptuous body to his and kissed her softly. “Holding you is the greatest thrill of my life. To feel like this forever would be worth waiting . . . forever. I need no other reward.” Suddenly, he had an inspiration . After a pause he said, “I’d never forgive myself if I betrayed your parent’s trust.” That did it. Tears burst from Jane’s eyes, and she smothered Cary’s face with kisses. “I love you, so.” Then she pushed on his shoulder, rolling him on his back. She threw her leg over his torso and said, “You don’t have to betray my parent’s trust.” Then she inserted his prod into her vagina. This was raw, unprotected sex; ravenous too. (Cary was a Virgin, . . . no longer.)
As dawn was breaking, Cary slipped quietly from Jane’s arms, dressed, and slunk noiselessly down the stairs and out to the sidewalk. His gallantry had increased her love of him a thousand fold. She had feared his only interest was sex. He proved her wrong, but . . . she had, had everything she wanted, and she was satisfied.
Once they had established that intercourse was not his object she entered into the games he contrived with abandon. With Catherine he wrote poetry. With Jane his games were more provocative. He tried his hand at art. First they were just pencil sketches of her face, with her as his willing model. Soon they progressed to upper-torso, and then to full figure nudes. She got a kick out of posing with various wispy veils draped across her torso or face. She even invented some exotic dances which she performed for him to suitable background music. The dance always ended in a striptease, and she wound up nude. Then furtive touches and passionate embraces raised their blood to the boiling point. His three-day passes to LA became long exciting adventures, far more lasting than had they merely copulated. With two creative minds at work the tension and excitement lasted for hours. Back at Blythe, Cary spent the time riding around in the back of the B-24 dreaming up new, exciting and sometimes risky scenarios. One weekend he came up with a daring scheme. The moment he got to her apartment Saturday morning, he proposed to drive to a lonely beach and sunbathe in the nude. "You're crazy. Riding around in a car with no panties on is one thing, but nude on a public beach is crazy. Are you trying to get us thrown in jail for indecent exposure?" "But they won't know we're nude." "How do we arrange that, put our heads in the sand, like an Ostrich, and figure no one can see us?" "I have some body-paint. We’ll paint swimsuits on one-another and from twenty or thirty feet no one could tell that we have nothing on." She got suspicious. "Why, . . . have you tried this before?" "No I haven’t, . . . but after I paint a suit on you, you can stand ten feet from that mirror and see what you think. OK?" . “Don't you think I ought to at least keep my panties on? This fuzzy stuff down here might be hard to hide." "You let me worry about that." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 228 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] She got coy. "I doubt it will work, but it will be fun having you paint my body.” Cary got out the body paints and started applying paint with his fingers. This was a wonderful variation on foreplay . . . much more stimulating than either party could stand. There were many pauses as Cary called time out so both parties could cool down. Cary painted a black, two-piece suit. "OK, it's done. What do you think?"
Standing ten feet from the mirror, she said, "Not bad. Looks like I have a very sexy swimsuit on. OK, now it's time for me to do you." Cary disrobed. When he took off his shorts, he had a black jock strap on. "Hey, no fair. You said we would be nude. What you meant was, I would be nude and you would have clothes on." "Do you call this, clothes? Besides, if you painted my body without this restraint it would look like I was carrying a baseball bat around." "Don't flatter yourself. If I'm going to be nude, you have to be nude too." "Well, paint me then, but I doubt I can pass the mirror test. The mirror is the acid test. If I pass that, OK, but otherwise I get to put the jock on, OK?" "OK." When she finished, they gave it the mirror test. He said, "I think it's no-pas-a-vou. What do you say?" "OK slugger, you win. Put on the jock.” By the time they finished playing around there was no time to drive out to Zuma beach. The landlady was away, so they tested their suits by walking out on the balcony and talking to some tenants lounging in the garden, below. No one said anything rude so they assumed they passed the test. That was the extent of their adventure except that they ate dinner in their suits and then removed them in the shower. They had as much fun removing the suits as they had putting them on.
Once Cary got a scheme he couldn't let it go. He still wanted to find an isolated beach somewhere and bathe in the buff. Two weeks later they packed a picnic lunch, some blankets, their swimsuits, and headed up the coast. Beyond Santa Barbara, near the tiny town of Golita, they discovered a deserted beach near some cliffs. Cary said, "This looks good. If we park the car here, we can walk up the beach at the foot of those cliffs. There's no-one there and if anyone else Greayer Enemies in Love Page 229 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] walks down the beach we would see them coming from a long way off. No one is going to look down from the top of those one-hundred-foot cliffs, it would be too scary." "OK. Let's go." After carrying their blankets and picnic basket about a quarter-mile they found a short cleft that ran back into the bluff about eighty-feet. A perfect little sheltered area with nothing but cliffs on three sides. It was a perfect day. They romped on the beach, bathed in the warm, calm, shallow water, wrestled in the sand, basked in the sunshine, necked on the blanket, and finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep in an embrace. They were happy. As they slept, the sun dipped down toward the horizon, wind whipped up white caps, and to the left and right of their sheltering cove the beach gradually disappeared until huge waves were pounding the base of the cliffs. Soon each wave sent fingers of water into their refuge and water, lapping at their feet, awakened them. Startled, they quickly retrieved their wet clothes, dressed and grabbing their blankets, they ran to higher ground inside the cove. Jane's teeth were chattering and her face a mask of terror, as she looked to him for salvation. Controlling his panic, Cary surveyed the surrounding cliffs, looking for an avenue of escape. He quickly saw the high-tide mark, etched ten-feet up from the base. Trying to sound calm, Cary said, "We have to get to that tree stump jutting out about fifteen feet up on the side of the cliff. That's above the high water mark and we'll be safe there." She panicked. "I can't climb up there. I'm going to drown." Frantically, she clung to him and started to call for help. Cary estimated it would be dark in twenty minutes at most. Calming her Cary said, "You won’t drown, Jane. We'll get to that stump, never fear." With his pocket knife, Cary quickly cut the blanket into strips and knotting the ends together he made a rope. He tied one end under Jane's armpits and carefully scaled the cliff. Reaching the tree trunk, he fastened the other end of the rope, straddled the stump, and lifted Jane up beside him. They were above high-tide, but Cary knew they were not above the crests of the waves. The tree trunk had withstood perhaps half-a-century of pounding so it would hold fast. Whether they could survive the pounding, Cary didn't know. "Lie down on the log, Jane, and wrap your arms and legs around." Cary used the rope to tie her wrists and ankles together. Then he wrapped the rest of the rope around her body, tying her to the tree stump. "Why are you doing that? I can hang on." "I don't want to frighten you, but the waves are going to hit up here. I don't want you to be washed away." Jane struggled to free herself. "Untie me. Use some of this rope to tie yourself." "I can't do that Jane, your mom would never forgive me." Cary leaned over and kissed her gently. He felt an overpowering love. "You're really quite a gal. Forgive me."
When the sun dipped down and disappeared The moon came up and she wasn't scared Her hero, her knight was by her side. She held his hand and felt great pride. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 230 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] He stood with the moon behind his head, To shield her from harm till he be dead. He wouldn't flinch, of that she knew. In this great crisis he turned out true.
Though great waves and the bitter cold, Mounted an assault on their stronghold. He braved each wave 'till it did recede, Enduring cuts and bruises, she saw him bleed.
One great wave nearly pulled him under. But lo a shaft of light burst forth like thunder. A rescue team scrambled down the cliff. And plucked them both to safety on a lift.
The local cop who spied their car, Sent search teams out near and far. Hearing their cries, they quickly sprung To the spot on the cliff where they clung.
Safe back home they assessed their fun. Their private parts shone like the sun. They could not sit, or stand, or walk - Everything so swollen, they couldn't talk.
They spent near a week in recuperation, Thanking God and a cop for their salvation. After they were safe and sound and well, He searched no more for an extra spell.
He satisfied himself with her many gifts, Curbing his need for any extra lifts. Her bed he found was the ideal platform To explore her every nook and cranny from.
For her, he discovered awe, a new admiration. For himself only hatred, not self-congratulation. He'd risked her life - to feel enthralled. What kind of vermin? He felt appalled.
So bent on delivering a severe reprimand, He never noticed . . . he'd behaved like a man. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 231 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 29
Farewell
On Friday, 17 March 1944, Crew training had ended and they made their last trip to Los Angeles. Each man sat quietly, lost in their private thoughts. Fun and games were over. Next stop, training as a combat Group, . . . then overseas. It wouldn't be long, . . . a month or two at most. Several men were involved in serious relationships. Both Ray Stewart, the pilot, and Brian Walker, the ball gunner, were in love with married women, . . . sisters. Never mind that Brian was already married, . . . he was in love again. Till now, each man had avoided thinking of the future. This was their last chance to make a commitment before saying goodbye. But compared to Cary, the men on the crew had simple problems. Between his duty to his family, his passion for Jane, and his love for Catherine, Cary felt he was being drawn and quartered. Jane declared herself committed, almost from their first meeting but so far Cary had artfully avoided a commitment. Did he want to commit? Could he, in good conscience, commit? A commitment would end his hope of Catherine once and for all . . . or would it? Would that end all thought of Catherine? No way. He dropped the crew off in Pershing Square and called Jane. "Hi, it's me. Don't have to return to Blythe till Monday, but I'll say I have a one-day pass. That way, I can get to your place by five on Saturday. How does that sound?" "Is that fair, Cary? Aunt Maud made a special trip from Santa Barbara to spend a few hours with Greayer Enemies in Love Page 232 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] you, and, Mom planed a big dinner on Sunday. It will ruin their plans for the weekend.” "You sound really anxious to see me. Maybe I should spend the whole weekend at home." "You should, if that’s what you want." "I told you what I wanted and you kicked my teeth in." "I told you about Aunt Maud, that's all. Did you want me to do cartwheels because you're spending more time with me than your family? I'm sorry, it doesn't impress me. I know where I . . .” Cary couldn't handle it over the phone. He cut her off with a curt, "I'll see you tomorrow at five. You can let me in or not, suit yourself." He hung up.
Things were not much better at home. Acting like it was just a regular weekend, they played cards. No one said what was on their mind. Passing time as painlessly as possible was the essence of life, what else? Only when no time was left did you face how pointless life was. Even the condemned man eats his last meal. Give him a deck of cards and he'd play solitaire. No one knows how else to deal with it. We try to lead a meaningful life, but in the end it's all the same, a life full of sound and fury, signifying nothing . This may be it. The last time I’ll ever see my family. No doubt they’re having similar thoughts. In our stiff upper lip British tradition, we hide our emotions. Unable to express our feelings, our pain, . . . everyone is trying to put a happy face on it. Mom's mouth has a frozen smile, but her eyes are oh, so sad. A special kind of torture is reserved for those unable to express their love. Every moment is agony, each of us anxious to end our torment. Death, oh where is thy sting. With no one able to speak, Cary retreated to his bedroom to think. He had no illusions. I may never return, but I’ll only be dead ; they have to go on living. Dad and Mom would gladly die in my stead, but they can't. Death in battle is reserved for the young. There is something perverse about it, really. The people who enjoy the freedoms of the nation, the ones that have prospered and accumulated possessions and wealth, the ones with positions of power and prestige, the ones who have everything to be grateful for, the ones on top of the mountain with all their booty to protect are the very ones exempt from warfare. It is the young who sacrifice their lives, the strong but powerless youth whom society has brainwashed into feeling guilty if they are not willing to charge into battle, . . . to die in battle. Those who are powerless must sacrifice themselves for the powerful. Those who have nothing have to die for that nothing, and those they leave behind will cherish a medal or perhaps a letter. The rich and powerful will not share their wealth or power with the loved ones of the fallen. They won't even concede they were the beneficiaries of the dead. The dead died for democracy or for their country or some other equally abstract notion, but, they are dead because they were powerless and for no other reason. The propaganda machine has made it their duty , . . . my duty.
Cary got up from the bed and looked out the front window. He placed his elbow on the windowsill and rested his chin in his right hand like the statue of the Thinker. So, it is not for love of parent or for love of country that I die. Not for any noble reason, but for a perverse reason. I die because I fear being thought a coward. I die so that my sisters, and my mother, and Catherine will not think me that. Did you hear what you just said? Just as Babsie said, It is the women in your life that you Greayer Enemies in Love Page 233 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] die for, and, in the larger sense, all women. Babsie would point out the irony. Women complain that men have all the power and that they are powerless, but none of them are required to die for their country, it is only our duty. Women weep as we go off to war but they have the white feather handy in case we balk. And yet women despise us for it. For centuries men have sheltered and protected women, have worked and slaved for women only to have it thrown back in our faces that we have deprived them of their opportunity for growth. And perhaps that’s true. But, again, our sheltering and protecting is not out of a desire to deprive, it is only out of love. Parents shelter and protect their children out of love and wind up depriving them the opportunity for growth. And their children despise them for it, just as women despise men. When my sisters, out of love, said they would go to war in my stead, Babsie nearly split a gut. He can misinterpret too. He saw it as part of the game women play to make men their willing protectors. Are we all so bent on hating one another that we cannot allow ourselves to see the love motive behind our deeds? But, what does all this prove? That though I don’t want to be thought a coward, that is exactly what I am. A coward because I play the game. A coward because I dance to the tune dictated by our culture. A coward because I’m afraid to proclaim that I am opposed to war. Opposed, not on religious grounds but on ethical grounds. Instead of saying to the rich and powerful, and yes, to women, that I have nothing except my life and I refuse to sacrifice it for you, I went along with the farce in the hope I could reap glory and make myself worthy of Catherine. The carrot that society holds out to spur us on, the carrot of approbation, the carrot of hero worship, was sufficient to make me violate my convictions. If I could reap that reward, perhaps I could win Catherine. And, I almost succeeded. I reached the mountaintop. But, then I slipped and came crashing down. Now glory is gone, and Catherine is gone. So in the end it is love of self that I die for, for my own self image. My love of self drives me to self sacrifice, not love of country or of anyone else. Now, I am dying for nothing, not even Jane, for Jane is but a consolation prize. Poor sweet Jane, with all her many charms, cannot compete with Catherine. Catherine has won, though she doesn’t know it, and may never know it. For, the only prize I am likely to win is death.
At four on Saturday Cary left. His family gathered on the front porch to wave goodbye. They were all in mourning, helpless and in mourning, each heart squeezed by an iron shell. None would draw breath nor heart would beat . . . until. Cary stopped off for flowers. He arrived at Jane's about five o'clock with three red roses wrapped in green tissue. Whenever he felt the need to buy flowers, it was a disaster. Even that first pathetic corsage he bought Catherine was a fiasco. She left it on the trolley-car. It was no different this time. Jane had prepared a special candlelight dinner, but neither she nor Cary could muster the required levity to make this anything but a somber occasion. Silence reigned. The Rachmaninov Prelude, the romantic glow of scented candlelight, her black revealing negligee--all failed to spark romance. The flowers lay wilting on the sofa. Nothing could alleviate the tension. At dinner, heavy sighs punctuated the silence between them. Even the silk sheets and their nude bodies lying side by side didn't crack the strained, moody silence. He, feigning sleep, wished he was anywhere-else, even with his family. She was crying, quietly. The romantic evening ended, a flop. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 234 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Sunday morning Cary awoke alone, in bed. He was in no hurry to find Jane. He shaved, took a leisurely bath, and wondered if this would go on until Monday morning. A big blowup was coming, and he didn't know what he had done. Death, does she fear my death in combat as my family had? No, probably it’s not that simple. Perhaps, it’s not anything I have done, but something I have not done? Yes, that’s it, it’s what I have not done that has her in tears. I could seduce her. Is that what she wants? No, that’s not the answer. She wants a commitment, a commitment I cannot give her. In any event, I must stop hiding. What will she accept instead? Cary ventured cautiously into the kitchen where he could hear furious breakfast preparations. The smell of bacon and eggs had permeated the apartment with their delicious aroma, . . . but he wasn’t hungry. Cary busied himself laying out the plates, silverware, and napkins before sliding into a straight- backed breakfast-nook. The white enameled surface of the bench felt cold and hard through his trousers. He chanced a look at her back as she was preparing breakfast. He could see the tension in her body. Her blue terrycloth robe, fastened at the throat, covered her completely, but . . . there was nothing Jane could do to hide her sensuality. With no makeup on and wearing this burlap sack, she exuded sex. Pictures he had seen of her when she was five with no figure at all, just a post, . . . she had that sexy look. Her face, even now streaked with tears, was sexy. "Are you going to say anything to me before you leave?" "Me! You're the one giving me the silent treatment!" "Please don't try to pick a fight with me, Cary. Don't try to get out of talking to me, by picking on me. I just don't know what you're thinking, what I'm fighting.” Cary remained silent, trying to discover his feelings. “You know all the words, Cary, but you won't tell me anything. When, I say I love you, those words are so puny. No way do they say what I feel. So I’ve tried to show you. I’ve done all you would let me do. You hold back making love to me, saying it is out of respect for me, but that’s a lie. You parrot what I say, but you don't love me. You just feel you have to say it.” He agonized. How can I explain the box I’ve created? I don't want to lose Jane, but I must see Catherine again before I can possibly know what Jane means to me. “So, you're going to leave me here like Greayer Enemies in Love Page 235 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] this not knowing what is in your mind.” At this moment Cary didn't know if he loved her, but he didn't know he didn't love her. Catherine was an impenetrable barrier standing between them. He put his hand to his forehead, groping for an answer. “There is some barrier between us, and you won't tell me what it is. Or am I no more important to you than the next bus to Denver?" Catherine had been a pillar in his life, dominating his every waking moment from the instant he met her. Nothing else can happen until I resolve my relationship with Catherine. Can I save my relationship with Jane without telling her a lie? I’m afraid to tell her about Catherine, but I owe it to her. I must be honest and let her know my dilemma. His hands shook and his voice trembled as he started into unknown territory. Not knowing what would come out, he blundered ahead. "I'm sort-of committed." (That wasn’t exactly a lie. She had dumped him, but her rejection had no effect on his resolve to marry her. He was committed even if she wasn’t.) "What do you mean you're sort-of committed? Who to?" "I proposed to my highschool sweetheart about a year ago and she said maybe. Since then I haven't written, so it's still up in the air." (That was a stretch. Catherine had reacted and how.) She looked dumbfounded. "What do you take me for, an idiot? She says maybe and you never talk to her again! A whole year goes by and you never pursed the maybe. That's your explanation?” Jane's face, contorted. “Just grab your things and get the hell out of here ." Her look of bafflement and frustration was heartrending. Still holding the spatula in one hand and a plate of bacon and eggs in the other, she just stood there. Then everything clattered to the floor as she collapsed into the seat opposite Cary. Cary steeled himself to prevent him from rushing to console her. He sat stoically until her sobs abated. "I realize it’s unbelievable, that's why I never explained. You know I washed out of pilot training, but because it's painful to talk about, you never got the details. But, if you want to know and won't interrupt for about ten hours, I promise I'll tell you everything." She looked disbelieving. " This better be good. Why am I still listening? I should have my head examined." Cary told her that he was number one in Preflight and one of the best pilots in Primary. So certain of being a fighter pilot, he never considered that he could fail. He related the series of events just after getting Catherine's response to his proposal: the accident that hospitalized him, the letter mix-up, the early hospital discharge, the plea of his pals for help, the confrontation with the appeals-board, the double cross by his friends, the railroading out of cadets, the demotion to private, the reassignment to gunnery school. Buried emotions came flooding out. Either Cary was telling the truth or he was the world’s greatest living actor. he broke down and cried for the first time in his life. It took a long time to complete the story. Jane embraced him, tried to comfort him as she, deeply affected, couldn't restrain her own tears. Cary explained that Catherine stood between him and any new alliance and if he never saw Catherine again he would never know how he felt toward her or anyone else. By the time he finished he knew he had won. Her soft heart would rule. "So, you really love this Catherine?" Cary hedged, "How do I know? I asked her to marry me so I must have thought so. If she said no, that would have ended it. She may not be waiting for me, but somehow honor demands that I find out. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 236 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Would you really want to marry me with this question in my mind?" Cary had said the magic word. Marry. At least it had crossed his mind. "I won't respond to that last question. I'll try to believe you’re confused and hope that you’ll find you love me and not her. But, it's not going to be fun waiting for you to decide. Promise me you’ll see her before long so I don't dangle here forever." "If I go anywhere near New York, I'll get this resolved." Cary wasn't sure that he would have the courage to marry Jane even if Catherine didn't want him, but he could cross that bridge later. The double standards of society haunted him. Though he’d never made love to her, . . . but she had been engaged, once, and he had no illusion about her chastity since she had made love with him, so he was sure no one could be better in bed. Could she be faithful to him? Convictions and emotions are two different things. He had dodged a bullet for the nonce, but this was not going to go away. Their talk relieved the tension, somewhat. Sunday evening was much more pleasant, and . . . much more difficult. It was no longer possible to refrain from making love under the pretext of his promise to her Mom. She would see through the sham as saving himself for Catherine and see herself as repulsive and unlovable. He felt he owed it to her to make her feel like a queen. Catherine’s disapproving visage stood over him, but once between those silk sheets the dam broke. He found it wasn’t a difficult chore. The love he’d withheld for so long come gushing out. He didn’t know if it was love for Jane or love of Catherine, but he couldn’t love her enough. He outperformed his efforts with Cora by a wide margin. And when he could no longer perform, he found other means to give her pleasure. He paid his debt to her with interest. He could only guess at her past sexual experience, but before the night was over he knew she had- had a night to remember . . . and so had he. It may only be a one night stand but she was making sure that when he saw Catherine it would be difficult . . . . nay . . . impossible to crowd Jane from his mind.
Next morning it was a bittersweet farewell tinged with melancholy. The jumble of emotion flashing through his head was too rapid to focus on. She had her own thoughts that made this a pensive occasion. Would he be any happier if he were completely committed to Jane? Probably not. The pain would just be different. The pain at home was just as bad, and they didn't question his love. But, this pain is worse because I need her more than I need them. Or do I?. The situation is so different. There is no way my family will ever desert me, so I could lose this woman, and my family will always be there. There is more risk in this parting and therefore, more pain. My family can't make me happy, but they’d never desert me. If I were afraid to venture out, afraid to commit, I would never be happy but I would always be secure, safe. Happiness requires taking a risks. It feels dangerous. Jane began to stir. She rolled over and took him in her arms. This was it. His last embrace from a beautiful woman. Would he ever have another? He’d better pay attention . She was sending him off with something to remember. They lingered so long in bed, that Cary was a half hour late in leaving to pick up the crew.
As the crew piled into the car, Ray said, "We may have messed up, Cary. You weren't here when we arrived, so we called your home to find out when you left. Either your sister or your aunt answered. Said you left Saturday afternoon. She seemed a bit upset." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 237 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 30
The Journey
With their training at Blythe over, the crew suddenly found themselves in El Paso, a way- station on their way to oblivion. Lying on his bunk, Cary gazed at the glamour photo that Jane had given him his last morning in LA. He no longer had a photo of Catherine, he had burned it in a foolish attempt to forget her, but her face still smiled up at him. And the inscription, blazoned in his mind, Loads of Love Catherine, made his eyes watery. With pencil in hand, Cary roughed out a verse.
Jane is a love of passion, Catherine, a love of soul. Each love an obsession. Each my life's goal.
How do I choose between? Which will my life fulfil? The one is a movie queen, T'other the Empress of Seville
Cary pondered over The Empress of Seville. Was there an Empress of Seville? Does it matter? The poem expresses the thought perfectly. Jane is glamorous, earthy, available. Catherine is regal, refined, remote. If, in fact, there were no Empress of Seville, it was a better metaphor. Can’t get more unattainable than that. Tossing his pad aside, he opened the letter he received just before boarding the bus that took him from Blythe to El Paso. It was from Aunt Maud. What can she want? He opened the note and read it. It was a terse note. Cary grimaced. Just then Brian walked in. "God damn it Brian, look at this." Cary handed his letter to Brian. Brian wondered what had upset Cary. He read the note.
jxwÇxáwtç? Greayer Enemies in Love Page 238 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] VtÜç? gÉgÉgÉ à{|Ç~ \ ãÉâÄw Ä|äx àÉ áxx à{x wtç à{tà çÉâ ãÉâÄw ÄÄ|x|x àÉ çÉâÜ ytÅ|ÄçA lÉâ á{ÉâÄw ux tá{tÅxwA TÇw ~ÇÉã|Çz çÉâ Ä|xw áÉ çÉâ vÉâÄw áÑxÇw çÉâÜçÉâÜ Ätáà wtçá ã|à{ ]tÇx Åt~xá Åx ÜxzÜxà vÉÅ|ÇvÉÅ|Çzz wÉãÇ yÜÉÅ ftÇàt UtÜutÜt àÉ áxx çÉâA j{tà {tá{tá uxv uxvÉÅxÉÅx Éy çÉâÜ ÄÉyàç |wxtÄá TÇw \ vtÇ:à àxÄÄ çÉâ ã{tà \ à{|Ç~ Éy ]tÇxA j{tà t ãtç àÉ ux{tux{täxäx tyàxÜ çÉâÜ ÑtÜxÇàá àÜxtàxw {xÜ Ä|~x à{x|Ü ÉãÇ wtâz{àxÜA W|ázÜtvxyâÄA TâÇà `tâw
"I'll be a dirty name. . . . You said that would happen." "My family demands a stronger fidelity to a parent than to a spouse. Imagine how they feel about a mere girlfriend. In their mind Jane’s at fault. From Aunt Maud’s, ‘holier- than-thou’ tone, you wouldn’t know that she had gonorrhea . . . before she was sixteen." "The pot always condemns the kettle. Poor Jane. Now she’s on their shit list. Any girl who marries you will be an outsider even after fifty years." "She'll be number one with me." "Bullshit. You hustled your fanny down to LA on your furlough instead of seeing Catherine like you wanted." Cary grimaced. "What a shit-head. Now I’ve told Jane I’ll resolve my feelings toward Catherine as soon as possible. How can I do that?" "Christ, you told her about Catherine? You are a jerk. She should have sliced off your balls." Cary laughed. “You should talk. Your balls are the root of all your troubles.” “They’re the root of yours too.” “Yeah, Ought to slice them off and become a eunuch.” Brian yelled, “Ouch,” and jumped down from the top bunk. He grabbed a pen and paper, and sat at the desk. “Better get busy.” “Haven’t seen you write in months, Brian.” . Brian shuddered. “I’m in big trouble, Cary. Fell for Connie, in LA. Says she’ll divorce Ken if I’ll dump June. . . . Implied I would.” “BS. You won’t.” “Got carried away. June’s madder than a pit-bull. Help.” “Nix. Should never have helped you with Connie. Have my own problems.” “I need to get home before June dumps me.” “Need to get back East too, to settle my affairs with Catherine.” “How can we do it, Cary, . . . AWOL?” “Could pull the same old dodge and get special orders for our trip to Mc Cook, but the troop train only takes three days. That doesn’t leave much time to drive to New York and back to Mc Cook, Nebraska.” Ernie Kash was sitting on the next bunk listening. “What are you two smoking?” ” Cary said, “Not too crazy, Ernie. A flight of AT-6s leaves every morning on a training mission to Richmond, Virginia. All we have to figure is how to get back.” Doug Covey horned in. “With a million bucks you could hire a taxi, but you’ll be up shit creek Greayer Enemies in Love Page 239 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] trying to get back for free.” Ernie piped up. “I have an old clunker in DC that we could use.” “Would take forty hours to drive from DC to Mc Cook,” Doug said. “That only leaves twenty-two hours for whatever.” "Now we're cooking,” Cary said. “The AT-6s leave at ten A.M. for the ten hour flight to Richmond. That leaves twelve hours to get to Glendale and back. I’d have an hour or two with Catherine.” Doug said, ”We’d better get a move on, there’s lots to do.” “We!” Cary said. "Who invited you along? Pretty soon we’ll need a bus to get everyone back.” Doug countered, “You’ll need four drivers to handle the two-thousand mile, non-stop trip to Mc Cook." Brian said, “Cary and I have girl problems to solve. And we need Ernie’s car, but why do you want to go, Doug? The logistics are complicated enough as it is.” "My girlfriend just dumped me for my best friend. He’s home on leave. If I go, I have a chance of getting her back. Besides, I live in Richmond, so my logistics are easy." Brian said, "There’s another reason we need Doug, Cary. It’s only eight hundred miles to Mc Cook from here. That won’t get us enough gas coupons to drive the two-thousand miles from D.C. to Mc Cook. We’ll have to claim we have two cars. That way we’ll get gas coupons for sixteen-hundred miles.” “Good thinking Brian. Have a few gas coupons left from our trips to LA but we still might run short. May need to bum some coupons from the people we visit." “One other thing guys,” Doug said. Need forty-hours travel time for the drive. That means we leave for Mc Cook at eight PM, Saturday. Even that’s cutting it close. How long do we wait if someone’s late?” “That’s a tough one, Cary said. “How about one-hour, max? No sense in everyone being AWOL. Agreed?” Everyone chorused, “Agreed.”
The whole package of per diem, gasoline coupons, and orders to report by noon, three-days-hence, was ready at eight o'clock the morning of 14 April 1944. They had a two-hour head start on their 72-hour pass, for a take off at ten A.M. Cary’s plane circled for an hour while all the ships assembled for the cross country flight. Cary began rehearsing his meeting with Catherine. At best they would have only ninety minutes together. The limited time might help. He hoped she would be excited about seeing him again. There was no question in his mind that he wanted to be engaged by the time they parted. He had to start with a proposal and hope to sweep her off her feet. He was on his way overseas. No time for hash and re-hash. That should help his cause. She was headstrong, but she had emotion. He had to count on that to help him win her heart.
Any man in his right mind would die for Jane. That he could resist her charms only proved how much he loved Catherine. Whatever he’d done was a burden of guilt he’d carry to his grave, but no one could love a woman more than Cary loved Catherine . . . or was it that he couldn’t accept No for an answer?????????? The student pilot spoke over the intercom. “Clouds up ahead. Have to drop down.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 240 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Looking out of the greenhouse, Cary saw the other nine ships in the flight swooping down to treetop level. Ernie, in another plane, waved to him and gave him a thumbs-up sign.. They hedge hopped across the country detouring to the south to avoid some violent thunderstorms. It may have been thumbs- up as far as Ernie was concerned, he was just along for the ride. Cary was on a tight schedule and they were falling behind. His time slot with Catherine was disappearing. Cary tried to get some shut eye. Once they landed, he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep for at least twenty-four hours.
It was midnight when they reached the Richmond bus station. Next bus to DC left the following morning. He had to hitchhike. After standing on the highway for over an hour, Cary decided the drivers were more tuned into Mr. Barker's philosophy than Carol's. Can't blame them. Even a truck driver might hesitate at picking up three soldiers in the wee hours of the morning. At two A.M., a big, chauffeur-driven limo whizzed by at sixty-miles per hour and came to a screeching halt two-hundred-yards down the highway. They grabbed their chutes and ran toward the car. The chauffeur opened the rear door of the Pierce Arrow. The spacious compartment contained two jump seats folded against the back of the chauffeur’s compartment. A lone passenger, an aristocratic looking woman in her forties, sat inside. She sure had guts. Perhaps her chauffeur was packing a forty-five, but even so it was a brave move. Obviously, like Carol, she was a loving mother who saw her son standing by the roadside, . . . instead of the threatening muggers that Carol’s husband, Hiram, would have seen. She introduced herself as Mrs. Vanderpool. Brian sat next to her on the back seat and Ernie and Cary sat on the jump-seats. There were fresh cut roses in the vases attached to the doorposts on ether side next the back doors. They thanked the woman profusely. Cary decided her cultured voice had to be the product of some finishing school. "Where are you boys going? Forgive me for calling you 'boys', but you're all about my son’s age. It's difficult for a mother to think of her baby as a man." Each, in turn, related their own plan. Addressing Cary, she said, "How romantic! I envy your sweetheart. To travel four-thousand miles to see her for two hours--you must love her dearly." She opened her purse and dried her eyes with her lace-embroidered handkerchief. "Forgive me for getting teary eyed, but it's just too precious. What an adventure! And, you boys are wonderful, helping your friend meet his sweetheart. It’s really too thrilling for words.” Mrs. Vanderpool reached out and held Cary’s hand. “How I envy the people you boys are planning to visit. They’re bound to fall head-over-heels in love with you. I'll remember this for the rest of my life." She gushed on about their trip, insisted on taking them all to breakfast, then dropped Ernie at his home and Brian and Cary at Union Station. The breakfast cost Cary some precious time, but he couldn’t refuse. As Cary disembarked Mrs. Vanderpool said. “One moment Mr. Grant.” She reached behind her neck and unclasped a long gold chain with a medallion attached. Holding it up before Cary, she said, “I hope this will bring you good luck.” She dropped the necklace into the palm of his right hand. He said, “Thank you, Mrs. Vanderpool.” Mrs. Vanderpool handed Cary her card and said, “Please write me and tell me what happens.” Then she drove off. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 241 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Absent mindedly, Cary put the card in his pocket After Mrs. Vanderpool left Cary held up the medallion, looking baffled, and said, “What do you suppose this is, Brian?” “Looks like a St. Christopher’s medal.” “I’m not superstitions.” He paused. “Hate to throw it away though, . . . it might be bad luck.” Brian sneered, “Yeah, better knock on wood.”
Entering Union Station, Cary looked up at the big clock on the wall. "We’re two hours behind schedule, Brian.” Quickly, checking a train schedule he said, ”To make matters worse I have to wait thirty minutes for the next train to New York City." "Did you expect they’d be holding the door?" "Don't be a smart ass. If I start back for Ernie’s at two this afternoon, like I planned, I’ll have zero time to talk to Catherine.” Brian grabbed a train schedule and studied it. “Not as bad as you think. Train to New York takes less time than you allowed.” Cary checked. “Great. Should give me the ninety minutes more than I thought I had. This being Saturday, she may be home." Brian said sarcastically. “Hooray, that guarantees it. Seriously, what do you do if she isn’t?” “Hadn’t considered that possibility.” Looking perplexed, Cary mumbled, “Wait for her I guess.” “You’re living in never-never land. Hope you don’t wake up. Give me your chute. No sense in your carting it all over New York.”
On the subway ride to Ridgewood, a rush of memories came flooding back. Despite a two-year absence it was yesteryear; the old neighborhood looked unchanged: The Parthenon theater, Kollety's ice-cream parlor, where he and she met so often, the Madison theater, Ridgewood Bank, the five and dime where she worked that summer. Can still see her sitting on the subway the last time I saw her at Queens College. Her face was so sad. My wounds were so fresh, I never noticed how wounded she looked. Ran right over her, . . . trampled her. Am I more perceptive now, more aware? Everything seems so clear: . . . our first meeting in highschool, . . . the concert, . . . the meetings on the sidewalk, . . . our first date, . . . our meetings at Macy's, . . . our Coney Island date, . . . Mabel, . . . the hurt look on her face. All those visions are fresh, vivid. And she loved me. . . . She made all the first moves. . . . Or is this all mental masturbation? This is so like the day she said she loved me, . . . the day before her mother banished her to Pennsylvania. . . . Or is that too, my imagination? . . . Seems half a century ago. . . . I know every inch of the two miles from the trolley terminal to 64th Place. Tears ran down as he remembered every corner, or patch of sidewalk where he and Catherine had met and talked. The wait was unbearable. Half expecting to see Catherine in her saddle oxfords coming down the street to meet him, Cary exited the trolley and ran the remaining mile down Myrtle Avenue to her home on 64th Place . . .. Time stood still. Nothing had changed. It was 1939 again. Cary climbed the five steps and rang the doorbell. Footsteps approached. Someone was home. "Yes?" Said the strange man who opened the door. Cary was confused. Checking the number on the door, he blurted anxiously, "I'm looking for Greayer Enemies in Love Page 242 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Catherine . . . Catherine Wagner." There was a pause. "Sorry, Sergeant. There's no one by that name here.” Calling, the man said, “Elsie, what was the name of the family that lived here before us?" A lady appeared, and said, "We've lived here since last July. Believe their name was Wagner, but the place was empty when we moved in." Cary's heart sank. Catherine said they planned to move when she graduated. Running from house to house, Cary looked frantically for someone who knew their new address. Typical of city dwellers, they knew their neighbors only well enough to nod when they passed them on the street. No one knew where they had moved, not even Doris’s mother Mrs. Wolf. Mrs. Wolf was a little hostile as though it was Cary’s fault that Doris ran off and enlisted with the WAACS. She wouldn’t even give him Doris’s address; said she didn’t know it. It was a dead end. They weren’t listed in the phone book either. A telephone was still a luxury they could live without. I’m dead. Time, is running out. The post office! Cary ran frantically back to downtown Ridgewood. "Sorry Sergeant, we only keep forwarding addresses three months." All these months I’ve felt connected. There was a thread, an invisible bond. Catherine was next door, . . . in the next room. . . . I need only reach out my hand or walk over to her house to reestablish contact, as I’ve done so often before. We’ve had many spats,. . . spats are part of our history. We’ve always patched things up after weeks or months on the outs. Now that thread is broken. . . . I’m alone, . . . severed from my other half, . . . my other self. The sudden trip from the high of his hope, to the low of his despair, left him disoriented. Her address was my lifeline. I’m holding one end of that line, but the other end is no longer connected. I’m sinking, drowning. I'm so close I can feel her, smell her. She's within a mile, perhaps a block, perhaps in the trolley car just passing, or in the bakery across the street. She's here, right here! Catherine had gone, he knew not where. Suddenly, he felt cut off. Not knowing where she lived severed the last thread of their connectedness. No longer do I have a choice. She's disappeared. How can I find her? Will I ever find her? Cary was hanging onto the ledge of hope with both hands. The sharp edge of reality started cutting into his fingers. They began to tire. The abyss of despair lay below. The clock kept ticking. Time moved relentlessly. The last grain of sand trickled out. The hour glass stood empty. He could hang on no longer. Time . . . had gone. He let go of hope and fell into . . . oblivion. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 243 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 31
Marking Time
By eight P.M. on Saturday, all the boys had arrived at Ernie’s house, six blocks east of Union Station, in Washington, D.C. . . . all except Cary, that is. He was missing and hadn’t phoned. The ‘34 Dodge had a spare tire bolted to a bracket on the side of the car, but no trunk. The boys tossed their chutes and other luggage on the floor of the back seat. Ernie piddled about checking the oil and water levels, and kicking the tires. He pointed to the right front tire. “Uncle Charlie got that tire from somebody who knew somebody. Cost me twenty-five clams. That’s more than I paid for the car in ‘39.” “Christ, didn’t know new tires were that expensive.” “New! No way. That’s a black market recap , Doug. Has a couple of boots. May not last till we get out of town. With an OPA certificate, I could buy a new one at Sears for eight bucks.” They paced about the driveway, waiting for Cary to show up. Ernie sat in the driver’s seat and nervously shifted the floor-mounted stick-shift through the three forward and one reverse gear. “Have to go. It’s after ten.” “Come on Ernie, we can wait a few more minutes.” “You said that an hour ago, Brian.” “Wonder what happened to him?” “He’d have called if he were going to make it. . . . Can’t wait any longer. Get aboard, Doug. If Brian wants to stay, my folks will put him up.” After an hour of driving, Doug broke the silence. "Called home from the airport to tell the folks I was here. Got home while you guys were trying to get to the bus station. My bud, my ex-girlfriend, Elsie, and this girl, Priscilla, were at my house when I got there.” No one picked up on what Doug was saying. Brian was directing Ernie on the outskirts of Frederick, Maryland, and trying to get on the road to Hagerstown. Doug continued rambling. “We piled into Charlie's Dad’s old ‘28 Essex and went dancing. Got so drunk I didn't wake until four o'clock this afternoon . . ." Eventually, Ernie cut in. "So you really tied one on? How was it with your girlfriend and your best friend, was that hard to take?" "Tough . Hardly looked at Priscilla. Then when we were drinking and dancing, I started necking - you know - trying to make Elsie jealous." "How did that go?" "Seemed to go great. We were one big happy family. Even swapped dancing partners. When I was with Elsie it seemed like old times." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 244 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Did your bud get pissed.” “Got piss-eyed drunk, but he was fine about me dancing with Elsie. In fact, Pete was the one who started dancing with Priscilla.”. . . "So what happened." "We all got happy. Like I said, I was really sloshed. Never woke up until four o'clock this afternoon. Didn't remember a thing after my fourth or fifth drink. But I had this funny feeling that something happened. After a while, . . . toward dinner, . . . I got a telephone call from the girl, Priscilla, . . . she's my wife!"
When the hubbub settled down, Doug reconstructed. “We got to feeling so happy we decided to get married: drove over to Tennessee, found a justice of the peace, . . . he tied the knot. Our folks don't know yet.” “This is crazy Doug. You’re going to get it annulled, aren’t you?” Doug laughed. “This is a couple’s world, Brian. I’ve always been odd man out. Feels good to say, ‘My wife.’ For the first time in my life, . . . I belong.” Brian couldn’t figure this. “But, you don’t even know her.” “Had a couple of hours together this afternoon. Seems like a nice girl. Will be great to have a wife when I'm in combat. Everyone needs someone to come home to." “One roll in the hay, and you’re married. That’s crazy Doug.” “Crazier than you think, Brian. Haven’t slept with her, yet. The express-train we’re on now, I may never get to. I’ll be the first married man to get killed still nursing his cherry.”
The rest of the trip back was grueling but there were no more disclosures to top Doug's. They pulled into the Army Air Base in Mc Cook, Nebraska on 17 April 1944, at 1400 hours. Two hours late; but there were no repercussions. They were nearing the end of the conveyer belt. The closer they got to combat, the more relaxed the rules became. Even Roland seemed slightly less haughty. Both crews were assigned to the same barracks. After getting their bunk assignments and making their beds, Brian said, “What’s group-training Ernie?” “More ‘pilot’ training. Formation flying this time around. Gunners will get lots of sack time. How did it go signing Cary in?” “No problem. No one realized he wasn’t there. He’s assigned to the bunk over mine.” “Pretty relaxed. Shouldn’t be hard to cover for him.” “Maybe, maybe not, Ernie. Remember, Cary’s our third pilot. Never know when Ray will want to give him more flying time. Has over three hours flying time piloting a B-24. Makes better landings than Roland. ” “Whoa. That puts a fly in the soup. Keep Justin from getting wind. Don’t trust that sleazy prick.” “If he asks, say Cary’s old man croaked and the Red Cross got him ten days leave.” “Will he fall for that?” “Don’t know, but we have to cook up something. He really nosed around when Cary took my physical for me, back in Blythe.” “Huh?” Ernie’s ears pricked up. “What’s that?” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 245 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “No big deal. My blood pressure was pushing the boiling point. Cary finally took the test for me. It’s the only reason I’m here now.” “How did he manage that?” “You know what a gutsy bastard he is. Just grabbed my dog tags and bluffed. That’s routine for him.”
Sunday, five days later, Brian spotted Cary in the chow hall wolfing down franks and sauerkraut, smothered in mustard. Looked like a skeleton. “When the fuck did you coast into camp, Cary?” Cary shrugged. “Five minutes, . . . or maybe five hours, who knows.” Brian pumped him for details. “So, are you married?” “Catherine moved.” “Where to?” “No telling. Moved after graduation, almost a year ago. Tried everything, but couldn’t find out where they moved.” Brian looked doubtful. “I think you knew.” “Forgot.” “Fuck you, Cary. Somehow, you intentionally screw up. All this unworthy crap means you’re really afraid of Catherine.” “That’s bullshit.” “Is it? You play games with Mabel when you don’t give a shit about her, you leave letters around with an envelope addressed to Catherine, . . . you try to save two losers, . . . Otto and Silas from washing out, and wind up washing out yourself. You’re an accident looking for a place to happen.” Cary was stunned. “And don’t forget Cora.” “Nothing happened with Cora.” “Wasn’t your fault. You never used a condom. You’re so afraid of making a decision, you wanted fate to make it for you.” Cary mumbled, “Didn’t use one with Jane either.” “It’s time you took control of your destiny, and not leave it up to happenstance.” “My aren’t we learning the big words.” “Can’t hang out with you and not learn a thing or two, but you’ve been using your brain to get the wrong answers. Time to decide what you want and go after it.” “That’s easy. I want Catherine, if she’s still available.” “There you go again, acting helpless. Go after her if that’s what you want. Let her tell you she’s unavailable.” Cary grimaced. “How? Don’t know her address.” “Christ Cary, you really have lost your marbles. Write that highschool buddy of yours. You said he’s in the Coast Guard and gets home every other week.” “Alex Mushrush!. He knows lots of kids, he can track her down. You’re good for something after all, Brian.” “About time you realized that.” Brian frowned. “By the way, how did you get back here? “You don’t really want to know.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 246 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Brian motioned with his hands. “Details, Cary, details.” “It’s all a blur. Woke up Monday morning. No orders, no wallet.” “Where were you?” “In an alley. Someone rolled me.” “What happened between Saturday and Monday?’ “Don’t know. It’s all a blank.” “So what then?” “Thought it was Sunday. Knew I had to meet you guys so I hitched to Washington. Didn’t realize I was two days late till I got to Ernie’s house.” “What then?” “Like I said, I had no wallet. They even took Mrs. Vanderpool’s necklace. All I had in my pocket was Mrs. Vanderpool’s card . What else could I do? Hitched a ride to her house. Correction, her estate.” “Holy cow.” “Looked like a tramp. Butler was about call the police when Mrs. Vanderpool’s limo drove up.” “Did she recognize you?” “Not at first, but when she did she rolled out the red carpet. Gave me a guest suite, had my clothes cleaned and pressed, the works.” “That still doesn’t tell me how you got here.” “Chauffeur driven limo, what else? When the MP tried to stop us at the gate, Mrs. Vanderpool gave him a withering look through her lorgnette. No MP was going to stop Mrs. Vanderpool and ask for a pass.” “You lucky bastard!”
Two weeks later, Brian, Ernie, Cary, and the new bridegroom, Doug Covey, were sitting in the mess hall when the public address system suddenly blared, "This is Captain McGraw. Training for the 493rd Bomb Group is ended. All officers are granted a fifteen-day furlough starting tomorrow. There will be no other leaves, no exceptions." “Shit,” Brian said, “The Officers get leave and we get to sit around waiting for them to come back.” Cary said, “What have you been doing?” Ernie said, “That’s different. The officers were serving time too.” “Yeah.” Doug said. “Same old chicken shit.” Cary got up and said, “We don’t have to take it.” “What are you going to do?” Brian said. “You guys want a pass, let’s go get it. Me, . . . I could care less.” Ernie said, “Don’t be an asshole Cary. You heard what McGraw said.” “Don’t let that stop you. Are you guys chicken or do you really want a pass?” Doug said, “You know we were just griping.” “Well quit your griping and follow me. I’ll do the talking.” The sound of McGraw‘s voice had barely died when the four Sergeants marched into the orderly room, came to attention, and saluted Captain McGraw. Cary asked for three-day passes for the four of them. Brian, Doug, and Ernie were aghast. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 247 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] McGraw’s jaw fell open. "You heard my announcement Sergeant. No exceptions." "Yes Sir." The four Sergeants remained at attention. Doug nearly pissed. Brian, Doug, and Ernie were looking for the exit, but they were trapped. "Are you attempting to be funny Sergeant?" "No Sir. When our training ended we were headed here. Your order caught us by surprise, Sir.” “What does that have to do with it? I said no exceptions and that’s final.” “We know of your well earned reputation for fairness Captain McGraw. We know you’re the kind of man with guts enough to consider the circumstances, Sir.” Captain McGraw was speechless for a moment so Cary hurried on. “You see, Sir, we have a, sort-of, commitment that we need to fulfil before we go overseas, Sir." (This had worked on Jane so Cary was giving it another try. With Jane it was the truth--or perhaps it was the truth--or whatever--but now it was pure bullshit.) "What sort of commitment Sergeant? Make it brief." Since the Captain was willing to listen, Cary knew he was home-free. He just had to make his story believable. "Well, Sir, this is certainly not an emergency. No one on their deathbed or anything like that, Sir. But, when we left El Paso, Sergeant Kash had his father's car. Ernie . . . ” Cary stopped and said, “I'm sorry Sir--Sergeant Kash wanted to return the car to his father in Oklahoma City. We all got special orders to travel here on our own. Spent the night with Mr. Kash and planned to come on to Mc Cook by bus. Next morning as we three were leaving . . .” “What does this have to do with a commitment Sergeant?” “I’m getting to that, Sir. As I was saying, next morning as we three were leaving, Mr. Kash was having a bit of trouble, Sir. Cary leaned forward and his voice took on a confiding tone. “Probably thinking this may be the last time he would see his son Sir . . . that sort of thing. In short, Sir, he threw the keys to Sergeant Kash. Said we should take the car. Said we should bring it back before we shipped over, or, if we couldn't, to just pass it on to the next bunch of boys going into combat, SIR.” Cary straightened up and threw out his chest. “So, like I said, SIR, we don't have to take it back, but Mr. Kash is riding the bus to work and can't afford another car. Personally, I promised myself to get the car back to him. Never would have taken it, SIR, if I thought we couldn't return it. We all feel it's a matter of honor, SIR. We never promised to get it back SIR, but I think it was implied. That is all I can tell you, SIR." "That was a very long . . . short story Sergeant. You wouldn't be trying to bamboozle me, would you?" "That wouldn't be very smart, SIR. Not with an officer of your reputation." That stopped the Captain cold. Finally he said, "You say you had special orders from El Paso?" Cary knew he had won. "Yes Sir. Copies should be right there in the file SIR. They gave us per- diem and gas coupons to make the trip." Cary reached in his pocket and produced some coupons and showed them to the Captain. "I want you men to understand that if one word leaks out, you four will be on permanent latrine duty until you ship over. Is that clear?" They all kept poker faces as they solemnly assured the Captain that no one would know. With the passes in their pocket the four gunners packed and were out the gate within a half hour, on their way for a three-day blowout in Denver. Their car was barely off the base before every gunner in "M" company Greayer Enemies in Love Page 248 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] was lined up at the OR seeking three-day passes. For Cary, the main incentive was the challenge. He hated following senseless orders and tried to bend the rules at every opportunity. Aside from the hero worship lavished on him by Doug, Ernie, and Brian, . . . the three days in Denver meant nothing to him. He attended the USO dances with the others, and danced with the girls, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was headed overseas and he still didn’t know where Catherine was. As for Doug, he wouldn’t even dance. He and Priscilla were in love and he was having terrible guilt pangs about accompanying them to Denver. After their return from Denver, the days really dragged. They sat around reading or playing seven card stud with the other guys in the barracks. Evenings, Brian, Cary, Doug, and Ernie went to the movies. Walking back from the movie, after a week of this routine, Brian griped, "Christ, with the theater at the other end of the base, by the time we’ve eaten we're the last ones in line. We always have to wait for the second show and never hit the sack till after midnight." Cary said, "If we drove up before chow, we'd be first in line." "Oh, oh, not another one of your schemes. Please don’t suggest we skip dinner. It ain’t much, but eating is half the fun around here." Next afternoon Cary corralled the three Sergeants and led them to an empty room at the end of the barracks. After closing the door he pulled the two-sided plywood closet away from the wall. Hidden on the shelves were a dozen pies and two quarts of milk. “OK, let’s eat so we can make the early show.” The three Sergeants chorused, “Where did that come from?” “Went to the loading dock outside the mess hall at 0600 hours this morning. Picked up a tray of pies and a couple quarts of milk.” “Unbelievable!” Ernie said. “How come no one stopped you?" "Did this every morning in Preflight. If you blatantly walk up and take stuff when everyone’s looking, they think , you have orders from the brass.. Works every time." "You gutsy bugger,” Brian said. “No wonder you got yours in Cadets." "Guts had nothing to do with it. It was misplaced trust." “Call it what you like, but you push your luck.” “As I said before, in the military you have to do whatever you can to prove you’re still a man. Otherwise, you’re just a number. Before you know it you’re following whatever asinine order you’re given. Like Babsie says, in the army, you may as well slice off your balls. They’re of no possible use.”
A week later, after the show, Cary was crawling along in his car following the crowd of pedestrians. He said, "Eating pie and milk for dinner is making me fat, Brian. I'm about to bust my seams." Brian said,"I can eat anything. Never put on weight.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 249 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Doug said, “Wish I could say that. How about you, Ernie?" "I wish, . . . but I'm not complaining." They were going so slowly the car started to lug, so Cary shifted to neutral and coasted. “Look at all these GIs. Making the early show is a mixed blessing. The streets are so jammed, the car is a handicap on our trip home." "The parade ground is empty, Cary. Why not cut across?" "Great idea, Brian." ( He hadn’t noticed the Major and two Lieutenants walking just ahead.) Shifting to low-gear, Cary headed for the shallow ditch that separated the parade ground from the dirt road. Turning onto the field, Cary saw three wildly-waving officers in his headlights. Cary brought the car to an abrupt stop and the four Sergeants hurled themselves from the car and stood at attention. The Major, . . . livid with rage, . . . confronted Cary. "What's your name Sergeant!?" "Sergeant Edward Robert Flanigan, Sir. Serial number 13526793." The Major jotted down the information. "Sergeant Flanigan, you will report to my office in 'C' company at 0800 Hours tomorrow morning. At 0805 hours you will be a Private. Now get that car off this base and never let me see it again. . . . Dismissed." The Sergeants saluted boarded their car, and Cary drove off at a snail’s pace. Once the Major turned off at “C” company, Ernie said, "Where did you get that Eddie Flanigan line?" "Eddie was a buddy in Cadets. I've used his name so often it feels like my own. Hope there are no Eddie Flanigan on this base.” Ernie marveled. “Brian said you were gutsy and he was right. Aren’t you afraid the Major will find you?” . “You takes your chances. 'C' company is a long way from ‘M’ company so there's little danger of bumping into him." Ernie crossed his fingers. "Discretion being the better part of valor, I think we might make other plans for our evening entertainment." Cary drove another three blocks before saying, "Don't want to worry you guys, but those two Lieutenants with the Major. . . . I know them." Brian and Ernie shouted in a chorus, "You know them! What makes you think they won't rat on you?" "They're rats all right, but they won’t tell. They’re Otto Keller and Silas Lurch.” Brian gasped, “The guys who screwed you with Catherine?” “Yes, Brian, the one’s who put letters addressed to Marilyn and Janette inside an envelope addressed to Catherine.” Ernie said, “Weren’t those the guys who shafted you before the Review Board?” “That knife in my back has their fingerprints, Ernie." "How can you joke about it, Cary? If it wasn’t for them, you'd be a pilot and married to Catherine right now." Brian said, “If I were you I’d slice off their balls.” “They don’t have balls. Only men have balls. Men learn from their mistakes. Men don’t seek revenge on turds, Brian.” “You can’t just do nothing.” “They’re small creatures, Brian. Did you see their eyes? They’re terrified. They’ll be watching their backs forever. . . . Believe me, they’ll get theirs. They’re dead men walking.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 250 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 32
That's All Brother
May 11, 1944. Lincoln, Nebraska. They were issued a shiny new B-24J right off the assembly line. Aircrews had nicknamed the B-24 ‘The Flying Coffin.’ Everyone examined their position, had the name of their wife or sweetheart painted next their station, and christened the airplane "That's All Brother." It was a flip, defiant name and Cary wondered, if it was prophetic.
Strolling out to a nearby pasture, Cary lay on the cool, green grass and gazed up at clouds overhead. Nebraska was in full splendor. Springtime had roused the earth. The blossoms of her fruit were everywhere. Warm tilled soil yielded up aromas that reached back to unlock memories of Cary's youth: Images of his sisters playing hopscotch in the street, . . . of his dog, Nip, waiting faithfully for him to return from school, . . . of forests and streams, . . . rabbits, deer, and fish--of his turtle collection--countless images. His thoughts returned to the name of their ship. The name haunted him. That’s All Brother. Is this the beginning or the beginning of the end? What of my homeland, my home? Of Mother and Dad? Of Catherine? Of Jane? Of my sisters? Can I remember their look, their feel, their kiss? Have I stored up their essence so I can recall their laugh, their step, their special smell? I want to go back, back to that last time I saw each of them. How anxious I was to leave. I need to taste them once more, just one more time before I go. Leaving was so painful, I cut it short. Now I need to feel that delicious pain again. I need to breathe the incense of their being. And Catherine . . . Catherine, Catherine, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 251 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Catherine,. . . I can see your look, . . . never shall I forget your look, your smell, but never have I hugged you, kissed you, never held your hand . . . I don't know your feel. Will I ever know your feel? What a tumble I have taken since that day exactly one year ago, the day I proposed while listening to Summertime and reached for the brass ring. Catherine, Catherine, Catherine, will you wait for me? You don't know where I am or if I am, but you will wait . . . I know. Cary had envisioned himself a knight, entering battle to win the hand of the fair young maid. She would watch him from the stands, and just before the joust she would come down and tie her colors to his lance. But now his derring-do will be performed before an empty stand; he will die without a witness. If he were destined to die, he needed a witness. He needed--her--to witness. It was she that he died for, . . . her tears should bless his grave. But how would she know? Would she ever know? I've written my last letter . . . to her, the letter they would deliver--if . . . I don't know when, . . . don't know where. My dying wish, my wish for . . . her . . . to know I loved . . . will go unfulfilled just as my wish to know that she loved . . . me . . . is unfulfilled. The knight needs a talisman to safeguard him in battle, something she had touched, to make him feel closer to her. A good luck charm. Catherine wrote me daily for nine months and then nothing. No letters for almost a year. I miss those letters. To help forget I destroyed her photograph and the many letters she had written, but I have not forgotten, cannot forget. Now I have nothing of hers, no memento, no talisman. Cary thought back, over the years, to that one happy day he and Catherine were at Coney Island on a double date. She arranged it. The other couple were her friends. One of them was her cousin; he wasn’t sure which. Catherine was in high spirits. We did all the Coney Island things: Bumper cars, scenic railway, cotton candy, hot dogs, and the penny arcade. Everything was a lark. The penny arcade had a candy-machine that dropped a prize into the chute along with the confection. For a penny you got candy plus a treasure--a souvenir for a lifetime. Everyone was in a merry mood, it was infectious. It was then that it happened. Catherine dropped her penny into the candy machine and out tumbled two candies and a wedding ring, . . . a toy wedding ring. Catherine slipped the ring on my finger and exclaimed, "We're married." For the rest of the day, as we passed store windows, we played at selecting wedding gowns and furniture. What color should we paint the living room? Should we get a dog? I even carried her over an imaginary threshold on our honeymoon. It was great fun, the fulfilment of my secret dream. I still have the ring somewhere. Cary tore through his effects until he found it. Placing it on the chain with his dog tags it would be the talisman, the good luck charm that would carry him through battle and take him safely back . . . to Catherine. Why am I suddenly thinking about survival? When Ray was making assignments I volunteered for the tail because tail gunners had the shortest life expectancy. Then, I hoped to die, . . . but now I seem to want to live? How come? Catherine is further away than ever. Some kind of inverse rule is working here. The further away she gets the stronger my hope, like the pauper spending his last dime on a lottery ticket hoping for a miracle. The more hopeless, the more hope. Once I had a logical, practical plan and that came crashing down. Now I'm destitute, without a prayer--so all I have is hope. But not really. I have a consolation prize; I have Jane. Some men would die for such a consolation prize. She deserves better. She deserves someone who loves her like I love Catherine. Unfortunately she loves me like that. She'll take me even knowing I'll never forget Catherine. Love Greayer Enemies in Love Page 252 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
is unconditional .
At noon on Mothers Day, 14 May 1944, fifty bright shiny B-24J bombers, with ten man crews, rose from an airfield among the cornfields in Lincoln Nebraska. Five hundred lads bound for Britain, offered as sacrificial lambs to the gods of war. On the first leg of their journey to England, they flew East across the heart of America to land in Bangor, Maine. On 15 May, on the way to Goose Bay, Labrador, they flew over the mouth of the St. Lawrence river, about five times wider than the English Channel. The ocean was yet to come. On 17 May, they overflew the Atlantic, landing in Iceland. Here they were within six-hundred miles of Britain and got their first taste of danger. There were subversive elements in Reykjavik, so each of the enlisted crew members stood guard duty during their four-day stay in Iceland. It was a solitary duty, just you and your forty-five, standing guard at three A.M. in a land where the sun never set . . . and really never rose. An eerie chill enveloped Cary as he stood watch. The light was dim, the air was cool with dew on the scrub and a low concealing fog all round. Everything smelled and was damp. There were muffled sounds of scurrying animals or were they . . . human feet? Cary’s pulse increased and the hairs at the back of the hand and neck stood at attention. What was that? Is someone there? Cary felt his pulse. Am I Greayer Enemies in Love Page 253 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] experiencing danger or panic? I'm not a confrontational sort of guy. I volunteered for pilot training so I wouldn't have to shoot people, at least not face-to-face. Killing people, killing anything, even a flea, is not my nature. The Army Air-Corps seemed made to order, nice and remote. You could bomb people, maim them, . . . kill them, . . . without the sure knowledge you had hurt anyone. And for yourself, the issue was certainly life or death. Small chance of returning with arms or legs missing. If I live, chances are I’ll be OK, and with luck, I'll never see a dead man. Soon the fog lifted, the fear abated. Cary's relief appeared. There had been no attack, nor was he tested. Is it sufficient to place oneself in danger or must you accept a direct challenge and act appropriately? Suppose I failed the challenge? Suppose they killed me because I couldn't bring myself to shoot. Was I a man if killed in the line of duty or merely a dead coward? Is it bad to be a coward? Facing the unknown beast without running away proves I have courage. Does that make me a man or a fool? To fear disgrace more than death is not necessarily courage, just a different kind of cowardice. When a man volunteers for combat, it's not patriotism or ideals that motivate him, it's his doubt about his manhood. He volunteers to prove himself . . . to himself. No one can succeed. You can look like a man and act like a man. You can match the stereotype on the outside, the swagger, the bravado, the derring-do. You may brave danger, charge the blazing guns, put your life at risk. You can do all that and still fail. You will consider yourself a coward because on the inside there is still fear . But, if there were no fear you wouldn't be brave--it takes no courage to go into battle if there is no fear. There are some like that . . . innocent lambs led to the slaughter--they are not men--they are fools , unaware, vacuous, uncomprehending. But the man who understands, the grown up man who knows he can be killed, who fully understands the danger when he goes into battle, his companion is fear . . . a double fear . . . the lesser fear, the fear that he will be killed, the greater fear, the fear that he won't acquit himself like a man. And you can go into a hundred battles and still not know. For it is only when you are directly challenged and act appropriately that you know that you did your job. Pilots are lucky, not because they do the glamorous job but because they have to act under pressure from the moment they take off till the moment they land. They are tested, or their skill is tested. On the bomb run, if they don't panic and abort, they have proved themselves. The rest of us are passengers. Our fear will ride with us and only in the heat of battle, when we have to fire our guns, will we know we measured up; we were men. But, what do we know? We gunners can't run, we can only hold our triggers down and pray. When the battle is over, we still don't know if we would have run if we could.
On 21 May they took off for Prestwick Scotland, but a weather front diverted them to Lands End at the extreme southwestern tip of Britain. On 22 May 1944 they flew to the 493rd airbase near Debach in the British countryside. The 493rd Bomb Group consisted of the fifty B-24 bombers and their crews who flew from Lincoln, Nebraska, together with another one-hundred equally inexperienced air crews who came over on the Queen Mary along with the rest of the personnel required for the full complement of about three thousand men. To help bring the base up to speed, some seasoned men transferred from operational bases to act as lead crews and ground-crew chiefs. This was it. They were on the threshold. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 254 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] They were the last of twelve Liberator groups, who together with forty-one Flying-Fortress groups, they comprised the Eighth Air Force heavy bomber arm, capable of launching over 2000 invaders against Hitler’s European bulwark, any day, . . . or, . . . every day. The airbase was not yet complete. Over a month of construction and checkout of facilities remained before the base would be operational. They expected to fly their first mission in mid July, 1944. Nearly two years before, the US had joined the war over Britain. Thus-far the war was fought primarily in the air. The Eighth Air Force, . . . whom they now joined, . . . had suffered the greatest combat losses of any combat unit. While the refrains of hush little baby, don't you cry are echoing in Cary's mind, there was a different music awaiting him, the sound of machine guns, the shell-bursts of flak, the acrid smell of gunpowder, the hot bullet or shrapnel entering your thigh, chest, or eye. Or flak hits your plane, it's spinning down at a steep angle, your friend, your buddy needs your hand to help him reach the hatch, you help him and now your chute has tumbled out, you are about to die.
Life expectancy was short for airmen of the Eighth Air force, the daylight strike arm of around the clock bombing raids over Germany and occupied Europe. Early missions attacked accessible armament plants. Germany moved their critical plants inland, beyond the protective shield of allied fighters. Eighth Air Force Generals continued the raids feeling that the concentrated firepower of twelve bombers flying in close formation, with each bomber carrying ten fifty-caliber machine guns, could put up a formidable defense. Whatever direction the attackers took, each twelve-ship squadron had seventy-two guns pouring out a deadly stream of fire at the attacker. But, the generals were wrong. The planes and lads of the Luftwaffe dominated the skies over Germany. This proved disastrous to American daylight bombing effort as Bombers flew unprotected into skies controlled by German fighters. Hordes of German fighters greeted the Fortresses and Liberators. Enormous aerial battles took place with huge losses on each side. Often, over one-hundred-Bombers, . . . Eighth Air Force bombers went down in flames in a single day, carrying with them approximately one- thousand men. And, Who’s to say who shot whom? Perhaps half were downed by bullets from their own squadron. In the heat of battle do gunners always cease fire when an enemy fighter dives between two bombers? Who knows except . . . God? At any rate, this attrition rate mandated the development of long range fighters. It was easier to hit a stationary target, so fighter attacks usually came from the front or, . . . the rear. This made a tail gunner's life expectancy short. Few gunners completed a tour of twenty-five missions and of those that survived, fewer still were tail gunners. Air Force casualties have been upward of sixty thousand boys. Downed airmen are all officially missing-in-action, (MIA) but for a plane diving straight down with only one wing and flames trailing behind, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 255 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] escape is unlikely. Though listed MIA they were all . . . mostly dead. You may see two, perhaps three chutes, but what is the fate of boys who parachute over enemy territory? How many of them, as they exalt, . . . at their escape, . . . will be dead before they touch mother earth, . . . or . . . are executed by some farmer’s pitchfork immediately upon landing? . . . And the farmer will be hailed as a hero, . . . after all the creature he killed was not a man, . . . but the enemy. War has a great appetite for death. (Too bad this wasn’t our theft of the continent of America . . . then we could call them mere SAVAGES.) Now, . . . in mid 1944, . . . the Luftwaffe has nearly been swept from the sky and the toll on American airmen will be less. The flower of Germany has spent their skill and valor . . . and blood . . . in a madman's dream. There will, however, be no slaking of the slaughter. Their defenders gone, death and destruction rain down from the sky in earnest. Two-thousand bombers by day and two-thousand bombers by night, . . . every day and . . . every night, from now till the end of the war. There is no longer any pretense of attacking only military targets. Kill for the love of killing. German casualties - civilian and military - will be high. The airplanes they delivered to Britain were the latest model. An impressive array of one-half-inch- thick armor plate, painted green and still smelling of machine oil, protected each crewman's position. Some Rosie the riveter had proudly installed those plates, feeling that she was saving some mother's son from death. Little did she know that when the planes landed in England the first task of the ground crews, was to remove these lifesaving shields. They were only for home consumption and gave some congressman bragging rights in his bid for reelection. After ground crews stripped the shiny new ships of armor plate, veteran pilots from other airbases collected the planes and flew them away. Old battle-scarred clunkers replaced the planes that they had so proudly christened with their favorite mottos. They had carefully inscribed the names of their wives or girlfriends next to their combat positions. Some other tail gunner would fly his missions in a tail turret labeled "Catherine." There was not a scrap of armor plate in these replacement ships either. Without the armor, the B- 24 only carried six to eight thousand pounds of bombs. The armor-plate would have limited their payload even further. In war it’s bombs dropped and people killed, not lives saved that's important. We happily sacrifice a life to take a life.
Death is the purpose of war and anything that reduces that toll . . . must go. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 256 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 33
Over Paid, Over Sexed, And Over There.
Debach, a tiny community located seven and a half miles northeast of Ipswich and seventy miles east-north-east of London, is in an area called East Anglia. In peacetime, East Anglia was a rural area of
ancient towns and rolling farmland. One hundred airbases of the Eighth Air Force dotted the landscape and possibly another one hundred Royal Air Force bases swelled that total, creating a patchwork of airfields integrated with the farms and rural communities. Crops grew next to runways, and farmhouses were within airbase boundaries. Roadways ran through crop-land to connect dispersed housing sites, mess halls, briefing rooms, bomb bunkers, and various other facilities necessary for a military base of over three thousand men. The five-mile by four-mile area comprised a half dozen farms and housed the four Squadrons of the 493 rd Bomb Group, the 860th, through the 863rd. Cary's squadron, the 863rd, situated one mile due west of the runways, nestled in a sycamore grove. The mess hall was south of the runway and one and a Greayer Enemies in Love Page 257 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] half miles from the 863rd. Just going back and forth to chow, the men walked ten miles a day Two main runways, one of fourteen-hundred-yards and one of two-thousand-yards formed an ex, with the longer runway pointing north and the shorter seventy degrees toward the east. Another fourteen- hundred-yard East-West runway closed the northern ends of the ex. Taxiways and hard-stands for fifty aircraft circled the runways with the control tower located between hard stand numbers one and fifty. A separate windowless-building contained the highly classified Sperry Bombsight, kept under constant armed guard twenty-four hours a day. Cary thought it ironic that Catherine's father worked at Sperry. Illogically, Cary took it as a sign that there was still hope. Cary hoped her father couldn’t get a job at Sperry, if he were still a German citizen and one of the many Nazis sympathizers. (God forbid, a spy) The 863rd had many Quonset-huts, arranged in a rough circle. Each hut housed two crews with eight men in each Officer's hut on the north side, and twelve men in each enlisted man's hut on the south side. The half-cylindrical hut structures were of corrugated galvanized iron, and were without openings. The windows and doors punctured the semicircular ends. Double doors at each end, with a vestibule between, and heavily draped windows maintained the total blackout at night. Illuminated by two forty-watt bulbs, the interior was a total blackout, day or night. Crew members read their letters outdoors in daylight. Heat, or the lack of it, was the major problem. A single ten-inch diameter stove graced the center of the sixteen by thirty-foot area. Even in June this provided insufficient heat to dispel the damp chill at this location next the North Sea. The boys spent much of their time under wraps.
Cary and Brian always walked to mess across a farmer's field, occasionally waving to an old duffer sitting on his porch. One day, on the way back from lunch, it started drizzling. The farmer, standing outside the barn, waved them over. They all ran into the barn for shelter. "Just sit yourself anywhere. This might take a spell." His accent reminded Cary of his father. They sat quietly in the old barn smelling of earth and hay. Cary sat on a tractor and fiddled with the levers. Then Brian saw an ancient motorcycle in the corner and walked over. Wiping away some cobwebs and mounting it, he said, "Gee whiz, looks like it’s been here forever. Odometer shows just five-hundred and sixty-three miles, is that for real? These flat tires look brand new.” Sitting on a hay bale, the farmer glanced over and said, “Aye son, been settin' there for more years than I recollect.” After a pause he said, “Mileage is correct, far as I know. Reckon it hasn't moved in nineteen, no--twenty years--give or take.” Rambling on, the farmer said, “Rain is turning nasty. Could be dinnertime ‘fore it lets up.” He pulled his left ear. “How long since you lads left home?" "About a year for me but nearly two years for my buddy.” Brian scratched his chin. “Had furloughs a few months back, so it hasn't been too long. I’m Brian Walker, by the way, and this is Winfred Cary Grant. Call him Winnie like your Prime Minister." "Odd you should say that. I'm Philip, . . . Philip Chamberlain." He shook hands with the boys. "No relative." They all chuckled. Cary placed both hands on a stout supporting post. "These timbers look old. Look like they’d survive the end of the world.” "Aye. My kinsmen have lived here some three-hundred years. Barn is more’n five-hundred years. House is new, only two-hundred. Not a nail in either one. Built on the foundation of an old Norman ruin. We Brits. been building on old ruins for over a-thousand years.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 258 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cary was in awe. “Five hundred years. That’s before Columbus discovered America.” “Not old for these parts. Colchester, just down the road thirty miles or so, is an old wool manufacturing town. Dates back over three-thousand years. Was part of the Roman empire. Nothing grand as the Greeks or Egyptians had back then but our roots go back further than some." "Doubt any part of the world is older than any other," Cary said. "The Indians and Incas left some ruins that may go back that far. Trouble is we exterminated them, so we can't claim we're direct descendants." "You have me there, son. Can't claim we're direct descendants either. Could be Roman or Norman or Norse or some sailor may have planted a seed. May have planted a seed or two myself, during the last big one. Gettin' all high and mighty about your ancestry is a risky business." "Gee, didn't mean it that way. Wasn't trying a put-down." "No offense taken, son. Hate people who tiptoe around like I'm too old, so they patronize me. You lads come back often. Could use a young'un around to challenge my idiotic notions." Brian said, "Some guys don't understand how everything over here looks so old. I love the look, but I doubt if my wife, June, could live without all the latest gadgets. Now she wants a washing machine.” Philip adjusted his glasses and shifted his seat as he pulled a straw from the bale. "Aye, we do value the old. I would rather live in a five-hundred-year-old house than one built yesterday. Since everything we have is old, we might as well revere it.” “In America, if it's fifty-years old, we tear it down and rebuild," Cary said. “They drill tradition into us at school. Ruins, museums, graveyards, they take the lads and lasses to see all that. And nature too, we don't have a big country so they teach the young to appreciate what we have." "We noticed that," Cary said. "This base is built among farmhouses and barns. On our way to chow, we walk through crops of red poppies and bright yellow rape.” Brian dismounted the motorcycle to stretch his legs. “A grove of trees surrounds our Quonset hut and the 862nd borders a rhododendron hedgerow.” “The 860th runs along a roadside splashed with yellow gorse.” Cary said. “In the States we would have bulldozed everything flat and blacktopped the whole thing." Philip laughed. "Everything we have is precious. In America, you have room to waste." Philip got up and walked to the barn door. Pointing he said, "Over there, where those two hedgerows meet, there’s a quiet little spring bubbling up. The deer come down of an evening to get a drink and munch the bluebells growing along the bank.” Brian said, ”Saw some sheep and deer grazing together.” “Later this summer, fields that look barren now will bloom into acres of blue linseed. Alongside the fields of red poppies and yellow rape, you'll never see Anythin' prettier’n that.” “We’ve seen hundreds of rabbits,” Cary said. “Seem to be everywhere.” “Aye, they eat everything. It's not all loss though. Our meat ration is meager so the rabbits are welcome. Give all my pelts to a young lass, lives nearby.” At the mention of a young lass, Brian spoke up. “Is she making a fur coat?” “Has an ambitious plan. Makes fur lined gloves and the airmen around here buy them for their sweethearts in London. Says she’s going to America after the war.” Cary got up and flexed his legs. “Sounds like a bright girl.” “That's the pity. The bright ones all go to America.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 259 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Brian looked out the door. “The rain is letting up, Cary. We’d better make a run for it while we have a chance. Thanks for the shelter." "Don't mention it. Stop by any time."
Mail! The first since leaving Mc Cook. They opened the doors and windows, at each end of the hut, admitting the bright sunshine. Everyone gathered at tables near the front windows, anxiously checking the news from home. Fang had a letter from his fiancee and one from his mother, a wealthy southern widow. Fang bragged she was worth forty-thousand dollars and lived in luxury off the two-thousand dollar annual interest. Bernard said, “Gosh. Two-thousand a year. Must be nice to have that much money.” Fang proudly passed around a photo of her almost-new 1942 Cadillac, . . . the last model year the US manufactured cars. Bernard Dominic was an orphan. His first real family was the army. He’d bounced around a half dozen foster homes and never received any letters so when Cary brought him a letter from the mail room he couldn't believe it. Someone had turned his name into the Red Cross and a pen-pal organization had adopted him. "Look at this," Brian said, holding up his mail. "It's been three weeks since we left Mc Cook, and I only have two letters. One is from my Draft Board, telling me I'm classified one-A." "Why'n-hell should you complain,” Bill said. “I write twice as much as you and didn’t get any.” Vinnie joined the chorus of complaints. “Regular mail is slower than the pony express. With cigs. at ten cents a pack, my old lady is too cheap to spring six-cents for an airmail stamp." "Christ, I never thought of that." Brian said. "Wonder how long a convoy takes?" Cary said. "Mail clerk says two weeks, but some letters could take a month or more after hanging around, waiting for a convoy. In the States, regular mail only took two days longer than airmail.” "Shit Cary," Justin said. "Do you have to spoil the fun? Thought we could start a little pool. With all the friggin’ cunts you write you probably got a shit pot full of mail. Do they seal the envelopes with cunt juice, or what?" Cary ignored him. Justin, was always crude. “This letter from Marilyn took three months, Brian. Look at all the cancellations on the envelope.” Brian checked. “Bounced between Salt Lake and Blythe three times. If they do that with all your mail, some letters could take six months.” “After Salt Lake, Marilyn never got my new address. Letter tracked me through four bases. Military mail clerks only check the roster as a last resort. Wonder I got it at all.” Brian said, “Look at the post-marks. Your letter from Jane bounced back to Mc Cook three times.” “That’s because I have an extra problem. I'm Winfred C. Grant on the roster, but people address their letters to Cary. If the mail clerk doesn’t check the serial number, I'm up shit-creek!” Talking out of the left corner of his mouth, though-guy style , Fritz chimed in, "With the morons we have in the mail room, we'll never get some of our mail." This remark surprised Cary. Cary was not one of Frank's favorite people, but by his last remark Fritz sounded like he was supporting Cary’s last comment. Following up on Frank’s remark, Brian said, "If they smell Toll House cookies, forget it. June sent me some last Christmas, but I never got them. Someone smelled them and ‘That’s All Brother’." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 260 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Have you seen the size of some of those mail clerks?” Frank said. “They're probably on a Toll House cookie diet.” Bill said, “Bet our packages are fair game once you leave a base.” “How about guys that cop-it?” Frank said. “Who's to know if a few Christmas presents are missing?" Cary was still sorting his mail. "Once I'm history, I won't miss them. How about I leave them to you in my will, Frank." Holding up a letter he said, "Look, Brian, Ann mailed this only three days ago, . . . so, airmail takes about the same time it does in the States.” “So, it's only regular mail that's out of whack.” “Seems that way. . . . Better tell everyone about the problem or some poor guy will get a letter telling him junior was born before he gets the letter saying she's pregnant!" Earl, an engineer on the crew sharing their hut had been quietly sitting on his bunk. Earl was a short, bald, dumpy guy, married with a couple of kids. During training, he never went to town with his crew, faithfully saving his pay so he could send it home to his wife to support his family. “That's not funny Cary.” Cary was surprised. Earl seldom objected to anything. “What’s eating you?” Earl broke down. Tearfully he said, “Just broke the world record for Dear John letters. Still unpacking my fuckin' gear and my wife has deserted me for a friggin' feather merchant. The prick made sure he wasn't going to get hurt. Enlisted in the Coast Guard so he could stay home, close to all the cunt. Probably been screwing her since I got drafted, . . . bitch . . . waited till I shipped overseas so I couldn't get back there and kill the bastard.” The two crews stopped their bitching and gathered around Earl, stunned. His radio operator, Vinnie, said, “Didn’t you get any clues when you were on furlough?” “The slut never could keep her pants on. She was pregnant when I married her in highschool. . . . Bet she's knocked-up again. Never worked a day in her life. No social-security number. How will I track her? She'll disappear. I'll never see my kids again." Thinking like Babsie, Cary wondered how Earl knew they were ‘his kids’ but not wanting to add to Earl’s problems, he remained mum. He was glad did, . . . at this point the bravado ceased and Earl dissolved into a bundle of tears. Not even the news that they were now drawing combat pay cheered Earl up. The discussion about the mail quietly ended. They read their letters and let Earl suffer in silence.
With combat pay, as well as flight pay, they were making $270.00 per month, which made them wealthy compared to the pay of an average English civilian. The common joke that the Yanks were overpaid, oversexed, and over here, was good advertising. It made British women anxious to date the Yanks. British men were justifiably resentful and this fueled many a barroom brawl. Bernard joined Cary on his bunk. He had his letter was from Julia, a girl from Dominic’s home town. She sent a picture. Cary never let on how the Red Cross got his name. “You help all the other guys with their letter writings. I've never written one. Don't know how. Could you help me?" Cary wrote the first of many letters for Dominic. And Fang's letter from his fiancee was in response to a proposal Cary had written when he and Fang were in Lincoln. She accepted. Cary's letters never failed . . . or hardly ever. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 261 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 34
Surprise!
Long days, short nights. Dawn at 0430 hours and sunset at 2200 hours. Lots of flying. The English countryside had a bizarre feel. How did one get a sense of danger, surrounded by sunny skies and a peaceful landscape? Everywhere were the sights, sounds, smells, and pleasant breezes of summer. Only when sitting in the tail turret, up in the sky did Cary become aware of the vast preparations. East Anglia was a vast aircraft carrier. Airfields dotted the farms, and villages of England with thousands upon thousands of heavy bombers, intermediate bombers, and fighters. From his turret, Cary watched the farmland roll by and he counted the number of air-bases he could see. As one airfield faded from sight, another entered Cary’s field of view. No matter which direction Ray flew, there were always seven air- bases in view.
Every aircraft in the sky was a potential enemy but how could Cary take this threat seriously in such a benign atmosphere? I mean, it's so peaceful. On 5 June, 1944, they were on the way back to the Quonset hut from the flight line when Brian said, "You seem worried. What's your problem buddy?" Cary slowed his pace, waiting for the other gunners to walk on ahead. Leading Brian into a field of linseed, ready to burst into bloom, he sat down. He looked around at fields of red poppies and yellow rape, with hundreds of rabbits scurrying about, and a pheasant just taking wing. Puffy white clouds floated lazily overhead against the bright blue sky. "I have no sense of danger. I'm not ready for combat." "What do you mean?" "Was sitting blissfully in my turret, enjoying the scenery, when a Mosquito with Canadian markings made a sweeping turn and deliberately lined up on o ur tail.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 262 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “So?” “Was it friend or foe?" "Had to be Canadian. We weren't shot down." "Come on Brian, we were warned to challenge any suspicious aircraft. The Germans have restored dozens of downed allied aircraft. They’ve attacked hundreds of unsuspecting bombers, but I sat there like a shithead. My eyes were bugging, my hairs bristling, my guns trained, my fingers poised, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. Finally he peeled off.” Brian sat there looking as though he didn’t want to hear this. “I froze Brian. In my mind, I could see the Mosquito wing suddenly coming alive with the firecracker bursts of 20 millimeter canon fire, but I couldn’t pull the trigger." Brian tried to scoff. "So what's the problem?" "If he’d pulled the trigger, we’d be dead before I could react.” Brian stammered, ”It was his fucking goof. Shouldn’t have lined up on our ship.” “Christ sake, Brian, that’s not the point. Should have fired some warning rounds. . . . Wrong. Should’ve shot the bastard down, or tried to.” Brian looked doubtful. “Can’t see why you’re so upset. Nothing happened.” “You still don’t get it. I'm not ready for the serious business of combat. I failed a crucial test. That Mosquito pilot was an asshole and so was I. We’ll fly our first mission in about a month. How many of us will die before I'm combat-ready?” Brian was silent for several minutes. "Make that we Cary. We all failed. I saw the Mosquito and went through the same agony you did. Frank had to see him too, from the top turret. So make that we , . . . we're all a bunch of assholes." After a pause Brian said, "And that ain't the half of it. “ "What do you mean?" "I'm the ball gunner. The ground crew installs my guns, so I have nothing to do before a mission. Guys are cutting corners all over the place. Fang never mans his waist gun on these training flights. Wouldn't matter if he did, Potty never installs them. Leaves them lying on the floor. May as well leave them in the armament shack." "If our guys are cutting corners, you know other guys are too, . . . though I doubt there are any other Potties around." "Don't bet on it. On one training mission the ground-crew never installed my ball guns and on another flight there was no ammunition. Guess they figured why install the guns? We aren't supposed to fire them over England.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 263 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “And Bernard spends all his time heaving into an empty chaff box. He gets airsick every time he flies. What use will he be on a mission?" "Can you imagine what it will be like on our first real mission?" "Don't make me paranoid. If ground crews are so inept they can't get one ship ready, imagine the chaos when thirty-six planes are scheduled to fly at dawn. “ ”Don’t remind me. For each bomber on a mission they have to install a bomb-sight, six-hundred and fifty rounds of ammunition per gun, and jack up each bomber to install the bomb load and the two fifty-caliber machine guns in the ball turret. Multiply that by thirty-six and I see nothing but chaos." “That’s thirty-six bomb sights, seventy-two ball guns, twenty-three-thousand four-hundred rounds of ammunition, and who knows how many bombs.” "On top of that they have to provide ten flak suits and helmets for each crew.” “And, don’t forget the fuel,” Brian said. “They have to fuel and certify that all these old battered dinosaurs are flight ready." "It's going to be tough for these ground crews to get up to speed on that first mission. Thank God we won’t fly for over a month . . . the ground facilities aren’t completed yet.” Cary scratched his ear. “Someone may pay the price, but it won’t be the ground crew.” “Like Babsie says, the telegram will read killed in action. Your folks will never know you fell out of bed and hit your head because some clown like Potty tied your shoelaces to the bed railing while you were asleep.”
The gunners stayed close to home the first few evenings, reading, writing letters, playing poker, bitching; mostly bitching. Some, like Potty, nursed a bottle of Scotch to kill time. Earl, the guy who got the dear John letter, lay on his bunk quietly grieving, looking at pictures of his kids. The high rollers had a floating crap game going, and stayed out ‘till all hours. With the British pound looking like monopoly money to the Yanks but worth $4.05 in American money, some got rich in a hurry. The battlefield philosophy of ‘eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow you may die,’ made many throw caution to the wind. Winning $5000.00 one night and losing it the next was a common occurrence. There were even stories circulating that among the combat veterans on the base some had winnings of over $100,000.00. But, Brian, Ernie, Doug, and Cary hadn’t experienced combat, so two-bit-limit poker was all they had the stomach for. Eventually they got antsy, so when Ernie came over from the barracks next door and rattled their cage, they were more than ready to escape. Even Doug Covey tagged along. He and Priscilla were in love, but even he couldn’t just sit. Love is one thing, but he had to do something. Ernie said, "Come on guys, we haven't seen a broad in a month. Let's hitch a ride to Debach; need to try this Limey brew, and scout the area.” Cary said, “Count me out. I don’t drink, but British brew is potent stuff. Can’t carry all three of you back.” Doug said, “Debach is just down the road. We can crawl back from there.” Cary said. “Then who needs it, if it’s so tiny? Watching you guys get crocked isn’t worth the trip, . . . you’ll only run into guys from the 493 rd in Debach. If I tag along, I want to meet guys with combat experience and learn some stuff.” “How abut Ipswich?” Brian Said. “That’s the only big town in these parts.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 264 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Now you’re talking. I’ll give that a shot.”
A 2 ½ ton GI truck was just leaving when they arrived at the motor pool. The vehicle had a wild- west- covered-wagon look with its canvas cover stretched over hoops. Friendly hands reached down and helped them climb the five-feet to hop over the tailgate. Hard wooden benches on either side, designed for six, held ten on this run. With Canvas flaps enclosing the rear it was claustrophobic, inside. The cowboy driving the vehicle negotiated the crooked cow-paths the English called ‘roads’ at sixty miles per, tossing the passengers around like clothes in a tumble dryer. Packed in like a New York City subway car, at rush hour, was the only thing preventing dismemberment. They arrived in Ipswich twenty- minutes later and everyone bailed out of the lorry in front of the railway station. Looking around, Brian said, “This must be where we catch a train for London.” Ernie said, “I’m looking forward to that.” "Better be soon,” Brian said. “If I don’t find something to hump soon, I’ll go AWOL.” Ernie shrugged. “Let’s hope Ipswich has something to offer.”
Ipswich was a good sized town. The buildings looked like they were built during the Norman invasion. Assessing the downtown area, Cary said, "Limeys must have a stronger thirst than the Krauts. Ridgewood only had a beer garden on every other corner. ” Entering a pub, Brian said, “You and Ernie grab that table, Cary, while me and Doug wedge our way up to the bar." Seemed ages since Cary had seen a woman, and these women were something to see. A pair of eyes belonging to a curvaceous blond, locked her green eyes on Cary’s. Her partner, a big airman, challenged Cary. "Looking for something buddy?" His barrel chest bore gunners wings and an air-medal with three oak leaf clusters, but the scar slashed across his face from his left ear to the corner of his mouth grabbed Cary’s attention. He didn't get that shaving. Killed in action flashed through Cary’s mind . If I tangle with him, I can forget the Krauts. Cary raised both hands, palms forward. "Hold it, buddy. Not asking for trouble." His girlfriend restrained the barrel chest from behind while giving Cary the eye, "Come on love, give 'im a break 'es not done anything." The barrel chest moved off muttering "Damn right I'll give him a break, . . . I’ll break ‘is friggin’ neck." Cary whispered to Ernie, "That guy has seen too many John Wayne movies.” “ Looks like the same type of Neanderthal. Has a bunch of his buddies with him, too.” Cary motioned Brian and Doug over. “Let's try down the block. If she gives me the come-hither- look one more time, there's going to be a brawl." The gunners left hurriedly. They tried their luck at the pub next door. The place was jammed with American airmen sporting lots of ribbons. Cary surveyed the mob while the other three gunners bellied up to the bar. Everyone sported the Good Conduct medal and European theater ribbon, but there were lots of Air medals and Purple Hearts, too. Some Air medal ribbons had five oak leaf clusters which meant they’d flown as many as thirty-missions. Cary even spotted one DFC. These boys had been around. Suddenly they heard the grim statistics facing them. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 265 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] A dark Ale from the 94th said, "April was rough. Saw twenty-five crews bite the dust. Saw nary a chute." After doing the mental arithmetic, Cary said, “That’s two-hundred and fifty guys!” "That's nothing buddy," said a Scotch-and-water from the 100th, stationed at Thorp Abbots thirty miles up the road, "We lost all but five of our ships on one mission. Two of our wing ships exploded in one big ball of fire. All my drinking buddies got fried in that one. Nothing was left, not even bird-feed. Our Squadron Commander was in tears when we parked our plane." A light Ale from the 44th said, "When I flew my first mission, a tour was twenty-five missions. By the time I made twenty, they raised it to thirty. On completing my 29th, they jumped it to thirty-five. If I complete thirty-five, they'll raise it to forty, sure as hell. No way I’ll get home alive.” A whiskey-sour said, and if you do, they’ll put you in the pipeline for Japan. When Uncle Sam spends money training soldiers, they go into inventory. The only way you go home is in a pine box.” Everyone laughed. The American taxpayer wouldn’t have it any other way. “On my first mission, two planes collided while we were forming over our own airbase. Buried all eighteen in a single casket in Cambridge.” A gin-and-it said, “I've flown with five crews and lost three out from under me. Feel like a Jonah.” Trying to raise his shot glass to his lips, his hand shook so violently he slopped gin all over the bar. The guy was definitely section eight material. A Larger, with a blank, lifeless look, said in a toneless voice, ”No use going back. We’re all crazy. Last week Gunther bailed out from twenty-thousand. Just jumped out without his chute." A Scotch and lemon said, “We looked like you lads six-months ago. Now we look like drunks dragged off skid-row. Six months from now you’ll hate to go home. The folks won’t recognize you.” The boys also heard grim tales about the fate of those who bailed out over enemy territory. Subjected to allied bombing night and day, German civilians took out their revenge on any downed airman. “Civilians ’ll kill you . . . the hard way.” “Torture, most likely. Cut off your balls and watch you bleed to death.” “Farmers are the worst. Kill you with a pitchfork, . . . slowly." “Slit your belly and skip rope with your intestines.” "A quick death would be a blessing.” “Surrender to the first uniformed person you see, . . . even a mailman. They’ll follow the rules. You'll be a prisoner. Otherwise, forget it.” Or so said the scuttlebutt. The green rookies didn’t know how much was BS and how much was true. Suddenly the four airmen lost their appetite for reconnoitering. One thing for certain, these guys looked like they had peered through the gates of hell, that part was no act. The lucky ones were dead. What kind of life could these burned-out shells expect? Envying the ostrich, they hustled back to base. Later Cary learned it could have been worse. The RAF flew unlimited missions. Their survival rate was close to zero. In '39 he wanted to join the RAF. His parents put up such a fuss he abandoned the idea. Thank God for unreasonable parents.
By 3 June a great armada sat poised in nooks and crannies along the British coast, from Shoreham to Dartmouth, waiting to strike. The clock approached the zero hour, but the boys of the 493rd were blissfully ignorant. They had been in Britain only twelve days. Their base wasn’t scheduled for completion Greayer Enemies in Love Page 266 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] until mid July. They had another month of training before they need worry about flying a mission. At 0300 hours on 6 June 1944, the CQ entered Cary’s barracks. "Niedermeyer crew, . . . breakfast at 0430 hours. . . . Mission briefing at 0530 hours. GI trucks leave for mess at 0400 hours . . . sharp!" Everyone was instantly awake. "Huh? What's happening?” "Mission briefing at 0530 hours, that's all I can tell you." "Mission? What mission? We haven't finished our training.” “We’re not operational yet.” “Can’t be a mission. We're supposed to get a twenty-four-hour alert.” "What does it mean?" “Our radio operator’s missing. He’s shacked-up in town.” "We’ve never flown at twenty thousand feet.” “How long is a mission? We’ve never flown for eight hours at altitude.” “We’ll freeze our butts off flying that high for that long." "What does it mean?" "What do we wear? It’s thirty-five below at that altitude.” "What does it mean?" " Cary; you're not on, . . . can I borrow your long-johns?" "How about those wool socks your girlfriend, Jane, knitted for you?" "Played craps till two AM. Anybody got some No-doze." "Hold my wallet, Cary.” “Mine too. Won eight-hundred pounds playing craps. That’s thirty-two hundred dollars in real money. If I’m MIA, send it to my Mom. OK Cary?" "What does it mean?”
Confusion reined. Without warning, D-day had arrived and every Airbase in Britain was launching fifty ships in support of the invasion, . . . even the 493 rd which wasn’t even operational.
“Is it the invasion?" “Invasion! What invasion?” "Our base isn't ready, it must be the INVASION!" "Ground-crews had no alert. They have to load bombs, ammunition, install ball guns and bomb-sights, besides fueling all the planes, that's impossible."
“They’ll never get ready. " “No way they’ll get the planes ready. We’ll never take off.” "What does it mean?" "There’ll be two-thousand bombers and thousands of fighters in the sky. With no bunchier-beacons, we'll never find our lead ship.”
Rumors spread like ink on blotting paper. No one knew what was happening. The briefing Greayer Enemies in Love Page 267 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] confirmed it. The invasion was on. But, it was TOP SECRET. Only the crews on alert knew for sure . . . and perhaps . . . Jerry, . . . somehow Jerry always knew.
After the ships took off, Brian tuned his radio to the BBC. Everyone, including the BBC, thought an invasion was into the south of France. The term Operation Anvil was bandied about, or was that part of a sham? They only knew invasion , . . . or was it an invasion ? Everyone on the base, . . . perhaps everyone in England . . . perhaps . . . . everyone in the world . . . was awake. . . . It had to be an invasion, why else would they send a half-trained group of blundering idiots into the jaws of death? Were they going to Niece? . . . Marseilles? . . . Calais? By takeoff they all knew.
NORMANDY! The mission was across the channel, to Normandy, in direct support of the invasion. Before noon the whole world knew. Before the day was over, the beaches of Normandy were awash with blood. The first day’s onslaught cost over 11, 000 casualties and just under 2500 Allied lives. Who knows how many German soldiers died and innocent French civilians in the path of the invasion forces.
Once the 493 rd planes took off, the base settled down for the long wait. What was happening to their buddies in the sky? What about those lads on the beach, waiting anxiously for their comrades to return? Brian and Cary visited the farmer, Philip to kill time. Sitting quietly outside on the porch, they looked southeast, toward Normandy. The old man ruminated. They learned that Philip was married. "Aye, took a bride, . . . in France. Little village near Dijon called Auxonne." "Where is she now? With our daughter, Bridget. Went back to bury grandmere, . . . just before. . . . " "Nay, I don't know. Just wait and pray, what else can an old man do? Believe me, everyone in the World knows . . . your fathers and mothers are praying right now. That's what we all do." "Do I believe in God? No. Voltaire said if there were no God man would have to invent him. Obviously man invented him. The whole God idea is ludicrous. A fairy tale, to make life to have some purpose.” “Why? Once you postulate God created the universe you must ask who created God. Now you have two mirrors facing one another with Gods reflected out to infinity.” “Why do I pray? Never gave it much thought . Nothing else I can do, really. Either there is or there isn't a god or God with a capital G. My belief won't change things. But my daughter and my bride believe, so I pray for their sake." After a long silence Philip said, "This is the start of it for you boys. Tomorrow or the next day I'll sit here waiting for your plane to return." After a long pause Phillip said, "Remember your first visit here, Brian? . . .You asked about the motorcycle." "I bought him that bike for his eighteenth birthday. It was his LAST birthday.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 268 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “HIM? . . . my son. . . . When he broke his neck, my life ended. For me there is no hope. Never been able to live with it. Been twenty years. Seems like yesterday. I’ve wished I were dead, . . . often." They sat quietly on the porch of the old farmhouse, each lad thinking of home and perhaps their own father, and the old man enjoying the company of the son that never was. Then Philip said, "Promise you won't get killed. Couldn’t survive losing another son."
The day wore on. Finally, the planes began returning. They peeled off and landed, one by one. "Thirty-three, . . . thirty-four, . . . Only thirty-four." Thirty-six B24s had taken off for Normandy. Two were missing. This was not a strategic bombing mission. Officially the target was Lisieux, France, about twenty miles south of Le Havre, but the planes actually flew low over the beachhead looking for targets of opportunity, in support of the troops, and God knows they needed support. But with so much confusion on the ground and in the air they couldn't take a chance on dropping their bombs. Gen. Bradley had enough to contend with without getting bombed by the Eighth Air Force. All ships of the 493rd, except two, returned to their base with all their bombs still in the bomb bay. Those two missing ships bumped together over Normandy. One ship split-open at the waist, dumping the waist gunners out without their chutes. Didn't matter. The ships were too low for a successful bailout. The few who bailed out hit the ground before their chutes opened. Both ships plunged to earth, exploding on impact. The first mission of the 493rd Bomb Group resulted in no bombs dropped and two planes destroyed. The statistics would read eighteen casualties. They always say casualties or troops, never men. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 269 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] That way they’re faceless. But, that was a drop in the ocean compared to the carnage on Normandy. The crews were reported missing-in-action. They couldn’t report them killed, they had no bodies. How many weeks, months, years, would the families of these crews wait, hoping for these men to return?
Ten-thousand-times forever.
Back at the barracks, Fritz and Cary got into a debate. "Thou shalt not kill." "You're an atheist, how come you're spouting the ten commandments?" "Morality is not the exclusive prerogative of people who believe in God. Atheist only means disbelief in a supreme deity." "Prerogative. What the hell does that mean?" "Killing is wrong, that's just common sense. Has nothing to do with God or God's retribution, nor does it have anything to do with being good.” “That’s a bunch of crap.” “If we didn't accept that killing was wrong, we’d live in fear of being killed. Every stupid asshole would go around carrying a gun like in the old west. Soon there would be no trust. We’d be no-better than savages. We'd kill for fear of being killed.” “It’s our right. The constitution says.” “Oh, the constitution says. Didn’t know you could read, Frank. Fortunately it hasn’t come to that, yet. Some of us are still sane.” “You snotty prick.” “A nice Christian attitude. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you is just common sense. It’s the only commandment a civilized man needs." "War is different. They attacked us." "That doesn’t mean I should enjoy killing. If you Christians followed just that one dictate, 'Thou shalt not kill,' there would be no war." "Why didn't you become a fuckin' conscientious objector?" "Because I'm a fuckin’ coward. Takes guts to be a conscientious objector."
Cary knew the argument was pointless. Frank was a neanderthal with a stone age mentality. But, he had to do something. Doug and Ernie were in the planes that bumped together over Normandy. What thoughts flashed through their minds as they fell from the sky and watched the earth come up to meet them. Did they know that the mighty Eighth flew a record 4,700 sorties on D-Day? Were they proud to be part of that historic effort? Will Priscilla, a widow before she consummated her marriage, be proud that Doug died in this noble cause? Was it a noble cause? Did German mothers grieve for their sons who were killed this day? The mission was so sudden, Doug didn’t even write Priscilla a farewell letter. Now Cary had to do it. Well, at least they didn’t die at the end of some farmer’s pitchfork. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 270 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 35
Humpty-Dumpty
That evening (6 June 1944) at seven PM the Stewart crew was put on Mission ALERT. Mission ALERT was aptly named; the crew were wide-awake all night. The day before, on D-Day, the Niedemeyer crew had been awakened without warning, at 0300 hours. Turns out they were lucky. At least they got a good night’s sleep. On D-day-plus-one (7 June 1944) a chill, damp wind off the North sea billowed waves of fog along the coastal towns sucking heat from the sheet metal huts and a rising-damp seeped under doors and up through concrete floors. At 0300 hours, the CQ opened the barracks door and bellowed, "Stewart crew, briefing at 0600 hours. Make it snappy." Though they were already wide awake, they grumbled as they tumbled out of their warm beds. The chill quickly raised goose bumps. Cary drew on his long-johns and two thick pairs of socks for protection from the bitter cold and the frigid floor. Bitching, bravado, profanity, casual jokes - combined with a sickly grin - were all part of the ritual. These were men. While in the cradle they learned that men didn't whimper, men didn't cower, men didn't cry; but tempers were short.
"Move your friggin' butt."
"Up yours."
A knee might shake, a stomach quiver, or the throat may be dry, but they looked and acted like men - or what passed for men in their society. A man can stand apart, go his own way, march to a different Greayer Enemies in Love Page 271 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] drummer. . . . but. . . not in the army - the army doesn't want men, it wants and trains drones - clones.
Perhaps some silent prayers were said, Perhaps a tear or two was shed, But to the world they turned their face And though they shook there was no trace.
Ice-cold water made some neglect shaving! They wouldn't make that mistake again. This was their first extended flight at twenty-thousand feet—on oxygen. The oxygen mask, rubbing on stubble for many hours, could scrub their faces’ raw. They clambered aboard a GI truck for the trip to the mess hall. It was a scary ride, on this moonless night - in a blacked-out Britain. It was so dark, a cat could walk into the side of a building. Jumping over the tailgate, at the mess hall, they surged through the doors in an unruly mob, making an enormous clatter with their tin trays as they pushed them along the chow line. Heading for their first combat mission they weren't going quietly. The more noise they made, the braver they felt. Lovely odors filled the air. Coffee, bacon, sausage, flapjacks. You could swoon just from the aroma. They could eat any or all of the varied breakfast menu. Cereal, bacon, and real eggs - cooked any way you liked - pancakes with lots of syrup, and gallons of juice: Pineapple, grapefruit, orange, or tomato. And yes, there was coffee, gallons of it. A hot cup of java, held between their palms, sent warm shivers down their spines. This was not their normal fare! They had not seen real eggs since they left their mother's kitchen. Some realized that perhaps this was the condemned man's last meal. They immediately dashed outside and tossed their cookies.
Entering the briefing room after a pee, The crewmen were brave for everyone to see. Stumbling over chairs and someone's feet, They clattered their way to an empty seat.
Secretly looking up at the distant wall, A white cloth covered the end of the hall. Behind that curtain their fate was sealed. Not till they're ready, will it be revealed.
So meanwhile they sit, stare, and wait And look round to peek at their mate. This is brand-new, there is no script. Crib notes won't help on this-here trip.
They've studied and they’re ready, or maybe not. They've ditched some classes and fooled the lot But now, be-Jesus, you may have to pay Christ, this is it, perhaps I had better pray. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 272 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Small talk distracted them as they waited: "How’d you sleep?" "Me? Like a log." "Me too. Never heard the wake up. My bud had to boot me out." Everyone nodded in agreement.
Usually, when on alert for a mission, sound sleep is not the norm---usually. Usually the racing mind, the wide-eyed stare, flashing pictures, taught nerves are more common--usually.
Sometimes, in the morning, after bacon and eggs and sausage and hash-browns, . . . after six pancakes and syrup and juice, and after three cups of black coffee, the eyes may get heavy-- sometimes.
Sometimes, during briefing, or while installing your guns, or while sitting in your turret, your mind may wander, you may wake with a start, . . . that happens, . . . sometimes . . .
but never while on alert, . . . never the night before.
While on alert, there's a wide-eyed stare. You need your sleep but fear is there. Tomorrow there's a mission, it's in the can. Pray God should I die, I die like a man.
Beneath the curtain on the far wall a room-sized map of Europe with a red ribbon tacked thereto, traced their route. This remained covered - SECRET - until the Intelligence Officer was ready to reveal their target. The Intelligence Officer entered carrying a long pointer to deliver his briefing, and paced back and forth on a low platform in front of the drape. The moment came. Intelligence Officer , with the aid of a Sergeant, uncovered the map with a flourish. Duh!!!!!!!!!!! . . . On this first day there was no reaction.- it meant nothing. These lads had no experience. Later , when they became familiar with the juicy ones, there would be much groaning and cussing. Later , when they knew the heavily defended targets, many would suddenly become ill, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 273 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] suddenly toss their cookies and rush to the dispensary, but not now, later, . . . and after that breakfast - who could blame them. Those who succeeded in keeping their meal down throughout the day never needed dinner. Their stomachs, tied in knots during the mission, held their breakfast in a compact mass which felt like they’d swallowed a football. They never digested the food until more than eight hours later , after they were safely back on the ground.
The radio operators had a separate briefing. They received a canvas packet with their coded data called a flimsy. Only the lead crew had a navigator. How he was briefed was a mystery. Perhaps he just communed with God? If a crew was separated from the group, it was up to the bombardier/navigator to chart their way home. Early in the war, before long range fighters protected them along the entire route, it was more- or-less academic because they were sure to be shot down. That was when everyone communed with God. Of course, on every mission, there was a lot of official communing with God. The faithful and not so faithful of every religion went to their special places and performed their special rituals to assure they would not die with a mortal sin on their conscience. They received communion and last rites . Justin Potts was first in line and well he should be.
His trip to town had been fruitful. Potty Potts had a snoot-full. He got the guns from the armament shack. Forgetting the springs, he never went back.
Cary avoided the ceremonies. If his family’s prayers were not sufficient to protect him, of what use would his prayers, . . . a nonbeliever?, . . . a disbeliever?, . . . be? During training the gunners took short cuts, . . . failed to clean their guns carefully or . . . failed to double check their assembly. But, Training wasn't for real, . . . just play acting. Something like batting practice. A huge swing looked as impressive as a home run even if you didn't hit the ball. But now , it was for real . They may have to fire these guns! Now, their nerves made their hands tremble. Everything took longer. Nothing went right. They fumbled and dropped things. They assembled bolt mechanisms two and three times, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 274 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] to assure no parts were missing. They still weren't sure. Did I insert that pin?
After checking the pin they wondered if they left out the spring .
Thirty-six Liberators sat on the runway, engines revving, ready for takeoff. Suddenly the intercom came alive and Ray said, "Walt, . . . Bernard, take your ditching positions, we’re up next.” (No one rode in the nose nor in any of the turrets during takeoff. A loaded bomber needs lots-of- runway to get airborne. Sometimes they ran out of room. Everyone, except the two pilots and the engineer, rode in the rear behind the bomb-bay bulkhead. The bombardier and the nose gunner, Walt Harrison and Bernard Dominick, crawled through the bomb-bay and took their ditching positions with the rest of the crew. ) Walt said, "Roger Ray, everyone’s in ditching position." Ray pushed the throttles forward and the plane lumbered down the runway, picking up speed slowly. Standing between the pilot and co-pilot, watching the airspeed indicator, the engineer, Fritz, glanced down at his guns lying on the floor between his legs.
Frank’s guns and springs were on the floor, Beneath his turret, next the bomb-bay door. But, as the plane down the runway did jog, The springs danced a jig, out into the fog.
Ray eased back on the control column and the flying boxcar struggled into the air. "Wheels-up," Ray ordered and Abbot hit the switch. Just clearing the stand of sycamore at the south end of the runway, the big bomber banked right and began its slow climb to join the group. Frank got on the intercom. "Ray, this is Junker. Top turret is out of commission. Over." The co-pilot said, "Abbot here. What's the problem Frank?" Fritz had difficulty ‘fessin’ up. After releasing a string of expletives, he said, “Had no time to install my guns before takeoff. During takeoff, both bolt return springs rolled out the Bombay doors and out on the runway" Justin chimed in with, "You mean you screwed up . . . " Ray cut him off. "Cut the chatter, Potts, you just worry about your guns.” Continuing, he said, “We're going to make mistakes at first, . . . we all will. With no top turret the rest of you have to be extra alert."
Sitting in back, the nose gunner stewed.
Bernard installed his guns with care. He'd done his best just to be here. He only wanted to see the show. And now he's sure he'll get to go. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 275 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Sitting in back, he began to worry. He'd forgot a pin, in such a hurry. Without a pin the turret could spin Oh Christ, too late to insert the pin.
Once airborne, the bombardier and nose gunner returned to the nose compartment. As they stood up, they saw the nose turret had rotated ninety degrees during takeoff. The entry doors were now, outside the airplane. Walt said, "Come on Bernard, let's try to turn this thing."
They huffed and they puffed to no avail. Like the big bad wolf they were bound to fail.
"Ray, this is Walt. The nose turret is out too. We didn't install the locking pin before we left the area. The turret rotated during takeoff and Bernard can't get in." (Walt was sharing responsibility for the oversight. It wasn't exactly a noble act. As the officer in charge of the nose compartment, he was equally responsible.) (No one on the crew had noticed that the nose turret was a death trap. If a gunner passed out because he was wounded or because he hadn’t adjusted his oxygen mask properly, no one inside the ship could come to his aid. It was impossible to turn the turret manually against the aerodynamic forces. That isn’t to say this was the first time it had happened. Many had paid the price. It was a well known design flaw but this information wasn’t passed on. Besides, it would cost an extra twenty-bucks to provide another set of controls outside the turret. Apparently that was more than Congress was willing to pay for a gunner’s life.)
Ray said, "Without a top turret or nose turret we’re really vulnerable from the front. We'll only get partial coverage from the ball and waist guns. How are the ball-guns, Brian?" "Just lowering the turret now, Sir. As you know, you need special equipment to install the ball guns, so the ground-crew does the job." (Brian was making sure Ray knew he wasn’t responsible if the ball guns were loused up too). He lowered the turret and got in.
"Shit! Ray, the turret works great, but I can't charge the guns. The ammunition won't enter the chamber of either gun. No way to fix them from inside the turret, that’s why the ground crew has to do it.”
(Perhaps, when you jack up thirty-six planes to drop each ball, and sweat and strain, seventy-two machine guns to install, perhaps it’s conceivable you’ll make an error, . . . or two, But hey, you’re not God, and the dead men won’t be you.
The system was foolproof, or supposed to be. The armorer in the armament shack assembled the guns and sent them to the flight line. There, another ground crewman installed them in the ball turret.
He cleaned the gun at the weapon's shack. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 276 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] And just before adding it to his stack, He carefully affixed a red tag, for all to see But will he read it? There’s no guarantee.
The idea was simple, you attach a red tag. A large two by five warning to act as a flag. Remove this red pennant before installation, Or the gun won't work, it causes indigestion.
He may have been sleepy or lazy or drunk. Makes no difference, the installation stunk. He shoved the guns home and closed the breech. The tags were inside and Brian couldn't reach.
Ray took a few moments to digest this information. Then trying to salvage a worsening situation, he said, "When we’re over enemy territory you can ride in the turret and move the guns so we’ll look threatening. Frank, you do the same in the top turret. I'm afraid to ask about the other positions. . . . Anyone else have something to report?" Until now the radio operator, Fang, was busy on preflight checkout. He had postponed installing his gun until they were airborne. It was Justin Potts, the other waist gunner’s responsibility to assemble the waist guns at the weapon’s shack and lug them to the plane. Justin Potts was naturally lazy. He never installed his gun while they were on the ground. He used that time for sleep: No sense in getting ready when you may not take off, right? After takeoff, Potts started installing his gun. Justin knew he had delivered both waist guns to the plane, but . . . where were the fuckin’ bolt-return springs? "Fang, are the springs over there?" "You brought the guns, Potts, where did you put them?" "They were right here on the floor."
Scratch two waist guns. (Potts muttered under his breath, "Grant probably swiped them.")
"Ray, Wolfgang here. No waist guns either. Bolt return springs never made it on board. The guns won’t work without them." "Christ, why weren't they installed while we were on the ground so you had time to return and get the springs?" "I was in briefing until just before takeoff. You'll have to ask Justin." Ray lost his cool, "Cary, what the fuck is going on back there? Are your guns working?" "Installed and operating, Ray, as far as I can tell. Have to wait until we’re over the channel before I can fire them, but they seem OK." Ray's logic returned. "Good. What's done is done. But let's learn from this and pray we live for another day. Justin, you will install both waist guns before every mission. I want a report ten minutes before takeoff that the guns are installed, understand?" (He’d locked the barn door after the horse was stolen) Greayer Enemies in Love Page 277 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] A chastened Justin answered, "Yes Sir." "And Brian, find out what's wrong with the ball guns and make sure it never happens again. I don’t care if you have to go out at 0300 hours and install them yourself. A ground-crew fuck up is no excuse. It's our ass that's on the line." Ray was still pissed and plenty worried. "Cary, I saw you shooting the breeze with Brian before takeoff. As an ex-cadet and senior man on the crew, I look to you to be the leader and you let me down. You should have taken the responsibility to check all the gun installations. In future you will check all inhalations and report to me before takeoff." “Yes Sir.” Cary knew that Ray was right. He chastised himself. Shit, I sure goofed up there. Ray has shown his faith in me by checking me out as the third pilot , and I spend my time with my head up my ass. On this, their first mission, only the tail turret guns were operating. Eighty percent of their firepower was inoperative. They were defenseless against an attack from the front. With nothing to do, Brian, Bernard, and Justin were just passengers. They may as well bail out. Harold Lloyd or Charlie Chaplain could have made a great routine out of their exploits, but this was no comedy. Ray said, "Since our base isn’t completely operational yet, the bunchier beacon installation is incomplete. With no bunchier beacon we have to assemble visually. We have to find the rest of our group so everyone, pay attention and keep your eyes open. " The Eighth Air force had fifty-two heavy bomber groups stationed in East Anglia. Each group put up approximately thirty-six bombers per mission. Nearly two-thousand bombers filled the sky. Climbing to altitude, everyone looked for planes with the 493rd Bomb Group tail marking. They saw none. Meanwhile, with everyone looking for their lead ship - including the radio operator - a message came over their unmanned radio. "Attention, attention, all ships of the 493rd Bomb Group, return to base, the mission has been scrubbed. I repeat, all ships of the 493rd, return to base, the mission has been scrubbed."
A tree fell in the forest, but no one heard.
"Ray, this is Walt. We have to decide soon if we’re going on this mission. We’re burning up our fuel reserve fast. Group to the right appears to be on the right heading. Looks like our best bet. Over." "Roger. Let's do it.” Ray joined the group heading for the channel. “We're tail-end Charley."
Cary had a birds-eye view as they crossed the channel and headed into France. What a pleasant day. They were the last plane in the formation, the best possible spot considering they had only tail guns. He was it. If attacked, Cary was ready. Anything suspicious, within range, will get it. He hadn't fired guns since Tyndall Field Florida. Once over the Channel, Cary squeezed the trigger and watched the burst of tracers arc down toward the water. Everything worked. Ray exclaimed, “Good Lord! Guys, that coast down there is Normandy! We're flying right over the battlefield. I see barrage balloons, ships, tanks, and stuff. . . . even gunfire. " "Ray, Walt here. Looks like we're heading for Nantes. We were briefed for Tours. Can't afford to stray too far. Used most of our reserve fuel looking for our lead ship. Nantes is one hundred miles west Greayer Enemies in Love Page 278 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] of Tours, but luckily the range is about the same. Over." "Roger. Keep me posted on the fuel situation Frank." "Roger, will do. Over and out." They were sitting ducks from any angle, except the rear. Fortunately, no fighters attacked . Greayer Enemies in Love Page 279 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
On the way back, once they crossed the channel, they breathed a little easier. Walt said, "Ray, this group is headed due west. Our base is northeast. We need to take a heading of forty-five degrees east from here." “Roger Walt.” They split from the group and headed toward home. On this moonless night, England was as black as a coal miner’s boots. Ray had to rely on instrument flying. "More trouble Ray," Fang said. “Can’t land at our base, . . . there are bandits in the area. Have to put down somewhere else.” Ray said, “Send out a may-day call." “Roger.” Their lives literally hung in the balance. The silence of the intercom, while the crew waited anxiously for a response to their may-day call, was deafening. Although the roar of the four radial engines inside the plane was mind boggling, everyone held their breath, . . . listening. Finally the intercom crackled to life. "This is Ray. An RAF base answered our may-day call. Look for a string of lights. We have to get down pronto. We're low on fuel. " Flying steadily west the whole crew acted as lookouts. Their eyes felt like they were out on stalks as they searched for the lifesaving arc of lights. Already too low to bail out they were in real jeopardy. This farce could end tragically. Someone shouted, "There they are, a half-dozen lights at one o’clock." As they overflew each light, it blinked off behind them until there were none. Then, another string lit up, leading them in segments to the airfield. On final approach Ray established a letdown rate specified by the tower. He followed the lights to . . . the end. Flying blind, Ray continued his rate of descent. Fuel was low. It was NOW or . . . N-e-v . . . Just as the tires squealed, the runway lights came on. A perfect landing at the RAF base near Cambridge. Fifty Lancasters were all lined up with their engines running, ready to take off on their nighttime bombing raid. The moment Ray's wheels hit the ground the Lancasters started charging down the runway - behind them. Had Ray failed to land, his window of opportunity would have closed. The Lancasters could wait no longer. Death lay down his scythe, . . . for the nonce. The rookie crew had dodged another bullet. Ten more minutes and their fuel would have run out. They would have been a casualty of war, . . .just another statistic. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 280 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 36
A Change of Heart
On their first mission each airman wore a steel helmet of the same type issued to foot soldiers, and a flak suit or protective vest which covered the chest (front and back) in a canvas tunic containing thin, one inch wide steel plates, sewn into narrow pockets creating a flexible shield covering the entire upper torso. The flak suit also had an apron that hung down in front to protect the lower body and legs. Since his turret had a control column that came up between his legs, which would fold the apron up against his chest and make it difficult to operate his guns, Cary unsnapped the apron and left it outside the turret. On the bomb run, Cary saw a carpet of blue-black puffs of smoke that was rather pretty. It was flak and too far away to cause any damage, but as a first experience, it was scary. The front window of his turret was a two-foot high, by eighteen-inch wide, by 2 ½ inch thick slab of bullet proof glass. (The ground crews did not remove these protective shields when they were removing other protective armor plate since to do so would have destroyed the turret.) To maximize his chances of survival, Cary increased his protection on the bomb run by rotating his guns down which brought the massive magazine portion of each gun alongside his upper body and head. Cary also placed his head atop the gun control column, and made himself as small as possible, to minimize the target.
Once back on the ground, Cary reassessed his flight preparations. He was comfortable with long johns under his electric suit and his gaberdine flight coveralls on top. Two pairs of socks under his electric boots kept his feet warm, but the electric gloves were not adequate to keep his hands from freezing. On his next mission he’d wear huge mittens over the electric gloves. He’d have to remove the mittens to fire his guns, but there was no other solution. You would think the engineers back in the States could test their design under severe weather conditions instead of sending flight crews into combat to freeze to death. Neither the electric suits, electric boots, nor the electric gloves were adequate to keep the airmen from freezing. Didn’t say much for American engineers . Cary could have done a better job with only his high-school education. He could also have put an extra set of controls on the nose turret to allow the rescue of an injured or unconscious nose gunner from the outside. He hoped the rest of the aircraft was a better match for the much vaunted German planes. Back at Debach, Cary trudged down to the bone yard and salvaged an eighteen-inch by two-foot piece of drywall. He attached it to the wall of the Quonset hut next to his bunk and posted two pinups on the corners. He tacked his autographed photo of Donna Reed on the upper right-hand corner. (Since there was a striking resemblance between Donna Reed and Catherine, the photo was his only reminder of Greayer Enemies in Love Page 281 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Catherine.) Then he logged his first mission in the center area between the two pin-ups. One down. Thirty-four to go.
MISSION LOG
#1. Wednesday 7 June -Tours France - 12 - 500 lb. GPs* - 1000 mi - 7 Hours - Joined wrong group and Bombed Nantes France - channel crowded with ships going both ways - 4 flak holes near tail - Bandits near Debach - Emergency Landing at Lancaster Base near Cambridge - Returned to base Thursday, 8 June *note: GPs = GENERAL PURPOSE BOMBS
After recording the mission, he wondered what else he could do to increase his chance of survival? Ever since landing in Britain, they had heard stories of ‘shot down’ fliers turning up in Switzerland, Spain, etc and Cary realized he could assemble a ‘survival kit’ that he could store outside his turret with his chute. If they ever got the ‘bail out’ order he could snap his survival kit to his parachute harness at the same time that he snapped on his chest chute. He promptly assembled a survival kit for an emergency, should they be shot down. Cary’s kit consisted of the following items which he carried in a canvas bag and brought along on his next mission. 1. maps of every country in Europe 2. Machete 3. Compass 4. Zippo cigarette lighter for lighting fires 5 . Several packets of ‘C’ rations (Food for survival in the wild) 6. Two cartons of cigarettes. (Servicemen could purchase cigarettes at the PX for a nickel a pack, but they were worth far more than that to the civilian population. Cary was a non-smoker, but in the war- torn nations of Europe, they were invaluable as bribes or simply as an international currency. Once he started visiting London he discovered they were the ‘preferred tip’ for Taxi drivers and waiters.) Greayer Enemies in Love Page 282 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] 7. Bottled soft drinks. (survival) 8. A fifth of Scotch (also intended for bribes as needed) 9. Pocket knife
Saturday, 10 June 1944. Cary was sitting at the table reading Jane’s latest letter. Brian was sitting next to him drinking a cup of coffee. He nudged Brian's elbow, and said, "Look at the postmark on this letter. Jane mailed it a month ago for Christ's sake." Mopping his chin and shirt-front with a towel, Brian said, "Thanks for the bath.” “Sorry.” Brian took the envelope. “So what? That happens all the time.” "Criminy, I've already answered letters Jane mailed two-weeks later. She'll think I'm ignoring this one." "You've been giving Jane the chill ever since you left LA. Are you changing your mind about her?" Cary grimaced. “Guess I have been keeping her at arms length.” He wavered. “But, this letter changes things. Take a look and tell me what you think." "Wow, I’m getting to read one of your precious letters. How come? You always say it would be betraying a confidence." Justin Potts, flaked out on his bunk as usual, decided to stick his snoot in. Always obnoxious, he was nursing a bottle of Scotch. "What are you two girls fussing about over there? Look like a couple of cunts planning a tea party." He tacked on his false ‘Yuck, yuck, yuck.’ laugh, Fritz, sitting on his bunk above Potts, joined in. "Those two asshole buddies are always gassing about something. Probably wondering what gowns they should wear to the prom. " Potty responded, "They should go take a shower. Could play drop the soap." Fritz and Potty went on in this vein, enjoying one-another's brand of humor. Brian and Cary ignored them. Potts finally said, "Come on Frank, let's hit the chow line and leave these two. . " He had run through his inventory of insults so he left the sentence hanging. Cary said, "Where were we before Potty Potts stuck his snoot full in?” “You were letting me read Jane’s letter.” "On second thought, I’ve changed my mind. Give it back." "Tough fella. Too late. I want to see why you have your knickers in a twist." Brian read the letter. 10 May 1944 Dear Cary, Long ago I told you how I felt and you were unable to r returneturn my love. I vvvowedvowed never to bore you with my need, but in your lelettertter tonight, you asked me to "Think of you once in a while." Since you ask, I confessconfess that all I do is think of you. I love you very much, my darling, and am lookinglooking forward to the day that you come home so I can make you feel the same about me. I promised I wouldn’t pressure you, and I'm not pressuring you now. This is the last time that I'll mention my love, and only because you asked. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 283 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] But, while I have this opening I want to mention oneone ththinging that has been worrying me. You once told me I had the hair of AnitaAnita LouiLouise,se, the face of Hedy Lamarr, the body of Rita Hayworth, and the legs of Betty GGrable.rable. You meant all that as a compliment, I know, but I have trouble finding me in there. I would much rather hear that you liked my soft-hearted, soft-hsoft-headed,eaded, teary-eyed compassion for other people, or that you understood how scary it waswas foforr me when I quit my job, or when I thought my father might die. It's nice to bebe ththoughtought good looking, but that really has nothing to do with me. I'm this frightenedfrightened li littlettle girl inside. Until you find the real me there is no chance that you, or anyone else for that matter, can love me. III don't care how you look; - well that's a lie, I prprobablyobably would have run for the hillshillshills if you hadn't been such a dream, but the importantimportant thing to me now is that I know thethethe real you, know how loyal you are to your family an andd friends, know your ideals, know howhowhow much you hurt because of the people who betrayedbetrayed yyou.ou. I even admire you for your loyalty to your highschool sweetheart and I criedcried for you when you told me how everything got really messed up. I hate her of coursecourse and wiwishsh she would drop dead. Not really, but . . . well, I can't talk sensibly abouaboutt that, but I can, I think, understand your confused emotions. I just hope she'sshe's not jusjustt an excuse. One day you'll find she's just a dream and that I'm real. But I hope it's soon, I don't know how long I can bear to wait. Just so your head doesn't get too big, I want you toto kn knowow that your sisters and III are doing our part to keep up the morale of the ArArmy,my, Navy, and Marines. Every Saturday we go dancing at the Palladium. LastLast SatSaturday,urday, we met several Officers from the Dutch Merchant Marine. We didn't get homhomee until five A.M.. You're doing your best to keep up your morale with all th thee girls you tell me about and you should know that I am doing the same. Last night when I was getting ready to go to the moviesmovies with Margo, someone knocked. When I opened the door, there stood a soldier.soldier. WWhenhen I looked at the facefaceface it was none other than Bill. You're probably sayisayingng "Who the hell is Bill," butbutbut I've told you all about him, so you’d know if you’you’dd only listened when I was jabbering away. He's an old friend from highschool and he's stationed in Tennessee. He'll be here for a week and maybe I can have some fun. We were never anything butbutbut friends and never could be. I shouldn't have saidsaid that. I should let you worry, I hope. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 284 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Can't think of anything else to bore you with so I'llI'll go to bed and dream of you. Love you always, Jane
"Well buddy, I don't know what you expect me to say? That letter warmed me up. I'd kill for a letter like that. How you can give her the chill is beyond me. Catherine sure has a tight grip on you if you can resist a girl like Jane. Like I've said before, if I were you - I would grab her." "I know you're right. Poor Jane, I never really gave her chance. Right from the start, I only saw her body and her face. Now I see she has a mind too." "Hubba, Hubba." Cary was irritated. "Don't give me that Brian. You didn't respond to that letter on a purely animal basis. Maybe Jane’s right? Perhaps she is real and Catherine is just a dream." "Well, I can't advise you on Catherine, but if she's anywhere near Jane, you have yourself a dilemma, my friend." Cary didn’t answer. I'm so fouled up, there’s no way I’ll ever discover what I really want. I love two beautiful women. Do I love them because they’re beautiful or do they have other lovable qualities? Do I love them because of the envy I see in other men's eyes? in Brian’s eyes? Cary said, “It bothers me that although I’ve rejected the double standard, I still have terrible thoughts about Jane.” "Blah, blah, blah. This is lecture number two hundred and twenty three. You’re so full of shit Cary you wallow in it.” Cary looked insulted. “You claim Carol was against your will. You felt you were raped. Women have used that logic for centuries. I agree it’s harder for a man to say no because it’s not a manly image, but you weren’t raped any more than most women who claim they were.” Cary knew Brian was right. He could have held Carol off but didn’t really want to. “You say you’ve rejected the double standard, but instead of giving women more sexual freedom you’ve put a chastity belt on both sexes.” “I slept with Cora without feeling guilt, didn’t I?” “Bullshit. You feel so guilty you’re still punishing yourself. You lost Catherine so you can be a martyr to her memory.” Cary had to admit Brian was making sense. “Wake up Cary, you don’t drink, you don’t smoke, and you don’t fuck. You hardly even cuss, for Christ sake. You’re not a man, you’re a friggin’ saint. You’re the one out of sync with the world. Don’t toss Jane in the ash heap because she doesn’t live by your impossible standards.” Brian is right. In my twisted logic I blame Jane because I couldn’t resist her. I made it her fault. She should have been strong where I was weak. “If you can't screw a woman and still love her, you're in deep trouble, buddy. I'd rather marry a woman who enjoys sex than some frozen turnip who believes sex is vile.” Cary realized Brian was making sense. I’m so full of self loathing, I’ll never feel worthy of Catherine again. She’s too far in the future. Jane is real. A perfect woman. All any man could want. With death on the doorstep I need to curl up inside someone's protective shield of love. I need Greayer Enemies in Love Page 285 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] someone now. Suddenly . . . that someone was Jane . . . and he told her so.
When Cary got back from mailing his letter to Jane he got the news. Ray grounded Bernard. His chronic airsickness made him a liability on a combat mission. They assigned him to the ground crew. Cary helped him move. Looking like a couple of pack mules, they walked slowly across Philip's field of brilliant yellow rape. Bernard was a slow witted, naturally good natured, congenial sort. His fleshy face and doe eyes could not hide what lay beneath. His very thoughts seemed to reflect in his rubbery features like the gentle breeze rippling through the field of grain. Tears trickled out at the corners of Bernard's eyes and streaked his dun colored cheeks. Cary saw his inner turmoil. Dropping their bundles, they sat among the fragrant flowers. "Hey, it's tough to leave all the guys you trained with, but you'll get to know the ground crew in no time." "It’s not that. Guys think my puking is a bunch of bullshit. Everyone figures I'm a coward. I've heard how guys get sick on days they have a rough mission.." "Fuck 'em. You've been wrapped around a cardboard box on every flight since Blythe. If that's an act, you deserve the academy award.” Bernard looked queasy. “But I am scared.” “We’re all scared shitless. If you weren’t, you’d be an idiot.” That stumped Bernard. “Doesn’t that make me a coward?” “It proves the opposite. Takes a brave man to volunteer for combat, when he’s scared shitless.” “Huh? What does that mean?” “Your serial number starts with a one. That means you weren’t drafted, you enlisted.” “So what?” “You had choices. Would have been easy to duck combat if you wanted to.” “How do you figure that?” “There are lots of cushy spots away from danger. You didn't have to volunteer for air crew and try as hard as you did." "But, how do I know I'm not a coward. I don’t punch people out like some guys.” “Only assholes punch people out. Bullies are the real cowards.” “Huh?” “Look, when I was a kid, my father never laid a hand on me, yet I’ll love and respect him till the day I die. Fear isn’t respect.” “Never had a father. Some of my foster dads stropped me.” “Did any of them treat you right?” “Some.” “Which ones do you respect and which ones do you despise?” “Never thought of that.” “What’s the answer?” “Hated the ones that beat me.” "Fist fighting is for dolts. I’ve never hit a person in my life. Am I a coward?” “Not you. No one challenges you.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 286 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “They did when I was a shrimp. All the bullies challenged me when I was small.” “How did you get out of fighting them?’ “I kicked them in the ass then ran like hell. After two-hundred yards, I’d stop and confront them.” “What did they do?” “Nothing. They were so exhausted, they could hardly stand. They put up a show of bravado and walked off. They never bothered me again.” “You were lucky you could outrun them.” “The point is, punching people out proves nothing. My best friend, Sam, has had countless fights. If you’re a tubby Jew and only five-foot-six tall, you are a convenient target for every moronic bully around. Sam has fought all his life and lost every one of them. But, he has just as much doubt about his manhood as I do.” Bernard looked doubtful, but said nothing. “Every man here thinks he may be a coward. You don't think anyone in his right mind would volunteer for combat if he didn't have doubts. The joke is, after he goes through combat he still won't know." "You always look so - well, I don't know the word. You seem to know everything. But, I can't buy your bull." "You mean I look confident. That’s a front. It’s how you feel inside that counts. I’m as terrified as anyone.” Bernard just looked confused. “If fear proves you’re a coward then I am one. But I'm more afraid of being thought a coward, than I am of dying. Take your pick, you're either a moral coward, afraid of what other people think, or a physical coward, afraid of death.” Cary’s lecture wasn’t helping. Bernard still looked confused. “Being fearless doesn’t prove you’re brave, it proves you‘re a moron. Every society needs assholes, like us, to fight and die for them. That’s why they brainwash us from birth to make it our duty. You’ll notice it’s the young, the ‘have-nots’ that do the dying. The wealthy never fight if they can get others to do their fighting for them.” “Wish I could figure things out, like you.” “It's all a game. The real cowards live and make money. Only the powerless, like you and me, do the dying. If I had guts I’d refuse, but here I am, trying to be a hero to impress the girls.” Bernard blushed. “That girl from the USO that I write thinks I’m brave. Now what do I tell her?” “My friend, Babsie, said women were the main culprits. He’s half right, women are the reason I’m here, but women haven’t conspired to have men die for them any more than men have conspired to subjugate women. We are each so needy that we make each other our enemy. . . .” “I don’t know what you’re blabbing about.” “I’ve read Nazis propaganda. They’re pikers compared to Hollywood. Hollywood teaches us what real men are supposed to be. We swallow it whole. My sisters are gaga over that strutting boor, John Wayne. They all buy his flag waving, hero bullshit so we poor suckers go along. None of us can live without the girls." "You’re so full of BS I don't know half-of what you're talking about, but I know you're trying to make me feel better. Thanks. We can go now." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 287 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Bernard's crew chief was strictly business, interested in getting planes ready for missions. He thought Bernard would do a good job, and was glad to have him. The chief sent them back in a Jeep to pick up the rest of Bernard's gear. Cary helped him get set up in his tent. Then he said, "So long - see you later." "Who's going to help me with my letters?" "We'll work something out. Could meet you in the mess hall, after chow, OK?" “OK.”
After two days of rain, the weather cleared. The sun was shining, and the 493rd launched its fourth mission. Walking back from chow Brian and Cary jumped over a narrow stream at a hedgerow, and started across a field of brilliant red poppies. Brian said, "What do you think of our replacement for Bernard?" "Seems like a kid, but he has ten missions to our one, so he's the veteran." "What about that fatalist business?" "Probably the only way he can cope. He was with the 100 th . They have the highest casualty rate of any bomb group. Seeing everyone else get killed must make you feel like you have a charmed life.” “Especially when your whole crew survives several missions with their plane shot to pieces - then everyone drowns on a milk run, except you." “Yeah. Christ, they were home free. They jettisoned their bombs in the channel and ditched in the river Deben.” “They were so close to land they could’ve swum to shore, but the plane sank so fast, Don was the only survivor." "Hated to say anything because the guy is dead, but his bombardier fucked-up.” “What do you mean?” “That B-17 would float for several minutes if the bombardier hadn’t forgotten to close the bomb bay doors after he dropped the bombs. The open bomb bay gulped up the river water and the plane went straight down. Don was lucky to find the open hatch in time.” Brian said, "I'd be a fatalist if that happened to me." "You can see he's still shook up. Something like that takes its toll. He has to believe it's fate to justify still being alive when all his buddies copped it." “Poor bastard. Hope he’s ready. When I was in operations this morning, the buzz was that we're Greayer Enemies in Love Page 288 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] on for tomorrow.
Then they flew five missions in eleven days.
MISSION LOG #1. Wednesday 7 June -Tours France - 12 - 500 lb. GPs* - 1000 mi - 7 Hours - Joined wrong group and Bombed Nantes France - channel crowded with ships going both ways - 4 flak holes near tail - Bandits near Debach - Emergency Landing at Lancaster Base near Cambridge - Returned to base Thursday, 8 June *note: GPs = GENERAL PURPOSE BOMBS
#2.Monday,12 June - Beaubvias, France - 60 - 100# Max Frag BOMBS - Oxygen leak over North sea - Aborted - No mission credit .
#2.Thursday 15 June - Paris Area (St. Cloud) - 800 miles - 12 - 500# GP BOMBS - wake up at 3:15 A.M. land at 10:15 P.M. official mission time 7 hours, engine conked out 30 miles north of Paris - #3. Tuesday, 20 June - Hannover Germany - 1125 mi - 12 500 GP - 7:35 Hours - Heavy Flak - (This mission was actually to Misburg Germany which is a suburb of Hannover.)
#4.Thursday, 22 June Paris Area (ETAMPES- MONDESIR Airfield) - 900 mi - 6:51 Hrs - light flak - two planes went down in flames - saw Jerry fighters.
#5.Friday, 23 June Paris Area (Airfield)- 1050 mi - ship # 757 - 60 100 lb. max fragmentation bombs - wake up - 0315 hours - 7 Hours - Sightseeing tour of France - Belgium, and Holland. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 289 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
The letter Cary wrote in Iceland on 21 May 1944, did not arrive in California until D Day, 6 June 1944. Ten days later Cary got a letter from his sister, Beth. Even though he had written the letter in mid May, his family thought that he was safe because while D Day was happening, his letter said he was in Iceland. But what about Doug and Ernie? . . . Oh, they weren’t in Cary’s letter, . . . they were the first casualties if the 493rd, . . . they were dead. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 290 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 291 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 292 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 293 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 37
Deliverance
On its first six missions, the 493rd Bomb Gro up lost six crews or about sixty men. Many of these casualties were start-up losses. (Cary’s crew wasn’t the only crew who’s first mission was a comedy of errors, and some ended tragically.) As the crews gained experience, the loss rate dropped. Only one crew was lost on their next seven missions, for a total of seven crews in thirteen missions. In addition, there were miscellaneous losses like a bombardier walking into a prop, or individual crewmen killed by flak or enemy fighters. They even lost a couple of guys who were riding bicycles. One was hit by a GI truck and the other cracked his head on the pavement as he lost control trying to master the handlebar-brakes on these English bikes. But, the most spectacular casualty occurred on Saturday, 24 June. A plane was coming in for an emergency landing, and you could hear the sirens wailing as all the emergency equipment drove out onto the field. Everyone on the base ran down to the runway to watch. The pilot tried to jettison the bombs in the channel, but they hung up, and with an armed time-bomb on board the pilot ordered everyone to bail, including the co-pilot. (The pilot could have bailed too, but a week earlier an unmanned bomber crashed into a schoolyard killing sixty-three children and a half-dozen teachers, so he played the hero.) With the clock ticking down he brought the ship in by himself. He came in hot and hit the runway with the brakes locked, sending up a huge cloud of blue-black smoke. When the right tire blew, the plane ground-looped. Skidding sideways, the undercarriage collapsed, slamming the plane down on the runway. Coming to a screeching halt with just seconds to go, the pilot came out like a rabbit, sprinted to the end of the wing, jumped down and broke the world record for the hundred-yard dash. Throwing himself flat, he covered his head with his hands just as the bombs exploded. The blast blew off the hangar doors five hundred yards away. One hangar door killed a crew chief who was standing nearby. Swatted him like a fly. The pilot was a hero. . . . He felt bad about the crew-chief though.
That night, the night before their sixth mission, Cary sat around the mess hall with a group of other gunners who were on alert. He and Jerry Eaton listened to the weird, gallows humor and constructed a verse that they titled:
A Gunner’s Prayer.
The night before we joke and cuss, Just as gunners always do, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 294 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] The alert was on - in too few hours, We would all be in the blue,
So why talk of bullets, blood, and death? Our life just now has a different depth,
A puff of flak - a gaping hole And down they go without control, The lucky will return to base, The rest remembered with somber face.
A rugged bunch, a damned good crew, They're MIA, it could be you. Before morning they'll be replaced They get the feel of a combat pace.
They're set to go and eager too, They've flown before but this is new.
They'll join us on the morning bus, And by eve - veterans they'll be, But tonight we joke and cuss, And forget the things we see.
(Jerry was one of Cary’s many Jewish friends but when Jerry was shipped to Britain to join the 493 rd bomb group he was offered a new set of Dog Tags using a pseudonym instead of the very ‘Jewish sounding’ surname his dogtags currently bore. Cary had no idea why all his Jewish friends wore dogtags with a pseudonym for their last name and none of his friends ever explained the reason, . . . if they knew? (It wasn’t until long after the war that Cary and the general public knew about ‘Hitler’s’ policy of exterminating all people he considered ‘undesirable’.)
Next day, nineteen days after D-day , the 493rd launched mission numbers fourteen and fifteen. Twenty-six bombers went to St. Avord, France and twenty-six went to Romley-sur-Seine. Brian was out all night and missed the briefing. Cary was pissed. When he finally showed up at the armament shack, to help Cary with his guns, Cary raved, "Where-the-hell were you, Brian? We were on alert, for Christ sake.” “Sorry.” “Sorry doesn’t cut it, you bastard. I covered for you as best I could, but I was up shit creek if you didn't show this morning." Brian let his friend simmer down and quietly finished cleaning the gun he was working on. As they were carrying the guns toward the weapon's carrier, Justin shouted "Hold up guys." He struggled out of the armament shack lugging the two waist guns and they helped him stow them in the back of the truck. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 295 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Brian picked up the conversation as they started their trip to hard stand number twelve - clear around on the other side of the field. "You knew I was getting antsy for a whiff of nookie. Shacked up last night, in Debach.” "Everyone’s supposed to be back by lights out. Was I supposed to know you were going over the hill?" "Wasn’t planned. Ran into this sweet barmaid with knockers the size of the liberty bell. You remember her?” “The one with the wedding band? . . . Thought her ring scared you off.” “Turns out the band was just fly-repellant. Anyhow, when I put my head between those pillows I thought I was going straight to heaven. Would have too, if she hadn't raised-up and given me a chance to breathe." Brian chuckled at the image he had just painted. "Didn't know you were a boob man. When you picked Laura out at Salt Lake, I thought you were a leg man?" "Don't remind me. Still have wet dreams over Laura. You must get your rocks off every night just dreaming of Cora. She was a hot number." "Trying to forget Cora. Think I’ll turn Catholic so I can confess my sins and wipe the slate clean.” Cary turned toward Potts in the back seat. “How about it Potty, is that the way it works?” Potts, a devout Catholic but the sleaziest prick on the base, didn’t answer. Brian said, “Those Catholics have it made. Protestants never get rid of our guilt.” Cary said, “Concentrating on Jane now. Her letters keep me warm. Trouble is, she’s naked in all my dreams. . . . Does lusting in your heart count?” Brian laughed. “No more dreams about Catherine?” “Almost every night, but Catherine always keeps her clothes on. Can’t envision her nude even if I try, so I never commit a sin, dreaming of her. ” “Still up on that pedestal.” “Fraid so. Wonder if that means anything? But, getting back to Bessie and Laura, talk about opposites.” Brian laughed. "The packaging is different, I admit, but, you don't get the picture. I’m not a leg man or a boob man, I’m a muff man. The legs are the highway to the muff. Just serve me up a muff with a little cream and sugar and that's all I need. But hey, if boobs and legs come with it, that's just gravy." As they pulled alongside their plane, Justin reached over and ran his fingers under Brian's nose. "If it's gravy you like, take a whiff of that. Fresh cunt juice. I just got back from Debach." Then his fake laugh - "Yuck, yuck, yuck." Brian pushed Justin's arm away. "Christ Potty, go wash your hands. You're disgusting." Unloading their guns, Potty couldn't resist a final word as he walked toward the plane. "Fuck you. You guys can wallow in it but if I do, it's disgusting." Cary said, "Poor Potty, he just doesn't see how gross he is." "If he were just gross, I could stand him, but I think he's messing with those little boys and girls that hang around the field. I've seen him skulk off into the bushes with kids that can't be more than ten or twelve." "Now that you mention it, I’ve seen him sneaking around too. But, he has to have some values. After all, he’s a devout Catholic and claims he'll become a Priest after the war!" "I know. Makes me shudder the way he expresses it. 'All that fresh meat.' ” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 296 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “He’s twisted. Imagine the damage he’ll do as a Priest.” “Imagine the damage he’s already done.”
After installing his guns and checking that all the other guns were installed and operating, and reporting his findings to Ray, (In keeping with Ray’s instructions) Cary joined Brian out on the tarmac alongside their ship. Brian had a question. “To get back to the more mundane, Cary, I missed the briefing, as you pointed out so graciously, so if I may be so bold, where in hell are we going today?" Cary ignored Brian’s sarcasm. "Romley-sur-seine, a Junker-88 airbase fifty miles east of Paris, near Troyes. . . . They say it's a milk run." "We've heard that before." "To an Intelligence Officer, they're all milk runs. Last so called, “lightly defended” target we went to, they shot down two of our planes." "Hope they're right this time. I'm half zonked." "Sack-out on the pavement next to Don. There’s still time to get in a few winks before we're airborne." "Too late. I’m wired. Took four Benzedrine tablets at breakfast.” (Brian’s face was beet red.) “My heart is pounding like a tomtom. Won’t sleep for a week." Oh, oh! Cary was concerned. Brian was on their crew only because Cary had taken Brian’s physical for him. “Probably shouldn’t use Benzedrine, Brian, with your blood pressure. If you’re not careful, you’ll burst a gasket.” Brian shrugged.
On this summer morning the view of the channel was spectacular. Looking south, Cary imagined the activity two hundred miles away on Normandy. Pressing the intercom button, he said, "Can we take a detour over Normandy? The view back here is great. I'd love to have a birds-eye view of the Greayer Enemies in Love Page 297 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] beachhead." Ray said, "Just keep your eyes peeled for bandits, Cary. You're not up here to have fun." Brian cut in. "Come on Daddy, do a barrel-roll or a loop-the-loop to make this exciting. The last few trips have been just plain bo-ring." "That first charade was more than enough excitement for me. I'll settle for thirty more like the last four. " Cary adjusted his oxygen mask and settled back for a leisurely trip. What an uneventful flight. A scenic tour of France. EDIE was purring like a contented kitten. No fighters, no weather, not a puff of flak, - a classic milk-run. Cary swivelled his turret from full left to full right and back to the six-o’clock position, enjoying the spectacular view. When he thought about it, life wasn't much different than when he worked at the Bank on Wall Street. Even the missions were like going to work. I make the same preparations, bathe, shave, brush my teeth, have breakfast. There's no war back a Debach. If the day is successful, I go home to peace. I can go to town and take in a show with a buddy or with my best girl, if I had one. After a day or two of reading books, writing letters, watching movies, and wishing I were home, the CQ wakes us at 0300 hours for another day at the office. It's difficult to know which is reality. Only when I hear the flak popping near my ass and the acrid taste of gunpowder invades my senses, do I realize I'm not on vacation. And when we're not flying, we have all the comforts of home . Sometimes, I can hardly stay awake it’s so boring. Sure am grateful I’m not fighting on the ground. Sure, I’ve seen my buddies go down in flames, but if it’s not you it hardly seems real. Almost like I’m watching a movie. Suddenly’ at the end of the bomb run, Cary felt the ship jump about a hundred feet, signaling that Walt had released their six-thousand pound load of bombs. Walt closed the bomb bay doors as Ray banked left to head home. Cary was just rejoicing when he heard a single burst of flak hit the ship. "Ray, we just got hit somewhere. There's a terrible vibration and a hell of a racket back here. The tail feels like it’s about to drop off." "Lost number two. She's running away. . . . Won’t feather. . . .. Cut the throttle Abbot, before the vibrations tear the plane apart." Abbot said, "Airspeed’s dropping. Can’t keep up Greayer Enemies in Love Page 298 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] with our formation.” The formation just flew away. “Keep your eyes peeled. We're sitting-ducks." Walt shouted, "Heads up; the Jerries will be on us." Turrets whined as the gunners panned the sky. Frank yelled, "Here they come. Four bandits at three o'clock high!" Cary yelled, "Hold your fire, Frank. They're ours. P-38s." “Thank God they spotted us first." Banking to display their twin booms, the four Lightenings buzzed by, out of range. Ray wagged his wings to signal recognition and the four fighters moved in close. Potty said, "Bugger nearly stabbed me with his wingtip when he gave us the thumbs-up.” Wolfgang said. “Feels great heading home with a P-38 escort.” "We’re not home free yet guys. Better pray EDIE doesn't come apart.” Ray said,“Need some info, Walt. Distance to base from here, and distance by way of Normandy.” “Why Normandy?” “Prefer Normandy to my other options. If another engine craps out we’re going down, baby.” The intercom was silent for a few minutes while Walt consulted his charts.“Prepare to bail-out, but I don’t expect anyone’s anxious to leap into German occupied territory , so don’t jump unless I give the order." After leaving his turret, Cary snapped his chest pack and escape kit to his parachute harness. He opened the camera hatch, and sat with his legs dangling out in the breeze, his hands braced on each side of the open hatch. Other crew members, Brian, Don, and Fang, each with their chest chutes on, lined up behind Cary, . . . ready to go. Cary was the only man who had made up an escape kit complete with a Marchette, first aid kit, C-rations, maps, a canteen of water, and two cartons of cigarettes for barter or bribes. (Cary also had an officer’s 45-caliber pistol and four clips of ammo. He had added these items a week after he first assembled his kit. He saw no reason why his life was worth less than the brass. And, oh, as an afterthought he later had added a flask of Scotch-whiskey. Cary didn’t drink, but he covered all bases. He was a survivor.) "Two hundred and seventy miles from Romley-sur-Seine to Ipswich. Normandy adds seventy-five miles to the trip.” Then Walt added another bit of information. “From Normandy we overfly one-hundred-and- twenty miles of water. It's only twenty miles of water from Calais. . . . Not that anyone cares, but I can't swim." "That's the least of your worries. I can swim, but I doubt I’ll manage twenty miles any better than Greayer Enemies in Love (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] for a heavy bomber, Ray. Given my druthers, I'd prefer the concrete runway.” Ray said, “We're still at twelve thousand feet. We'll circle down and see what we can figure out." Looking straight down near the concrete runway Cary could see flashes as German soldiers took pot-shots at them. "Cary here. Don't plan on that concrete runway, Ray. I see flashes of rifle fire. They're shooting at us from the ground. They’ll pot me in the left testicle if we get any lower. They’ll knock us off like pigeons if we bail out here." "Roger, Cary, I’ll circle over the beach to avoid the ground fire. We’ll try the mat.” Abbot piped up. “Getting too low for bail-out, guys. Assume your ditching positions." Brian sat on one side of the bomb-bay door and Cary sat on the other with their backs against the bulkhead and their hands clasped behind their heads. Walt and Don crawled through the bomb-bay to the rear and joined the others as they quickly took their positions with their backs against the man behind. "Fire the red flares, Frank, to warn off the fighters. Standing between the two pilots, Fritz gave the crew a blow by blow description of the landing approach. "Throttling back.” “Those fucking fighters better get the hell out of there." “Making our final turn to line up with the runway." "Leveling off. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 300 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] ”“Abbot’s pushing the throttles forward.” “Hold on. . . . Engines not responding." Ray shouted, "Wheels-up. Have to pancake alongside the mat." Ray kicked the left rudder hard to move the big crate to the left and pointed the nose straight down. Everyone held their breath, as the big bomber headed down at a seventy-degree angle, praying that Ray could pull out of the dive before they burrowed into mother earth. The last words from Frank were, "God, here we come. . . . We're dead. . . . So long guys."
The B-24's nickname . . . the flying coffin flashed through Cary's mind as he prayed for Ray to pull out in time. Christ Edie, please don't live up to - Cruuuuuuuuuunch. They hit mother earth at one hundred and sixty miles per, folding the nose underneath. Every man braced himself as they bumped and bounced on their wild roller-coaster ride with engines flying in all directions and shearing off ten feet of the left wingtip. As the crumpled remains of the plane slid alongside the steel- mat, a dense, suffocating cloud filled the airplane. Someone yelled "F-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-r-e!" as Edie slid to a stop. "Get out before she blows." They all rushed to the waist windows and began tugging at the latch. Cary yelled, "This window won't budge." Fang yelled. "Locked over here too. We're trapped!" Glancing around, Cary found himself alone with Fang. Pointing, to the open camera hatch Cary yelled, "Come on Fang." He and Wolfgang slipped through the fifteen-inch clearance between Edie's belly and mother earth. Cary still had his chute snapped onto his chest, so it was a tight squeeze. They joined the rest of the crew on the right side and Cary led the charge as they sprinted counterclockwise toward the front. Rounding the right wing, Cary saw the nose of the ship sheared off just forward of the flight deck and folded under the rest of the fuselage. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 301 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] He yelled, "They're dead, they're dead, oh God they're dead!" Tears streamed down as they continued circling. Suddenly Ray, Roland, and Frank came bounding around the sheared-off tip of the left wing. Realizing they were all OK, emotion overwhelmed them. Sobs and tears of joy, or whatever, just ran down as they embraced one-another. Never in a lifetime could they experience another such emotional high. Brothers under the skin they were not, but at this moment they were bonded. Their plane, Edie lay ripped, torn, demolished beside the runway, but they had survived, they were alive. Life was never so sweet. Everyone talked at once, including a throng of Canadian air and ground personnel who rushed out to greet them. “Bloody hell, it's a miracle." "Thought you’d bought it." "Went out the top hatch and slid off the left wing." "Is no one hurt? "When I saw that cloud of smoke, I thought we were goners." "Me too. Expected to be fried." "Why didn't she blow?" Greayer Enemies in Love Page 302 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Abbot “Abbot dumped the fuel and cut the switches.” "Was just dust, kicked up by the plane as it slid on the dirt alongside the runway. There was no danger of fire." "Poor EDIE, she brought us home and now she lies midway down the mat with her engines ripped off, her nose folded under, and her right wing pointing across the runway in a salute." Their plane was still in the middle of the field, but Hurricanes were taking off from each end of the airstrip, simultaneously, each fighter just peeling off to the right as they passed one another, midfield. Brian said, “How can they keep flying?” "Have to, Buddy. Troops need air support." "Aye, our cranes are moving into position now. We'll have your Edie torn to shreds in no time. We’ll use dynamite if necessary." "What's that? Sounds like thunder." "That's gunfire, Buddy. You're eight miles from the front lines." "Where are we anyhow?" Greayer Enemies in Love Page 303 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Juno sector, five miles from Caen. We're Canadians." The sounds and flashes reminded Cary of the thunder and lightning on the horizon nearly ten years ago, the day he shot Nip. Since that day his life had been out of control in one long prelude that would never end. Would he and the other men of his generation ever put this war behind them and begin to live their own lives? He had little time to reminisce. A six-wheeler drove up. "Come on you Yanks, our medics need to look you over, and the brass need some info before returning you to England on the next LST." The ship that they crashed on Normandy that day had been christened Edie. This is a copy the art the crew who ferried her to Europe had emblazoned her nose.
This was Don’s second ditching. He felt God was saving him for something special. Cary was afraid he might be right. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 304 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 38
Missing in Action
Because departure depended on the ‘tide’, their LST would not leave for Britain for several hours, therefore Brian and Cary stowed their parachutes on the beach and began exploring the area. Cary decided to carry his escape kit as he and Brian walked up the beach. They noticed the beach was covered with dozens of shallow depressions scooped out in the sand. Suddenly it dawned on them what they were. They stood and stared in silence as the drama played out just nineteen days before, flashed through their minds. “Jesus Christ!” “You said it Cary. Are those what I think they are?" “Those Canadian boys got a hot reception, . . . Poor bastards.” “That blockhouse on the bluff has a commanding view and could rake this beach with a withering stream of gunfire." “They only had time to dig their own graves. I can still see the streaks made by frantic fingers as they clawed at the earth trying desperately for some shelter. " Brian choked up. "Like shooting fish . . . (His voice trailed off)" "Yeah, . . . I know what you mean." They were silent for several minutes. Then Brian murmured, "And we think we have it rough.” “If they hadn't captured this beach, we’d be POWs, now.” “Wonder how many of them survived. After surviving six missions, we have a fifty-fifty chance. " "Don't count your chickens Brian. Fifty-fifty ain't exactly . . . home-free.” “At least we aren’t dead . . . yet." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 305 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Almost joined them a half-hour ago, but dead ain't what I fear, Brian. It’s blind or arms and legs missing that haunts me.” “Don’t think about it. Too depressing.” “Can hear those machine guns, and feel those bullets ripping through me, now.” “If I spend any more time here, you can just slip me in that hollow and cover me with sand."
Leaving the beach and struggling up a steep footpath, they scaled a seven-foot retaining wall at the top of the thirty-foot bluff. A huge German blockhouse on the cliff had a commanding view of an immense stretch of beach. Brian and Cary explored the empty blockhouse. Spreading his arms wide, Cary said, "The walls and ceiling are at least fourteen-feet thick." "What are these chips on the outer surface, Cary?” “Looks like shells from the cruisers and battleships simply bounced off." A Canadian soldier passing said, "That's right, Yank, if they hadn’t knocked it out we never would have taken this beach.” “How’d they knock it out?” “That thick steel door covering that narrow slit only opened long enough for Blockhouse cannons to fire. A lucky shot from a ship entered the slit while the door was open. If that hadn't happened we’d still be out there lobbing shells." "Wow. . . . Crazy.” Cary glanced in both directions along the top of the bluff. “Any towns around here?" "West about a mile, you'll come to La Riviere, the first French town liberated in the Juno sector. A church dominates the south end of the square.” He pointed. “You can see the steeple poking up over yonder."
Entering the town, the locals looked at them curiously. These were the first Yanks they’d seen. Two girls, displaying a bit of cleavage, giggled and spoke to them. All Brian and Cary understood were ‘Nanette’, and ‘Gigi’. They shrugged and trying a little pantomime, they gestured. Smiling ingratiatingly, Cary said to Brian, "Hear tell, In the early days they used to shave the girl’s heads if they were caught consorting with the Krauts. Did their hair grow back or are these girls virgins?” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 306 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Brian, laughed. "Virgins of course.” “You don’t suppose they want to show their appreciation to their liberators?" "Probably already done that, but I don't mind if they’re still full of gratitude." "May be full of clap too. I'm not exactly prepared." "Me neither. Oh, oh, I goofed. I'll have to make an addition to my escape kit.” “You’re full of BS, Cary. You couldn’t do ‘it’, even if you ‘were’ prepared.” “Right, Brian. After our close call, my pecker won’t come out of hiding for a month." Both boys laughed. Even though the girls didn’t understand a word Cary and Brian said, they thought it was funny too. They laughed and began chattering, and smiling broadly. "Wonder what they're saying." "Who knows?” Then Cary had a thought. I lugged my escape kit along. Unsnapping his kit, he said, “These girls could probably use a treat.” Brian said, “Thought you were crazy, making that kit. Now I see it can come in handy." "Damn right, and not just to treat these girls to some goodies. If we landed in occupied territory my goodies might have saved our butt." Opening the canvas bag, Cary gave each girl a carton of cigarettes, the high energy chocolate bars and the other rations. “If they don't smoke, they can trade the cigarettes for something.” “Keep the whiskey, Cary. After seeing that beach I need a stiff shot.” “Me too.” Cary wasn’t expecting anything for his gift. He would have been happy to settle for a coy smile and a brotherly-sisterly kiss on the cheek, but suddenly, (giggling excitedly), the girls took them by the hand and led them inside the empty church. The kisses got hot. Gigi had Cary in a headlock and he thought he may swallow her tongue. Looking desperately over at Brian, he saw that he too was having difficulty deciding what to do. Motioning that they were due back at the beach, they backed off. After their recent brush with death neither boy was ready for that type of adventure. Smiling and waving, they headed back down toward their ship. Cary didn't know at the time, but in France a carton of cigarettes was worth well over one hundred American dollars. That was more than these girls had seen since the war began. "Brian, it's not like you to pass up nookie." "Didn’t want this be the high point of my life. . . . After all, the French have a reputation.” "Quick thinking. You really weaseled out of that!” "Well, what about you? Gigi planted hot kisses on you. Why did you chicken?" "You know I’ve sworn off. I’m saving it for Jane. Besides, even if I had a rain hat, I doubt I could do it. We were all nearly dead just three hours ago. After seeing all those shallow graves my mind was full of ghosts."
They Boarded the ship at 2100 hours. They would sail for London when the morning tide lifted the LST from its sandy moorings. Cary spent a troubled night trying to discover who he was. The script has already been written for every situation. I'm a walking, talking robot. We're all playacting, isn't that the essence of life? When those boys stormed the beaches they just did what was expected of them. They’d seen it a hundred times in the movies, but, the script ran out when they hit the beach. I have no script for what I saw today. That got a little deeper. Perhaps I'm not just a Greayer Enemies in Love Page 307 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] machine. Perhaps, I have a soul, after all. Cary wrote a few lines in his diary before he went to bed.
On D-day the allies struck. Boys charged the foe and ere they reached the shore they were men - dead men.
At 0900 hours on 26 June, 1944, the LST sailed with the morning tide. Making the three-hundred-mile voyage in nineteen hours, they landed at East India Docks in London at 0400 hours the next morning. After breakfast they left for the London area Air Corps Commander’s office, arriving at 0830 hours. They registered with the people in charge and were ushered into a small waiting room where whey waited, . . . and waited.
Cary nudged Brian. “What’s the hold up? We only need train fare to Ipswich.” Brian said, “This is the army. We can’t take a crap without orders.” Brian was right. They spent most of the day waiting. Then they were issued passes for twenty-four hours in London and were given chits to cover their lodging and evening meal. They were loosed on London with only two pounds ($8.10) between them and told to report the following morning to pick up their orders, train tickets, and per diem for their trip from London to Ipswich. As they strode through city streets dressed in their electrically heated flying suits, steel helmets, fleece lined flying boots, and carrying their chutes, they got lots of stares. Soldiers were a common sight in London, but not airmen who had obviously just returned from a combat mission. Airmen held a particular soft spot in the hearts of all Britains. The RAF had held the German Luftwaffe at bay during the darkest days in Britain’s history and Churchill had proclaimed that, “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.” People stepped aside to let them pass and gazing after them in awe, they whispered, God-bless, with reverence in their voice. Passing the Golden Lion pub, one elderly lady, who reminded Cary of his mother, rushed out and embraced him. With tears streaming down she planted a kiss on Cary’s cheek, along with her God-bless. It was a heady experience. They were completely unprepared for this adulation, and didn’t know what to make of it. Inside the PX the magic persisted. They were heros and had no idea why. They were the recipients of pent-up emotion that had been building for years. For London girls, the war had been particularly grim. The girls had suffered through four-years on the front lines. Nightly bombings by the Luftwaffe, during the early days, and now the new threat of the buzz bomb and V2 rocket made life uncertain. Many spent their nights in air raid shelters or on cold subway platforms deep underground. And since D-day, ten-million young British men were whisked out of England and shipped to France depriving most young British women of all contact with the opposite sex. Additionally, the women knew of the high price airmen paid in defending their homeland. Airmen were their dream heros, their knights in shining armor. The girls were anxious to have a bit of fun, anxious for a chance of dinner and dancing, and perhaps a one-night-stand with an airman who may be dead within a week. So, it wasn’t just soldiers that lived by the motto, Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you may die, the girls were fairly salivating at a chance at a roll in the hay with an airman. It would be something to Greayer Enemies in Love Page 308 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] remember for a lifetime. So, ignoring other customers, every salesgirl in the PX gathered round to hear their hair-raising story. The boys were completely oblivious. They had no idea how sex starved these London women were. But still high from their brush with death, the boys fairly gushed. They were a sensation. Smitten by a quiet, blue-eyed blond, lurking in the background, Cary's pulse quickened. Noticing his stare, she nervously slunk behind a sultry older brunette. Summoning his courage, he walked over and said, "Hi, I'm Cary." She looked startled, and retreated behind a counter. Still too shaken from their recent brush with death, Cary didn’t pursue her. Why bother? he never expected to see her again. He moved back to the center of the throng of salesgirls. Everyone was talking at once. One of the boys said, “We’re staying at some place called the Columbia Club, tonight. Where’s that?” “The Columbia Club? It’s a Red Cross Hostel near Marble Arch. I’ll be glad to take you there, Love.” There was a chorus of protests. “Do you have to leave so soon?” “Head back to our base near Ipswich, tomorrow." “Oh love, just our rotten luck.” “Promise to come back soon.” “I’ll be happy to show you London.” “I’ll show you more than that.” The crew was unaware that behind the scenes the girls were hastily making plans to see these boys again. As they were leaving someone said, “Hang on, Yanks, Sarah has something for you, Love.” Sarah casually handed Brian a list with the names, addresses, and telephone numbers of all the girls in the PX. She said, “I’m Sarah. Call me before your next trip. We’ll make sure you never spend a lonely night in London again.” Their next trip to London promised to be interesting. On the way out the door the sultry brunette touched Cary’s arm and said, "I’m Ruby Fischer. You look dangerous. You frightened Lana.” Cary introduced himself. “I’m Cary. Tell Lana I don’t bite.” “I wish you did. You’re gorgeous, Love.” Ruby said, “Look, he’s blushing.”
After a night at the Columbia Club, Frank and Wolfgang were complaining that the Buzz bombs kept them up all night. Cary slept soundly and heard nothing. He didn’t know what they were talking about. His serviceman's edition of his New York Daily News only gave him news Greayer Enemies in Love Page 309 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] about the home front. Mostly it kept him posted on the Hollywood scene; Ester Williams, Chili Williams, Betty Grable, and the rest of the pin-up girls. Never mentioned Buzz Bombs, and such. He said, “Buzz bombs? What’s that?” Later he learned that the first V-1 attack on London occurred seven days after D-day on 13 June. Soon, he saw plenty. When the bzzzzzz, bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzz, stopped just overhead, he knew death was near. He ran for cover like all the rest.
They returned to their base on Wednesday, 28 June, three days after taking off on their mission. Brian was carrying a padded bra, a trophy from his one night stand with one of the PX girls. Brian didn’t even know her name. They had dutifully reported to commanders both in Normandy and in London yet someone screwed up. Their base hadn’t been told of their survival. Their base commander hadn’t even left their beds empty for twenty-four hours. Like in “The Three Bears,” someone was sleeping in my bed. They were furious. They unceremoniously tossed the crew out of their barracks and indignantly stormed into the OR, only to discover they were reported MIA! The Pony Express was better than that. It made one think perhaps American intelligence should tap into German sources. Lord Haw-Haw (British traitor William Joyce) would often greet American crews by name. Radio Berlin or Radio Bremen often reported exactly where American Bombers were headed before they left the ground. Sometimes the BBC reported that sixty-eight US bombers lost in a raid over Berlin while the planes were still on their way back from the mission. After they cooled down, Cary and Brian tried to find out how far the MIA report had gone. A Sergeant in OR said, "Reporters hang out here like undertakers at the morgue. They had the story as soon as your squadron landed. ” “How about our folks?” The Sergeant checked the files. “No official telegrams sent, but don’t start celebrating yet. Reporters like to be first with bad news. Your folks could read about it in the local paper." "Criminy, I'd better write Jane and my folks. Reading about it in the newspaper will be worse than an official telegram." "I'm not worried," Brian said. "My folks don't get a paper." "How about friends. If they see it, they'll sure-as-hell call your folks. Everyone likes to spread bad news." You're right. Better get a letter off pronto." "Now I'm glad I live in LA. At least Catherine won’t know I'm MIA." "Why not? You graduated from Richmond Hill High. Some local paper is bound to pick up the story from the wire service.” "Christ, if that happens I may as well be dead. Alex never answered my letter, so I still don’t know where Catherine lives. Can only pray she doesn't see the story.” “Why do you figure your bud didn’t write?” “Don’t know. Can’t believe he copped it. He enlisted in the Coast Guard because it was nice and safe.” “Maybe he began romancing Catherine when you left town and doesn’t want to confess?” “No way. Catherine thought he was a nerd. They couldn’t stand one another." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 310 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Yeah. It’s nerds like Otto and Silas that you have to watch. They knifed you in the back after you washed out, for going to bat for them. Friends like that you need like a hole in the head.”
When Cary’s crew failed to return from his sixth mission, Earl entered them on Cary’s log as MIA. # 6. June 25 - Ray Stewart crew MIA
Cary amended the record.
# 6 .Sunday, 25 June Romley-sur-seine (Troyes Area Airfield) 50 100 lb. GP Crashed on Normandie Beachhead - Canadian JUNO sector near La Riviere. Boarded LST 2100 hours (S theater) Left on high tide at 0900 hours on 26 June Landed East India Docks in London 1600 hours - MIA - AIR MEDAL awarded. Pilot gets Distinguished Flying Cross.
Combat crews were awarded an Air Medal after completing five missions. For each subsequent five missions they got a tiny Oak Leaf Cluster that they added to the ribbon. The Air Medals came through while they were MIA. Brian and Cary picked up their Air Medals while they were in the OR. Holding up his medal, Cary said, “Medals are nice, Brian, but take a look at this citation." Brian took the certificate from Cary. “What piece of crap. Looks like they're printed on sheets of toilet paper.” Cary said, “Perhaps suggesting their intended use." Looking at the certificates, he said, "These mimeographed forms are like blotting paper, illegible except where they typed in our names. Even that is a mess. My name is full of type-overs. Blah-blah Grant.” "Why waste good stationary on a bunch of guys who’ll be dead next week." "Words seem fine, if you could read them, but not something designed for framing. Only used half a sheet of paper for each citation. Look at the ragged edge. Clerk used a saw as a straight edge to tear them against." "Your citation looks a little better than mine, Brian. Your lower left-hand corner was squeezed between the jaws of some kind of embossing die, making it look like official toilet paper.” Taking a closer look, Cary said, “But hey, they signed mine. Let’s see, . . . Oh yeah, General Blob." "Really gives you a warm feeling.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 311 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Brian grabbed his balls. “Gets me right here."
"What if our poor folks got these toilet paper citations along with the MIA telegram. Can you picture your mom putting that up on the mantle next to your photograph and the gold star from the war office?” “Sure would make her proud. The only thing that counts to those cheap bastards on Wall Street is the bottom line. They’re not about to spend an extra buck on a ‘dead hero.” “This war is making them all fat. They could care less about the amount of blood spilled to fatten their profits. They all sit in their swank offices with carpets on the floor and eat steak at Twenty-one while our folks grub along on hamburger and margarine.” “No way will they shell out a nickel to help support our folks once we’re gone.” “Not only did our folks give their sons for Wall Street’s profits, but they sentenced themselves to the poor house in the bargain.” “As far as the rich are concerned, tough titty.” “ Our rapacious Christian ‘survival of the fittest’ Capitalist philosophy at it’s finest.”
Before the day was out they heard that a recommendation went forward to award the Distinguished Flying Cross to Raymond E. Stewart for his exploits in Normandy. Ray threatened to refuse the medal unless all members of the crew were awarded the DFC, but the crew voted him down unanimously. Cary said, “Who cares. After the war, the DFC and a nickel will buy you a cup of coffee.”
But Cary did take time out to write a letter home, and enter the data on his Mission log.
# 7. Thursday, 6 July Paris Area (Rugged) 5 Hours 12 500# GPs Saw fighters. No attack but Greayer Enemies in Love Page 312 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] kept us on edge. Landed after Midnight. (Target was L'ISLE ADAM which is 20 miles NNW of Paris.)
Noticing Donna Reed’s photo on the corner of Cary’s bulletin board, Brian said, “Whatever did happen to that gal you danced with at that USO dance. She was trying to make it in Hollywood, wasn’t she?” “Yeah, poor kid. I hear acting is the toughest racket out there. She had a bit part in a supporting role with Edward Arnold in Eyes in the Night in1942, and in 1943, she appeared in The Human Comedy with Mickey Rooney, but it’s a struggle.” “Sounds rough.”
Next morning the CQ entered their barracks and announced, "Stewart crew, report to headquarters in full dress uniforms at 0900 hours for a medal ceremony." Brian said, "We have our medals already." "Your pilot is getting the DFC. It's the first for the 493rd, so some brass are here from headquarters. I believe even Jimmy Stewart came down. They didn’t come all this way to pin on one medal, so they’re making this is the official ceremony for your Air Medals too. Of course you return the extra medal after the ceremony."
A fte r standing at attention through several speeches, the Colonel pinned their medals on. Cary gave a smart salute, dumped his extra medal in a basket and stepped back into formation. The boring ceremony was finally over. But hey, . . . the special forty-eight-hour pass to London was a complete surprise.!!! Greayer Enemies in Love Page 313 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 39
Esmie.
Already in their dress uniforms for the medal ceremony, they rushed back to their barracks for a few essentials and then back to the gate to hop a GI truck for a ride to town to catch the train to London. Cary and Frank, the first ones back, climbed aboard a lorry that was just leaving for Ipswich. Frank, not one of Cary's favorite people, hated everybody, and he and Cary had a barely civil relationship. Fritz (Frank) had a stocky, compact build and a battle scarred face. His nose, mashed to one side, presented a profile view from the front. Very little forehead separated his kinky-curly-hairline from his single bushy eyebrow. Talking out of the left side of his mouth in tough-guy style, he looked like a rough customer. To give him his due, Cary realized he was a product of his environment. Raised in some slum, and standing only five-foot-five, he had to battle practically from birth - not a childhood you would envy. These insights, however, failed to make Frank a pleasant traveling companion. Their only acquaintance with London was on the way back from Normandy, so they knew very little about the town. The crew had agreed to meet at Nelson's Column, in Trafalgar Square, at ten the following morning, so Piccadilly Circus seemed like a convenient location to spend the night. They hoped to get a group of PX girls together to have a party. Arriving in London at 1630 hours, they took a cab to Piccadilly Circus. Cary was ill at ease during the cab ride. Better keep my wits about me or Frank will stick me for the cab fare. He’s as tight as Dick's hatband and an artist at getting others to pay the tab. Says, "Catch you later," and disappears. He’s screwed me out of a few pounds . Piccadilly was crowded with people going home from work or out on the town for the evening. Cary knew nothing about the reputation of the Piccadilly area but Frank seemed a little more savvy. Pointing out several young girls, Frank said, "They're all a bunch of whores." "Whores? I didn't know you were an authority in these matters. As far as I know you're still a virgin.“ "Well aren't they? Always walking around half dressed, trying to get some guy all hot. “You describe your own sister as a whore just because she’s dated more than one guy. You seem to think all women are whores." “They're all the same. Want to snag a meal ticket so they can sit on their pussy for the rest of their lives. They sell themselves for money in one way or the other. What else is that but a whore?" Cary had heard this line from Babsie, but he still tried to see the other side of the coin. "You have a nice healthy attitude. Do you include your mother in that assessment?" "Damn right. Once she had her kids, that bitch just retired. My old man never seen another piece of nookie unless he went out and bought it. Sat around on her cunt all day playing Canasta and drinking gin." "You know Frank, I hope you won't take this amiss, but I think a sweet young thing like me might turn into a real cynic if I were to spend a whole evening with you. If you don't mind I'd like to stroll off by myself while I still have some of my romantic illusions left. Would that be OK?" Greayer Enemies in Love Page 314 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Suit yourself you snotty prick. Sure don't need your company." "Thank you for those kind words, Frank, and I'm glad you didn't take offense. See you tomorrow at Nelson's Column." Cary had walked less than twenty yards before a breathtaking beauty took his right arm. "Do I know you, . . . I hope?" "My name is Esmie. I heard you talking to your friend and thought you seemed nice. I wondered if you might like me." Cary thought he must be dreaming. "Do you really mean that you’d like my company?" "Yes." Despite Cary’s few romantic exploits, he was still very innocent about the ways of the world. He wondered if his sisters were right. Perhaps this was another girl, like Norma, who had dreamed about a man like him all her life. He said, “Maybe we should duck in somewhere and get acquainted over a cup of tea?” "OK, Love.” “Sorry, I can't offer you anything stronger, but I don't drink alcohol." “I don't drink either. My Paw would whup me." Cary was pinching himself during their tea together, wondering what his special charm was. This hadn’t happened since Norma sent him that note in Woolworth’s when he was in Cadets. Cary examined her as she ate her ‘sweet’ and quietly sipped her tea. Looking prim and proper, she seemed a little nervous and ill at ease. Underneath all that makeup, which she probably applied with a trowel, was a very beautiful woman: about five foot three tall, long red hair half-way down her back, green eyes, perfect teeth, flawless milk white skin, and a nice figure. Not much in the bosom department, but nice and trim. A red headed Catherine. Cary hated to admit it but she was just as beautiful and the combination of green eyes and red hair was very appealing. He’d never met a redhead before. They discussed recent movies, and Cary learned that Esmie lived with her parents. There were several lulls in the discourse since Cary had to initiate all the conversation. Cary never had a ready store of small talk. He and Catherine always discussed weighty subjects. He never got the hang of witty banter with sexual undertones until he was in the service. Even Catherine’s banter made him blush on that first day in front of his apartment. Now he found he was adept at it, but, he quickly sensed that Esmie wasn’t up to sexy innuendo. Not that she was embarrassed, she just didn’t get it. He couldn’t find Esmie’s forte. Baseball was definitely out and he didn't understand Cricket. Leaving the tea shop Cary said "What would you like to do now?" "It's getting a little chilly, Love; could we go to your room?" Pow! That gave Cary a jolt. She was dressed fairly skimpily. Perhaps she’s cold. We could go to a movie but she probably wants to get acquainted and we could do that better in my room, if I had one . Not wanting to look like a square he said, "OK." Trying to play the poised sophisticate, he looked around for a hotel, as they strolled along. Cary had never rented a hotel room in his life, let alone with a woman on his arm. On the walk to a hotel Cary reviewed all the movies he had seen with situations such as this. He remembered one with Claudette Colbert and Fred Mc Murray, or was it Clark Gable? Anyway, you have to make sure the hotel thinks everything is on the up and up. The gist was that you protect the woman's good name at all costs. Entering the Regent Palace Hotel lobby with Esmie on his arm, he strode confidently to the desk and said, "I'd like a room for the night and one for my cousin ." With the utmost courtesy and deference, the clerk said, "Yes Sir. Please register here. I have Greayer Enemies in Love Page 315 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] rooms five-o-seven and five-eleven available if that is acceptable." . Cary felt he had pulled it off nicely. He knew from the movies that hotels could be very sticky. He had visions of house detectives and such. Turning to Esmie, he asked, "Is that satisfactory?" She nodded meekly, so he said, "Yes, that will be fine." "Good, that comes to ten pounds for the two rooms Sergeant Grant." Cary nearly jumped out of his skin. He had no idea hotel rooms were so expensive. Two weeks ago the guys had stayed at the Salvation Army for a half crown or about a dollar. Ten pounds was over forty-dollars. Too embarrassed to protest and trying to look debonair, he forked over the ten pounds. "Thank you.” The clerk summoned a Page. “Page, show the Lady and Gentleman to their rooms." The page escorted them to Esmie's room first, and then escorted Cary to his. Cary tipped the page a shilling before he entered his room. Cary's head was spinning. Having just spent forty dollars and fifty cents for a one night’s stay, he only had five pounds left. What was he going to do tomorrow night? The room was small, with just a bed and a wash basin. The toilet, or W.C. as they called it in Britain, was down the hall, and if you needed heat, there was a coin operated heater in the corner. One dim bulb in the middle of the ceiling cast a gloomy greenish light on the walls giving the whole room an eerie feeling. Certainly not romantic. Fearing the hotel might have rules about unmarried couples alone in a room together, Cary waited half an hour before slinking down the hall and tapping on her door. Esmie admitted him immediately. Her room was as bleak as his. Sitting tentatively beside Esmie on the bed, Cary didn’t know what to do next. She acted friendly and he started kissing her and fumbling with her bra. After a little light petting Esmie sat up and said, "It will cost you fifteen-pounds." Chagrined, mortified, and ashamed he realized his innocence had tripped him up again. To make matters worse, Fritz had warned him they were all whores and he went blindly ahead despite the warning. Cary didn’t even want sex, and certainly had no desire to buy sex, but to save-face he dickered. "Fifteen pounds! I can't pay fifteen pounds, I've already spent ten pounds just to get these rooms." "Why did you do that? No one asked you to. Anyway, that's my price, fifteen pounds." All Cary knew about the real world he learned from the movies. In Hollywood, hotel clerks were the guardians of morality and gentlemen protected the good name of a lady at all cost. This just wasn’t a situation that Melvyn Douglas and Myrna Loy had prepared him for. Too embarrassed to confess his innocense, he was praying she would leave. "Well, all my money went on these rooms. I don't have fifteen pounds, so you may as well leave.” Esmie was adamant. She had her John and wanted her money. “You owe me. I’ve already wasted two hours!” Cary was mad. “You can't get another sucker tonight anyhow, this night is shot. I only have five pounds left, you'll have to settle for that." Damn, why did I say that? "I don't believe you. You're just trying to get it cheap." "CHEAP!" Cary was practically bleeding, but her jibe bruised his honor. "I don't lie." Reaching in his pocket, he opened his wallet, revealing the lonely fiver. Despite his agony he kept up the pretense. Somehow, he didn't want this whore to know he was such a klutz. "That's it," he said. "That's all I have." Cary couldn’t believe what he was doing. Why did I do that? I don’t want her to settle for five pounds, I want her to walk out. Reluctantly she said, "All right, I'll do it." Now he was really in the soup. Esmie took off her shoes, slipped off her knickers, hiked up her dress, and laid back on the bed with her legs dangling over the side. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 316 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "Aren't you going to get undressed?” “I'm not staying all night. I have to be home by ten-thirty or my Pa will give me what-for." This was unbelievable. Five pounds - over twenty dollars - for a quickie. Cary was an innocent, but he had heard Hal say you could get laid in New York for two dollars. He had no interest in sex, but he couldn't back down, couldn’t admit he was so naive. "OK, let's get this nightmare over." "You have to use a condom." "Don't worry, I'm going to use a condom." Cary carefully removed the condom from the hiding place in a secret compartment in his wallet. (It had lain there undisturbed since the Army distributed them to all recruits when he enlisted several months ago.) Hope it’s still good. "Let me see it please; I want to make sure it doesn't have any holes." This was getting worse and worse. Cary wanted to get this gulling over as soon as possible. "Here, examine it to your heart's content." E s m i e examined the condom. "Would you blow it up please?" By this time Cary was beside himself, but he was still trying to save face. He blew the condom up and held out the balloon for her inspection. "Looks OK I guess. Put it on." She watched to make sure that he donned the rubber. Cary had no interest, but remarkably his peter was still cooperating. (Mickey had a mind of its own.) Esmie laid back, spread her legs, and Cary attempted to consummate the contract. While going through the motions, to save his pride, Cary was suffering such mental agonies, that he had hardly looked at Esmie. You couldn't get a pencil inside Esmie, let alone a weapon the size of Cary's. With his efforts to enter her stymied, . . . enough time had elapsed for him to assess the situation. Suddenly Cary stopped thinking of himself and became aware of Esmie. . . . She was terrified .
Who the hell is this girl? She still has her dress on. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 294 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] A dreadful thought suddenly hit him. She has no boobs, . . . just a padded bra. Under that makeup she looks like a child. She may be a child! . . . Am I a child molester?! "How old are you?” She said defiantly, "I'm twenty-one.” “You lie. You've never done this before, have you." “I've done it hundreds of times." Cary took a milder tone. "Look, no one has even had a finger inside you. You're a virgin. Possibly the only one in London if Fritz is right. I'll admit I'm a jerk, but I know terror when I see it and you're terrified to do this. How old are you, sixteen?" Esmie's face went through several contortions and the tears started to flow. Once they started, they gushed forth and her body began to convulse uncontrollably. She tried, without success, to stifle her sobs. Cary pulled down her dress, covering her up, and held her in his arms. Shaking and sobbing, it seemed she would never regain control. Cary, whispered, "I won’t hurt you. Nothing happened.” He tried again. “How old are you, sixteen?" Still sobbing, she disengaged herself, and in a barely audible voice, she said, "Fifteen." "Why are you doing this?" Wiping her eyes and smearing mascara all over her face she said in spasms, "The other girls say it's easy money. I only make five pounds a month at my regular job. They say I can earn a hundred times that, and only part time." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 295 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "You don't know how lucky you were tonight. Not all guys out there are patsies like me. You could get roughed up plenty if you met the wrong character.” Esmie continued to whimper and her body shook spasmodically. “I’m not going to . . . but I'll give you your five pounds, anyway, but I want you to think about what you're doing. This isn't the life your parents mapped out for you, this is the road to self destruction. You're a beautiful girl and underneath all that makeup is a sweet innocent girl. You could be my sister and I'm advising you not to try this again. Go home and thank your lucky stars you met a boob like me.” Esmie put her knickers on and as Cary eased a sheepish Esmie out the door she managed a smile and a feeble, “Thanks.” . . . She took the fiver. Cary felt like such a chump. I'm a jackass, a fool, a jerk. If Catherine ever discovers what a moron, nitwit, dumbbell, and oaf I am, she’ll never have any respect for me. To be such a sucker. And I acted so smug with Fritz, further displaying what an ignoramus, numskull, and pushover I am. A first class sap, a nincompoop. Have I used that one already? Starting to run out of derisive terms, he began going through the alphabet in his mind to see if he could think of some especially juicy ones. I'm a blockhead, booby, clod, dodo, dolt, dope, dummy, dunce, feather-brain, goof, idiot, loser, ninny, pinhead, pumpkin head, scatterbrain, and simpleton. If Fritz saw me pick up Esmie I'll be a laughingstock, too. Will anyone believe she was a virgin? Is she a virgin or is that further proof of my insanity? Was she laughing when she left with my twenty dollars - for doing nothing?. . . No. . . . She is a virgin. . . . even though I’m as innocent as a virgin, I have slept with some women, and that vagina has never even had a pinkie finger inside. She may not even be fifteen? . . . She just had a wisp of pubic hair. . . . My ten year old cousin, Alice, has more boobs than Esmie. . . . God, what a horrible thought. Her parents should be horsewhipped. He could only find one saving grace. At least I didn't do . . . it. Will I ever live it down? God, sixty-dollars and seventy-five-cents for nothing. . . . counting the lodging. Could have bought a call girl on Park Avenue or bought Mom a Mink coat. Later, Cary discovered that the going rate for the type of room he had rented was ten shillings (about two dollars). A first class room cost a pound $4.05). When Cary learned the going rate for a quickie with a Piccadilly Commando or a Hyde Park Ranger was either a chocolate bar or ten shillings, he started abusing himself all over again. That hotel clerk saw greenhorn written all over me. A few more suckers like me and he can retire. When I paid ten pounds for a room worth ten shillings, Esmie realized I was an idiot. That's when she decided to go for fifteen pounds for her quickie. I'll carry this secret to my grave. Better make Brian my guardian and tell him not to let me out after dark. The only glimmer of self respect that he could muster was the faint hope that he may have helped prevent a child from making a dreadful mistake. Taking no chances on destroying that hope, he avoided Piccadilly. No way did he want to see Esmie hustling tricks in some doorway. He used his return ticket and went back to Debach. As far as Cary was concerned it was a very forgettable forty-eight hour pass. He needed something to help him forget this nightmare. A letter from Jane was waiting back at Debach. Just what the doctor ordered.
Monday, 3 July 1944 Greayer Enemies in Love Page 296 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] My Dearest Lover Boy, A.T.O.Y. (Always Thinking Of You) Ever since you told me you loved me, everything lookslooks ssoo rosy. I go around humming and singing to myself and I'm never tired anymore.anymore. I'm day dreaming all thethethe time and making all sorts of plans that I won't tetellll you about. This way, you can’t putputput your two cents in. I'm so happy I'm afraid I'llI'll w wakeake up and discover it’s all a dream, but then I go and reread your last four wonderfulwonderful letters. They’re all so sweet and when you get steamy, it's almost better than the real thing. Well enough of that. Here's the latest flash from thethe hhomeome front. I got the jobjobjob I told you about. It sounds wonderful. Mr. Peck,Peck, the man who interviewed me isisis very nice and everyone else seems the same. He totoldld me the salary would average around $175.00 per month after the third month, whichwhich of course seems like a lot to me. That's almost sixty dollars a month more than I earnearn at AAustinustin Studios. Isn’t that fabulous? OnOnOn the serious side, last Saturday my highschool friefriendnd Bill showed up. I've toldtoldtold you about him so if you don't remember, tough. AnAnyhow,yhow, he was in terrible shape. While training in Tennessee there was a horrible accidenaccidentt and five of his friends were killed by machine gun fire right in front of him. I can’can’tt imagine how such a thing could happen. He was so upset I was afraid to ask for ddetails.etails. He and several others were given furloughs. He spent a couple of weeks at home brooding, but he couldn't talk to his parents. When he showed up on my door doorstep,step, he was still in shock. He kept breaking down and crying. And you know me, I was bawling my eyes out. IfIfIf you notice any teardrops on this letter it's becaubecausese just writing about it has started themthemthem flowing again. It was all I could do to comfortcomfort hhimim and he was still inconsolable when he left for camp on Sunday. I'd better go to bed before I ruin my mood. Besides,Besides, Hon, I need to be on my toes for my first day at my new job. Wish you were here to warm me up.
Love and Kisses Jane
Poor Bill. Thinks losing five buddies is tough. I shed tears for Ernie and Doug, the first two of my friends to die, but now there are no tears left, I’ve lost count. Now I just get a sick feeling in my gut. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 297 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 40
Munich
On Monday, 17 July, they flew deep into France, one hundred miles beyond Paris, dropped five one-thousand-pound bombs on a railroad bridge spanning the river near Collages-sur-Yvonne. There were no fighters and no flak; a classic milk run. On their way home, as they neared the channel, the weather turned nasty. The ground became more and more obscured until Cary could see nothing but a solid carpet of clouds with no holes. If we fly into that muck we won’t even be able to see our wingman.. Ray came on line. “Britain is socked in from Lands End to John O’GROATS. Have to make an emergency landing at Woodbridge.” Abbot said, “Woodbridge a ring of fire which will show through the fog for ten to twenty miles. When we drop into that muck, we need to look for an orange glow. Sound off, when you see it.” “Keep a sharp eye out for nervous Nellies.” Ray warned. “Some pilots get disoriented and fly by the seat of their pants instead of trusting their instruments.” Frank chimed in, “It's our turn to peel off. Here we go." They may be able to see an airstrip, with a ring of fire, through the fog, but over one-thousand aircraft were heading for Woodbridge, . . . one-thousand invisible planes converging on the same airfield. Nine pairs of eyes strained, looking for the life-saving orange glow. “Look out,” someone shouted, as a bomber glided over them, missing them by less than two feet. Frank’s warning was too late. There was a loud thunk as a prop took a chunk out of their left vertical stabilizer. Fortunately the only contact was superficial or two crews would have plunged to a watery grave. Landing in ceiling zero conditions was more dangerous than a combat mission over Berlin. Not everyone would get down safely, but then that was what combat missions were all about. Every time the planes took to the air, there was a price to pay. Once they spotted the safe refuge, their tension increased. "There it is - two o’clock low." The air traffic was converging on the safe haven. They had several other close calls on the way, as other planes slid over or under them. Cary unconsciously scrunched down several times to make himself as small as possible, trying to avoid what seemed a certain midair collision. (Scrunching down in a sea of Flack might help him survive, but if another airplane collided with theirs, they would all be toast.) The airfield at Woodbridge was surrounded by a large pipeline feeding an array of burners that consumed eighty-thousand barrels of oil an hour. The twenty foot high flames created a rising current of hot air that dissipated the fog. As the planes overflew the flames, they suddenly rose more than one- hundred feet reminding Cary of the time he went to the top of Empire State building in the express elevator. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 298 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] The instant they passed the flames, the sickening drop on the other side felt as though someone had cut the elevator cables. No one relaxed till their wheels hit the tarmac. Brian said, "How about that runway, Cary. The concrete pad must be five miles square. Every plane in Britain must be able to land here."
#8.Monday, 17 July Coulanges, France - Bombed RR Bridge - 1100 mi - 5 -1000 lb GP 7:- 15 Hours Longest mission to-date Ceiling = 100 FT - Landed at 34th Bomb GP Base at Woodbridge
Next day Brian was lying on his bunk reading the Stars and Stripes. “Papers say ‘The Eighth Air Force threw up everything, as the Allies tried to break out and charge across France. Five-thousand planes attacked the continent in a twenty-four-hour period as the allied armies took command of the Normandy peninsula and turned their attention eastward engulfing Caen. ’” “Anything else?” “‘Reds swept across Poland threatening Lwow-Warsaw, on Eastern front.’" "Anything else about Normandy?" "British and Canadian tank columns spearheading a new Allied breakout eleven-miles past Caen, toward the heart of France. Smashed through the breach in the Germans' Orne river defenses. An estimate by General Montgomery placed German losses in the forty-three days of fighting in Normandy at 156,000 men.'" "What's happening in the States?" "Republican convention nominated Thomas Dewey for President, . . . not that, that’s the important news.” “‘The Brooklyn Dodgers are in seventh place, half a game from last. On the bright side, Dixie Walker is batting 0.354.’"
#9.Wednesday July 19 SAARBRUCKEN, Germany - Marshaling yard - 450 mi - lost number 3 engine over Holland - No bombs dropped - aborted - 3:30 Hours
They hit the sack early again. Three missions in four days, was a little much. They were scheduled again for tomorrow. Cary had vivid dreams, that he later wrote a poem about.
Great blue-black puffs with ruby center Did burst all 'round and fill the sky. There was no place they did not enter, Soon each was ten; they did so multiply.
Before him stretched this cloud so black, With frightful sound, much like thunder. 'Twas hard to ken this scene was flak, With furtive tentacles to drag him under.
The shrapnel pelting against the ship Like ten thousand snare drums dinning, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 295 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] And twelve chain-saws began to rip, His turret off to send it spinning.
His pulse, his madly pounding heart And sweat that commenced to pour, Warned him, - make ready to depart, Before day's done, you'll be no more.
Then one huge burst beneath his turret From which death’s messengers did flow, And, just the one with his name on it Pierced his turret from below.
When a sharp pain stabbed his chest, He grimly bade this world farewell But he awoke from his fitful rest, Alas he had one more day to dwell.
This was no ordinary dream. It was a premonition clear. Now to devise a cogent scheme, To forestall a real nightmare.
It was two when he awoke; a mission scheduled next. A few precious hours to live, but no more time for rest.
Fair warning has been given, your rear will take a blast. Heed this advice posthaste, or prepare to breathe your last
He thanked his guardian angel for this forewarning clear And prayed God for an inspiration before he took to the air.
At 0300 hours the barracks erupted in chaos with boys preparing for their mission, but Cary couldn’t collect himself. His mind was elsewhere. Cary did the pre-mission rituals in a trance. At mission briefing he heard the voices as though they were far, far away. “Duren . . . . a milk run.” Duren . . . . a milk run, baloney! That was no milk run I saw in my dream. The guys on his crew were happy. Not to worry, Duren was a cinch. But Cary’s mind was in turmoil. Duren? No way. That wasn’t Duren, in my dream. Duren is a tiny place, near Aachen. That flak wasn’t even Aachen. The Germans don’t build large industrial cities right on the French boarder. They build them deep in Germany and protect them with all their might. No, no, that wasn't Duren, . . . not a milk run. Something will happen. We’ll go somewhere else, somewhere with lots of flak. That was more flak than I’ve ever seen, a sky full of flak - above - below - all round, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 296 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] there was no escape. Protect my ass; . . . need to protect my ass. How? The bone yard!!! They stripped all the armor-plate and dumped it in the bone yard. Maybe I’ll find a scrap small enough to sit on. Cary ran to the bone yard and started searching, frantically searching . . . turning over, looking under everything, looking, looking, fingers bleeding. Everything was too big. Nothing. Couldn't find a life- saving scrap. Nearly takeoff time . Too late, too late to save my life . He returned empty handed, climbed aboard, installed his guns, and waited for death . Cary believed in guardian angels and premonitions. The day before he shot Nip he had a foreboding. And, he saw Catherine in a dream. It was foretold. But, now there was no escape. He’d die on this mission.
Ray started the engines. The planes lined up, ready for takeoff. It was their turn. Ray released the brakes and they rolled forward. Ray applied full throttle. Cary sat behind the bomb-bay in ditching position, holding his head. I'm dead . It’s too late, . . . too late. We're airborne, climbing up to join . . . the group. Higgenbotham has my letters . He’ll mail them, when I’m dead. One for Jane one for Mom, one for Pop, and one for each of my sisters. Poor Jane, she was so happy. Now she’ll suffer more pain. Would have been kinder to tell her Catherine and I were engaged. And Higgenbotham promised he’d find Catherine and give her my letter. Does she need to know I loved her to the end? Does it make any difference? I’ll be dead.
Cary suddenly realized this was what happened to that guy in the 94th. Poor bastard knew, just like I know. This is not fear . . . this is knowing . As certain as I am that I'm alive, I'm certain I'll soon be dead. To deny it would be like Moses denying Yahweh when he appeared as a burning bush. That poor bastard in the 94 th , he knew. He had no choice. . . . He bailed out on the way to the channel. Bailed right out and drifted down. Landed in a haystack. The MPs were waiting for him. He's in the stockade now, the psychiatric ward. But, he’s not insane. He knew, but they think he’s balmy. He saved himself by bailing out, but he’s in the loony bin His crew . . . never returned. Blew up on the bomb run over Misburg. Why don't I bail out, like he did? Can't . Don’t know why, just can't. Does that make me a man or just a moral coward? Here comes the channel, time to get into my turret - into my casket. Put on my helmet. Fasten the chin strap. Put on my flak suit. Snap the shoulder fasteners. . . . God almighty, there it is! I'm standing on the answer. The apron . . . the apron to my flak suit. That’s the answer! Instead of just dumping it on the floor like I always do, I'll sit on it. That will protect my ass. God, now I feel guilty. I should have warned other guys on the crew. Some of them may get hurt. But, they wouldn’t have believed me. Religious people talk about the soul and an afterlife but just tell them about spirits you’ve seen or premonitions you’ve had and they think you’re crazy. Here I am, an atheist and I believe in this premonition . As a child I saw and talked to spirits. Dad saw spirits all the time. I should have told that to the psychiatrist when I was enlisting and he would have sent me to Belview. But I know what I know. I’m looking out of my tail turret at the most beautiful day imaginable, but I know that something will happen that will divert us from Duren. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 297 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Even though I know what will happen I’ll be scared shitless when it happens. But, the flak suit will protect me. Whoever warned me wouldn’t have bothered if she couldn’t save me. My guardian angel, or whatever, has saved my ass . . . literally. What a beautiful day to live. I have an unobstructed view. I can see forever. The one thing I can’t see is my own airplane. It’s like sailing through space held up by an invisible hand. Out here like a big boob . . . in more ways than one. Like those strapless bras - no visible means of support. Feels like I’m all alone sailing through the sky, held up by an invisible structure. The flak could saw me off, cut the flagpole right behind and drop me like a dumpling, without my chute. No room in here to store a chute. It’s back there in the plane outside the turret. Conversation on the intercom disturbed Cary’s reverie. : "Clouds up ahead." "Roger, I see them. Look like they reach the stratosphere." “Looks like a cliff. Surely the lead plane won’t keep this altitude; that’s suicide." "Still about one hundred miles away.’ “Yes, but leaders should be turning back.” "Still flying straight and level.” “Must be blind.” "What asshole is leading this mission? We can't just plunge into those clouds - there will be collisions all over the place.” “Situation normal. Can’t see much with your head up your ass .” “No holes. No way around it." "These boxcars can’t make that altitude. Should be turning around.” “Even pure oxygen won’t keep us awake at the top of that cliff. Guys would pass out.” “We'll be burning fuel like crazy." “We'll lose a hundred planes." "Ours not to reason."
In the tail, Cary could hear the conversation but could see nothing. They were talking about a great vertical cliff, a wall of clouds that went up to the stratosphere. This plane couldn't climb that high . . . we’re practically flying at its ceiling now.
Intercom crackled, again. "Here we go, guys. We’re plunging into this muck. Keep a sharp lookout." Cary wiped his goggles with his sleeve. We’re in it, now. Nothing but white death. There’s a flash of light; someone just collided. See an orange ball of fire through this muck. Explosion could’ve knocked down another ten planes. Can’t see ten feet through this muck. Still climbing. . . . Ray is cussing like crazy . . . Burning four-hundred gallons an hour. We'll all pass out on top. . . . Atmospheric pressure too low to force oxygen into our blood. But, I know something the other guys don’t know. My dream tells me we survive . . . at least until . . . .
Poor bastards. . . . They’re really sweating and I’ve seen the future. Hooray, here we are, on top. Ray says we’re at thirty-two thousand feet. Planes everywhere . . . going every which way . . . hundreds of them. Wonder how many others collided? Greayer Enemies in Love Page 298 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Now what? A thousand bees with no Queen . . . an army with no leader. There go a cluster . . . six . . . now seven ships heading due east. “Walt here. The group to our left are heading in the right direction, Ray. . . . .may as well join them.” Ray joined the group. Soon, over a hundred planes from over ten different groups were all playing follow the leader, going . . . we knew not where . . . the blind leading the blind .
Walt said, "We’ve passed Duren. Looks like we're heading for - Munich.”
Cary had his answer. There's my dream . . . Munich. Walt was right. They were headed for heavily defended Munich . . . the most deadly target next to Berlin. Now his dream . . . his nightmare . . . his premonition was happening just like he knew it would. The solid cloud-cover below may help. They couldn’t see the ground and the anti aircraft gunners couldn’t see them. They never brought bombs back from over Germany. No chance of hitting their target, but they’d drop their bombs through the clouds and get the hell out of there. That would help the dwindling fuel supply. Poor bastards below would get slaughtered. Couldn’t miss over a city the size of Munich. Their 500 pound GPs would wipe out two city blocks apiece. Their M47 100 pound incendiaries would set Munich ablaze. City would burn for a week. Look out civilians . . . Lots of dead women, children, and babies. Lots of arms and legs missing. In this war ENEMY civilians were fair game. The Geneva convention didn't cover bombing civilians. WWI had no bombers. We always set the rules for the last war.
To this point in the war, British civilians had suffered nearly 60,000 deaths (About the same number of deaths as the Eighth Air Force.) German civilian deaths were nearly ten times that number, and that was only the dead. It was impossible to estimate the total casualties. Even Cary’s very loving and caring parents mentioned the allied and German casualties suffered on D-Day as though they were talking about so many beans. American civilian casualties to this point in the war were nil, or nearly so. Perhaps that explains their detachment. Enemies aren’t human . Some even said they should have exterminated them after WWI like so many rats.
Cary was aware of these statistics, but they were more than statistics to him. His father was crippled. Just a stiff-leg, not a horrific life, but he could imagine how it would be if you were blind or had a missing leg, . . . or two. Cary had a retarded cousin no one had ever seen . Their parents were ashamed of her; kept her hidden, in a back bedroom. No one ever mentioned the girl. Never joined the family at the dinner table, . . . she was disgusting . . . she slobbered. And, if old folks were in their dotage, the lady of the house emptied the bedpan and changed their diapers in secret. People were ashamed of their handicapped . . . they hid them, . . . because God was punishing them for their sins. Generals deal in death so it’s natural that they can't tell right from wrong if some convention doesn’t tell them. The war had turned Cary into a cynic. Cary decided that with Generals, right and wrong depended on who was looking. That was why some people needed a Bible. They needed to know what was wrong Greayer Enemies in Love Page 299 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] so they could be sure to do it.
Suddenly the clouds cleared. Munich appeared beneath Cary’s tail turret. Looking down Cary could see every street, river, building, bridge, tree, car, and shrub. He could see guns - and the flak-
gunners . . . could see . . . them, too . The sky began exploding . . . it turned black . . . Flak was everywhere . . . , they were surrounded by flak, . . . engulfed in flak . . ., solid black flak. His dream had come true . He was reliving his dream, the noise . . . the explosions . . . the shrapnel . . . the continuous roar. Flak was bouncing off his two-inch-thick glass shield . . . And piercing the fuselage behind him . . . ripping it apart; . . . slam bang, someone was playing kick-the-can. His shoulders were slamming side to side . . . beating against the gun magazines. His steel helmet and his head were taking some knocks. Clinging to the control column to stop the battering, Cary shouted over the intercom, "Move it, move for Christ sake, get the fuck out of here; - move up - down - anywhere - they're sawing the tail off, they’re blasting the hell out of me back here." Walt shouted, “Bombsight is controlling, Cary. We’re stuck until bombs-away. “ Cary’s imagination was wreaking havoc. What’s happening? I feel the turret tilting; it’s falling off. Any second I’ll be gone, falling thirty-thousand feet through space, straight down. Wham, right in his ass. Cary’s head hit the top of the turret, jamming his helmet down over his eyes. He couldn’t see. Cary shouted, "I'm hit, I'm hit, I'm hit for Christ's sake, get the fuck out of here." Cary began assessing the damage. No pain!!!. They say you can be mortally wounded and feel no pain. Was he mortally wounded? . . . Investigate . He stripped his gloves off, unbuttoned his flight suit and reached down, . . . way down inside his clothes to feel his family jewels, . . . his ass. No blood! Everything felt OK. . . . he wasn’t dead . . . yet.
The plane leaped as the Bombardier released the trigger. There go the bombs . . . . The bomb run was over. Ah, here we go, they’re banking left . . . heading home. He was still alive. His premonition had saved him . No-one knew of his premonition. Who could he tell? Outside of Sam, few people would accept the possibility. Many would see it as the work of the devil. All sorts of fanatics out there would spout such nonsense. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 300 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] They burned people at the stake, and others were declared Saints for lesser miracles. Was there a simple explanation for everything that happened? Could logic explain what happened? Most miracles were just coincidence. Many people thought if you flipped a coin a hundred times and it always came up heads that they were dealing with some unusual event, but it could be argued it was just a coincidence. Was this, too, just a coincidence? Could coincidence explain seeing a sky full of flak more dense than he’d ever experienced? Could it explain hearing flak bursts all around his turret? Could it explain knowing exactly where the flak would hit him? Could it explain the diversion from Duren to Munich so that everything turned out - exactly as he dreamed it? . . . Could all that be coincidence? If I enter a lottery and the odds are ten million to one, the winner is neither lucky nor unlucky, he’s just the recipient of a prize decided by the laws of chance. If a meteor had hit me, it would be the same. But, someone had to win the lottery and no one had to be hit by the meteor. If I predicted I would win the lottery it would still be coincidence. There had to be a winner and no doubt thousands, if not all the contestants harbored a secret conviction that it would be they. But if a man wakes up one morning and says, a meteor will hit me today, and it does, is that coincidence? On any given day there is some chance that a meteor will hit you. The fact that you predict it will happen on a specific day lengthens the odds astronomically. The odds that flak will hit me on any given day, are not that remote. It could happen any day, even . . . . every . . . . day. But, knowing every minute detail beforehand does lengthen the odds. Was it a miracle or just probability? Just coincidence or my guardian angel? Even healing the sick or raising the dead has some probability. Recently a gunner fell out of a bomber flying at fifteen thousand feet and he survived. He had no parachute. Probability? Greayer Enemies in Love Page 301 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] When I survived our crash in Normandy, I regarded it as happenstance. This experience leaves me in awe. I feel like I must dedicate my life to some great and noble cause to justify my resurrection. Out of the many men in grave danger today, I was spared, spared in a dramatic way . . . . perhaps to let me know that without the warning I would be dead? but, I will never know. Guess that's the way it's supposed to be. Gosh, that almost sounds like Don and his fatalistic attitude. When they landed at Woodbridge Brian helped him search for holes in the tail. They counted forty- eight, . . . but the turret wasn't falling off. Imagination created a bogeyman to frighten him. But, it wasn’t all imagination. Cary recovered the half-inch, by three-fourths-inch by one-fourth- inch piece of shrapnel embedded in his flak suit. That was real.
Cary can't explain how he knew what he knew, nor can he explain why the engineer of crew number fifty-two acted as he did. While on the bomb run, the engineer realized he didn't have his steel helmet on. Reaching into the bag of helmets, at his feet, he came up with two stuck together. They wouldn't separate, so as a last resort, he jammed both helmets on his head just as a piece of flak went through the first helmet and lodged in the second. It happened, . . . scouts-honor - just as Cary's vision happened. Was it coincidence? Probably. But try to tell that to Cary - or the engineer. #10.Munich Thursday, 20 July. Incendiaries - 8 Hours - The worst possible flak. Ship suffered hundreds of holes, 48 in the tail, alone. Hit in the ass by flak - no wound. Flak suit saved me from injury or death. - Emergency landing at Woodbridge - Scrapped the ship .
After posting his log, Cary spent the rest of the day reading the sports page. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 302 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 41
Party Time
Cary was in the head, shaving. Some old guy with bloodshot eyes and thinning hair was gazing back at him. He touched his face. Holy Christ, was that him, or his father? Couldn’t be the virile young man who left Lincoln, Nebraska exactly two months ago. He thought he might get killed, but never expected to die of old age. Cary said, “Holy cow, Brian, my hair is falling out by the handfuls. I’ll be a chrome-dome in six weeks.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 303 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Stop exaggerating. Will take at least . . . seven.” Cary flicked Brian on his bare ass with his towel. Brian skipped out of range. ”By the way, I called Sarah.” “Sarah who?” “Gal at the PX. One who said she’d set things up.” “Not in the mood. Think I’ll pass. Almost bought it yesterday. ” “Come on Cary, live a little. Sarah promised to provide girls, and music if we supply booze, cigarettes, munchies, and soft drinks.” “Think I’ll attend that memorial this weekend for the long list of crews who never came back. Cooper, Russell, Diggs, and - well, lots of guys.” “Don’t bury them ahead of time. May not all be dead.” “Think? . . . Well, maybe. Guess one or two made it . . . law of averages. I’ll play Nicey-Nicey and visit Bob and Eric. Bob is blind and Eric had a frontal lobotomy.” “Eric is a gibbering idiot. Your visit won’t do him any good.” Cary grimaced. “May be good for my soul.” “Visiting them will land you in the looney bin, too. You need to forget that shit.” “Could spend a quiet weekend with Philip. Haven’t seen him recently.” “Fuck Philip. He won’t help you forget, either.” Brian got suspicious. “What happened to you last trip? You never showed at Trafalgar Square.” Oh. oh. Cary swallowed. He still had nightmares about that incident. He didn’t want Brian delving too deeply so he tried to throw him off the scent. “Hear I didn’t miss much. You forgot the list and never got together with the PX girls.” “That doesn’t answer my question. Where were you?” Cary didn’t want Brian to discover the Esmie disaster. One day with Fritz was enough for me. Decided I didn’t want to party. “Not in the mood, Brian. Only a month since Jane and I have been, . . . well, . . . whatever.” “Whatever? Doesn’t sound too enthusiastic.” “Oh, her letters are wonderful, but, for some reason Catherine is on my mind more than ever.” “If Jane can’t exorcize Catherine from your dreams, you need stronger medicine. Try another woman or the universal medicine, booze.” “Tried booze once. All I got was a headache.” “Well, if Jane can’t banish Catherine, come to London and find someone else. Remember that little blond you were smitten with at the PX?” “Lana?” “So, you do remember. There’s hope yet. Sarah said Lana promised to come if you’d be there.” That quickened Cary pulse. “Don’t believe it. She ran from me last time.” “Cross my heart, Lana will be there if I can tell Sarah you’ll go. Here’s a note she gave me. Maybe that will convince you.” Cary studied the note. ( The note said: Cary’s kind of girl. Narrow waisted and broad minded) His pulse went through the roof but he acted as though it meant nothing. “OK, but if Walt is going, it must be a church social. He’d never cheat on his girlfriend, back in Ohio.” “Yeah, you guessed it. Sarah said all her girls were joining the convent after the war. But, ‘don’t forget your condoms.’” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 304 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
When Brian and Cary arrived, Angela, Ruby, Louise, Kaye, Sarah, Jane, Hannah, Winnie, Elizabeth, Genevieve, and Lana were already there. Someone had trucked in a record player, a stack of records, and the party was swinging. Cary should have worn his gas mask. Besides being the only non- drinker, Cary must have been the only non-smoker. The smoke was so dense you could hardly see what was happening on the dance floor.
There were two bedrooms nearby and a steady stream of couples kept the beds warm. Not everyone participated in the sex or the dancing but most enjoyed themselves. Some lived life to the hilt and others only observed. The participants seemed to have more fun, or was everyone seeking escape from their own demons. Death had touched all their lives, boys and girls alike. They all knew fear and grief. The girls had faced death on a nightly basis and had lost both relatives and friends. The boys had lost comrades-in-arms, and they felt something else. They were all messengers of death, death's handmaiden. They had seen their bombs fall on homes, schools, and playgrounds and knew they were killing innocent men, women, and children. Some professed such hate they bragged about how many krauts they had killed. Or, was hate really a disguise for their guilt? Some felt like undertakers. In any case, they all needed their mothers to kiss them where it hurt. They were too big for that now, so they turned the music up loud and tried to forget pain, to forget death, to forget hate. They were bound to fail. The fliers had just begun to show signs of battle fatigue, but, after four years of war, the girls were more advanced cases. All of them were walking wounded; no scars outside, but mortally wounded inside. They needed some fun and they tried desperately to find it. Cary stood and observed until he spotted Lana Howell hiding in a corner with her sister, Hannah. He liked her lost-in-the-wilderness timidness that contrasted with her up-to-date-in-Kansas City attire. Big blue eyes, as innocent as a baby’s, . . . soft bow shaped lips, and long blonde rolls of hair framing her frightened face. Her hair piled on top reminded him of a picture postcard of a gay ninety’s actress. Cary sidled tentatively over to Ruby, the woman he had met at the PX who told him he frightened Lana. "Hi, I'm Cary, we met the other day. Was wondering about Lana. Looks about sixteen and seems withdrawn." "I know your name Sergeant Grant. I'm Ruby Fischer, but you know that too, or had you forgotten?” Cary was taken aback by her brusk tone. She was much more friendly at the PX. "Gee, you’ve got me all wrong. I . . ." "Save it for some other sap. Lana is twenty-two so she's legal, but she’s recovering from a broken heart and doesn't need another if that's what you had in mind." "Gee, No. I'm sorry. I think I’ve given you the wrong impression. Lana interests me - seriously. She looks hurt and I thought if I knew why, perhaps I could avoid doing something stupid and maybe hurting her again." Ruby was nursing some grievance which Cary didn’t understand. "That's a pretty good line, you must land a lot of fish with that." Cary was digging a deep hole. Ruby wasn't buying any of this. She took him for a smooth operator and he was anything but. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 305 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "I guess you have a right to be a cynic. I'm sure you've seen many soldiers whose only interest is preying on the innocent.” Ruby said sarcastically, “Yes, dearie, I know. But, you’re different I’m sure.” Now Cary was angry. “No one ever really knows their own motives, so maybe I am a wolf. Lots of people think I am so I must give that impression, but I feel like I don't want to barge in on her privacy and hurt her out of ignorance, but maybe I'm just looking for an angle, how do I know? There’s no way I can give you a grantee." Ruby felt the heat in his voice. She considered what he said and decided he was sincere. Swallowing whatever was bugging her, she said, "You look dangerous, and some women just can't resist playing with fire. Turns out you're more of a ‘sheep in wolves clothing’. You just might frighten Miss Moffett though.” Cary was still pissed. “So, what’s her problem?” “A Yank in the tank corps wined and dined her for over a year while he was training for the invasion. She would have waited for him forever. Just before he left for Normandie he told her he was married and had six kids." "And she believed him?" "Makes no difference. He was saying, get lost, . . . drop-dead, or words to that effect.""He may have been. I know some jerks who delight in causing pain. Makes them feel powerful or something. But some guys may think they're as-good-as dead, especially those slated for the first wave. Perhaps he didn't want her obligated if he came back with no arms or legs." "My, that's awfully noble, isn't it? Do you know many like that?" "Not many, but one or two have expressed such thoughts." "Would I be looking at one of them?" That stopped Cary cold. "See you later," he said, and edged over toward Lana. R u b y whispered, "Good luck."
Approaching the girls, Cary said to Lana, "See you and your sister hiding behind the fireplace. Are you going to come out and join the party?" Her sister, Hannah, answered. "We can see all the action from here. It's quite an education." "Well - not quite all the action." Hannah chided, "Don't be naughty. I only know what I see. We don’t speculate on activities in Greayer Enemies in Love Page 306 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] other rooms.” After a pause, she said, “What were you and Miss Ruby rapping about? You two had your heads together and were glancing in this direction." "Asked about Lana. Perhaps that wasn't gentlemanly, but Lana has interested me since we met at the PX. Wondered why she was so aloof. Now I understand." Hannah's voice suddenly had an edge. "Do you, . . . or do you just think you do?" Cary nearly bit his tongue. "Sorry, I was indiscreet. - I think I do. Seem to have a case of foot-in-mouth disease. Didn’t mean to offend. Ruby was not unkind.” Hannah just stared and bristled. “It wasn't idle curiosity that prompted my query. Really, I’d like to know your sister and I knew she looked wounded. Didn't want to barge in and say something stupid." "And what did Miss Ruby advise?" Cary wasn't out of the woods yet. "I'm stepping on toes all over the place. Usually only do that on the dance floor. Your sister avoided me at the PX. Ruby seemed to know her so . . . “ Hannah cut him off. “So you thought you’d try a flanking maneuver.” “Frankly, people do ask about other people without looking for gossip. You and Lana weren’t privy to our conversation but it was out in the open. I believe my motives were honest, but perhaps I'm kidding myself and was just looking for an angle." Hannah took a moment to digest Cary's speech. "OK, you seem sincere. What's your name?” “Cary.” “Cary what?” Cary wished he’d stuck with Winfred. He grimaced as he said, “Grant.” Hannah looked bemused. “Excuse me for laughing. I'm my sister’s bodyguard, but I'll get lost and let you talk to her if that's what she wants.” Hannah looked at her sister. “What do you say Lana?" Lana nodded and Hannah moved out into the room. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 307 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cary said, "In case you've forgotten, we spoke briefly mid all of the hubbub at the PX. I don't have any agenda, just thought we could talk." "Don't know what I can manage. Don't expect too much witty conversation. You met my sister, Hannah. She's the live wire. I'm sort of . . . quiet." "That's OK. Conversation isn't always necessary. It's not my long suit either. We can just sit, if you like?” Lana was wearing a rosebud in her hair and Cary thought that might be a safe ice-breaker. "I notice you're wearing a rose in your hair. Does it have any significance?" Lana reached up and stroked her hair, gently. "No, not to me. Hannah fixed my hair and she probably put it there. Her hobby is raising roses. Has a little hothouse in our garden and raises them year round. She’s never without one -- sort of her trademark. Says it's a safer hobby than men." "Sounds as though Hannah has had a rough love-affair too." "No more than the usual. Not a truly crushing experience. Love? Hannah can take care of herself. She's not dreamy like me.” Cary was searching for topics to help Lana open up. “How do you account for the difference in your personalities?” He cringed. Maybe that sounded like prying. “She was more affected by Papa deserting Mama and us girls. Made her more wary, more cynical. I was much too young when Pa left, so I still believe in the knight in shining armor. Hannah is trying to knock some sense into me." Cary couldn't think of anything else to say, so he just sat on the window seat next to Lana and they watched the revelers. She commented now and then, but otherwise she was silent. At first, her body seemed tense, but gradually she relaxed. Cary knew she was comfortable with him and, . . . for now, . . . that was all that mattered. After about an hour, Hannah came over and she and Lana decided to leave. Cary asked them both to meet him in Hyde Park on Saturday for a walk. They accepted. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 308 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Once Hannah and Lana left, Ruby came over and said, "That's the first time I've seen her talk to a man since her lover left." "We didn't exactly talk." "You know what I mean - she tolerated you then - that's a great achievement. Don't hurt her." "Are you her mother?" "Don't be rude to your elders. I just know how hard it is on a woman. My husband has been in India for six years. Letters are just not enough. I even have a seven-year-old son! - so what am I doing at a party like this?" Cary hadn’t noticed her wedding band. Finding out she was married, made him relax. "So, what are you doing at a party like this?" "Search me. . . . When you men came barging into the PX you were so alive. We were all so excited about your brush with death we wanted to mother you and then we wanted to smother you with kisses - at least I did.” “Too bad you didn’t. We all needed a few kisses.“ Ruby seemed to melt. Her eyes got weepy. “I'm so hungry for a little human warmth.” She sat quietly for a few moments, looking at him ravenously. Her voice pleaded. “I need a man and you're the man I need. Could you love this Jewish lady a little, or make-believe you do, just for tonight?" Startled, it took Cary a moment to recover his poise - such as it was - but he liked her frank, up-front manner. Ruby was older but she was definitely desirable. Besides, the way she made the proposition made him feel like a boy scout doing a good deed. A wave of compassion swept over him like the time at the Christmas party when Gertrude Poldowski touched his heart. He leaned over and held her gently. She trembled quietly, as tears moistened her face. After a while he kissed her softly - and then more passionately. Ruby watched the bedroom doors and when one room was empty she took him by the hand and led him over to stake her claim. The sheets were nice and warm. Already aroused, she didn't need much foreplay. Cary took his time. This wasn’t lust, this was compassion. He waited patiently until she could no longer stand the anticipation. The sex was ferocious. Cary had experienced voracious lovemaking with Cora, . . . sorta, but Ruby was her equal and much more needy, much more insatiable, and much-much more appreciative. She showered him with kisses and stayed locked in his embrace long after the last embers of their passion had died. When Cary withdrew and rolled off, she saw a shocked expression on his face. "What's the matter, Love?" He said, . . . "Nothing," . . . as convincingly as possible. (But surreptitiously, Cary searched frantically while he hugged and kissed her to hide his confusion., ...... his search was in vain, . . . the condom was gone! He didn’t know if the condom had come off before or after climax, or did it matter? Too Greayer Enemies in Love Page 309 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] embarrassed to tell her that she had stripped him of all protection, he said nothing. They left the room to the next couple.
Next day Cary, Lana, and Hannah had a walk in the park. Lana seemed pleased and hung onto his arm. Hannah walked alongside Lana. There was little conversation. Hannah didn't attempt to liven things up, perhaps because he was courting Lana and she didn't want to steal the show. Hannah had her trademark rose in her hair and she smelled and looked wonderful. Preoccupied with thoughts of his wild night of sex with Ruby - and the . . . missing condom - Cary remained quiet. When he took them home, he made a date to take Lana to a movie the next time he came to town. He invited Hannah along.
Sunday morning Cary was hailing a cab in front of the hotel when Ruby strolled up. Oh, oh what’s up? "You said you were heading back at noon today. Mind if I tag along to the station?" "Not at all. Hop aboard, I'll enjoy the company." She kissed him possessively as they pulled away from the curb and settled back into the cab. Cary knew Ruby had some sort of agenda so he waited nervously for her to talk. It wasn’t long before she began. "You know, Cary, I told you my situation Friday night. I live with my son in a nice two-bedroom apartment. It's been a lonely life for me and Alan needs’ someone other than me to relate to, some worthwhile man.” She paused collecting her thoughts. Cary didn’t interrupt, but his mind was racing ahead. “Alan has never known his father and I just know something is missing in his life - not to mention my life. Last night was my first time in six years; . . . I'm sure you could tell. We get along great, and I know Alan would like you. You will be here for several months and I wondered if you would like to stay at my place when you’re in town? There would be no strings . . . how can there be . . . I’m married." Cary was on the spot. Ruby was a nice person and the best (only?) sex he had ever experienced, . . . bar none. He realized, being a surrogate father was part of the deal. Cary had never thought about being a father, so that part confused him . . . he had no idea how he would act. To be essentially married to a woman he didn't love just to have a convenient lay on holidays didn't seem all that attractive . . . after all . . . technically, he was still looking. Although he loved Catherine, he had given up all hope of marrying her. By now he knew he didn’t love Jane (even though she loved him like he loved Catherine), . . . but he was romantic enough to think he may meet someone he could truly love at any moment. Why should he write off that chance just for free sex . . . er . . . no matter how t e r r i f i c it was? He hesitated. That means free rent too. Nah, it’s tempting, but no. How can I be doing this? Every guy I know would kill for an offer like this. "We had a great time Friday night, Ruby, and I'm flattered by your offer. . .." Ruby interrupted him. "Don't give me a line. The answer is NO. I'm a big girl; I can take the truth." "OK. The answer is no. But, I wasn't giving you a line. How can I have a line for a situation I never faced before?” Ruby had no answer. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 310 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “You need someone for yourself and your son and I could fill your need. You like me and could maybe even love. I like you and no doubt could love you, but there would be no future in this relationship for me. You're looking for a temporary solution to your need and I'm still looking for a permanent solution to mine. “ “You think I’m repulsive.” “I do not. Sure, I may have several one-night stands while I'm looking, but that's not what I have in mind when I make a date. I'm one of those romantics looking for love. You're a lovely woman, a complete woman and I would be proud if you were my wife, but we're not in love and I don't see any sense in complicating my life . . . or yours, by taking the chance that we fall in love. Last night was the best sex I've ever had, bar none, so it wouldn't take much for me to fall in love. Now that's no bull, you can believe me or not." Ruby looked crushed. She was disappointed and it took her a few moments to recover. Finally she said, "I believe you, but I'm sorry you didn't take me up on it. For once in my life I wanted to throw caution to the wind and act irresponsibly. My youth is disappearing fast, . . . too fast with no one to love me. It would have been great fun and although I would have fallen in love with you and wound up with a broken heart, it would have been worth it. . . . Think of my memories." Cary felt sorry for her. She is a luscious woman and great in bed. Wonder I’m being foolish in passing up such an attractive proposition. After all I really have no prospects . . . except maybe Lana. Putting his arms around her, he kissed her while he wavered. "I know it would be great, and I also wish I could be irresponsible. You're too gorgeous and too sexy, no way I wouldn't fall in love. There are just too many complications. OK?" They arrived at the train station and Ruby said, "We're here. Jump out and I'll keep the cab. See you around. Give my love to Lana. If you find you need a one-night-stand sometime, you have my number. Don't worry about me falling in love, . . . I already have. . . . Bye." Cary gave her a couple of packs of American cigarettes for the cabby. (These cost him a nickel a pack and were worth over ten dollars to a London cabby.) Not knowing what to say, he just said, "Ta." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 311 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 42
Routine
They were veterans. Everything was routine. There was no more bravado. Little sleep was going on. Before each mission, cigarettes glowed in the night. They’d flown ten, and tomorrow would be their eleventh. . . . their last mission. The CQ barged in at 03:30, switched on the lights and read off the names of the crews for the mission. Everyone knew the drill. Breakfast at 04:30 Briefing at 05:00. Start engines at 05:30. Taxi out at 06:00. Takeoff at 06:30. Someone asked, “What’s the gas load?” No one wanted to hear thirty- one hundred gallons. That meant a long mission, deep in Germany, and five- hundred and fifty gallons of 100 octane fuel sharing the bomb-bay with 500 pound, high explosive bombs. Wouldn’t take much to set that off. Every man clasped his rabbit’s foot, or other talisman, and wondered if he’d sleep in his bed that night. Cary had Catherine’s talisman, the toy wedding ring, on his chain with his dog tag. Why was he still thinking of Greayer Enemies in Love Page 312 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Catherine? Marrying her was less likely than being struck by a meteor, yet ever since Munich, he touched it often. It was his only connection to the woman he loved. Turned out, the mission was anticlimactic. A milk run. One more day to live.
#11.Friday, 28 July, Brussels Marshaling Yd 1000 lb of incendiaries & GPs , 4 hours - No flak A Vacation. Good for the Morale.
Next day Cary got a letter from Sam.
Westover Field Massachusetts Saturday, 24 July 1944 Dear Cary, This'll just be a quickie to let you know I'd received your letter requesting a sweater. I’ll be happy to get it for you. Frankly Jack you had me a little worried as quite a bit of time had elapsed between now and your last letter. After six different delays and cancellations of orders at Westover Field, we finally shipped down to Mitchell on the 5th - so it looks as though we'll finally get overseas this time. I'd been hoping of course to be sent to England - and if luck would have it, assigned to your outfit. But I think we're slated for sunny, bloody Italy. Guess not enough guys are getting knocked off in your area. We'll pull out anytime now from within the next ten minutes to the next ten days. So, we're following the course of action that has been our routine since the middle of July. Sleeping late, eating, reading, growing fat (192 pounds and not a pound of it muscle) and lying around our bunks till time for passes to be issued rolls around. I've spent a small - well not so small - fortune and now am on rock bottom. Get to go home quite often and make Momma happy. Why the hell haven't you told me anything of Wot happens with you? How many missions have you put in and has anything interesting happened that you can tell about - other than wimmen. I'd sorta like to visit Catherine - you know, the old Catherine I'd hear of so continuously years ago. Have you heard anything from her since the break off? That's all for now lad. Let's hear from you. Love and kisses Sam
"God Brian, why didn't I think of that?" "Think of what, old fart." "Sam is right there on Long Island. He could do some detective work! Alex never answered my Greayer Enemies in Love Page 313 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] letter, so maybe Sam can locate Catherine. Why should I waste a couple of days tracking her down when Sam could do it for me?" "This isn't in keeping with your high standards. According to your code of ethics, wouldn't you be cheating on Jane?" "Yes, you're right. I’m not engaged to Jane, but that's just a technicality; it's cheating in my book. Since I told her I love her she has been so happy, . . . but why kid myself, . . . I have to see Catherine on my way home. If I find out where she is beforehand, at least it will save time." "Oh go on, let Sam find Catherine. I'm just pulling your chain. Just pointing out you can't apply for that halo yet." Cary’s conscience was bothering him. I did tell Jane I loved her . . . one day . . . in the heat of passion. Brushing that thought aside, he said, "Besides, it would give Sam something to do besides getting drunk. Now, ain't I the noble guy, thinking of Sam's welfare?"
Missions: #12.Monday, 31 July, Paris vicinity (Creil A/f, which is 20 mi N of Paris) Hit airfield No flak.
#13.Friday, 4 August, Hemmingsted Oil Refinery dropped 12 500 lb GP”s No flak 6:10 Hours Most Perfect Formation I ever Saw.
#14.Monday, 7 August, Givet, Belgium. 52 100 lb GP’s - Terrific weather - Awesome Flak.
#15.Sunday August 13 Communication lines, Seine River Area 50 100 & 500 GP s No Flak - 6 Hours - Not overcast free so couldn't fire guns.
Their last four missions had been a breeze, . . . more or less. That flak at Givet was no picnic, but compared to Munich - no sweat. They were scheduled for a pass on Friday, 18 August, and although they could fly two or three missions before then, they were looking forward to London. Despite being married, Brian was looking for another blast with multiple sex partners, and Cary was hoping for a quiet weekend with Lana and Hannah. Brian had called Sarah to set things up. He came back looking a bit concerned. Sarah had some scary news. “What’s the matter old buddy, she can’t get your favorite brew?” Brian didn’t feel like banter. “Some of the girls have missed their periods.” Cary’s face went white. “Which girls?” “Wouldn’t say.” “Why not?” “Said it’s up to the girls. They may just be late. She didn’t want to worry anyone.” “Too late for that.” “Don’t tell me you dipped your wick.” Cary bluffed. “I’m not worried for myself, but suppose it’s you? What would you do about your wife, June?” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 314 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Couldn’t happen to me. I take precautions.” “That’s what Harold thought. His wedding is Saturday.” Brian looked glum. “And if you don’t marry them, look out. When our base photographer was accused of rape, they sentenced him to ten years .” “Lucky bastard. Harold got life.” Brian laughed. “Harold should have talked to Potty. Lieutenant Price knocked-up his secretary, Nancy, and old brown noser, Potty, got him something that made her abort.” “Potty! Potty’s Catholic, headed for Priesthood. Catholics don’t allow abortion!” “Potty will bend his ethics for a fifth of Scotch any day.” “Ethics! What ethics? Catholics are against pre-marital sex too and Potty dips his wick more often than even you.” Brian grimaced. “That’s a low blow.” Life was routine. If the sun was shining, the crews were flying. Every day in the last ten the boys in the sky took to the air. Every third or fourth day Cary flew a mission and now he had flown fifteen missions in two months. Yanks Sweep to Le Mans As Paris Pincer Tightens; Canadians Gain 6 Miles
The news couldn't keep up with the rapidly moving armies. General Patton's army was much closer to Paris than claimed by the blaring newspaper headline. Two days later, Thursday, 24 August, 1944, all missions were suspended by special order 122. The 493rd Bomb group had flown fifty missions. Their B-24 Flying Boxcars were tired and worn out. (They were worn out to begin with since the day they arrived all fifty of their brand new B-24 bombers were flown away by veteran crews and replaced by the most battered ships from other groups.) On Friday, 25 August, fifty shiny new B-17 Flying Fortresses landed one after the other, and fifty B-24 Flying Coffins were sent to the scrap heap. (The ground crews promptly removed every scrap of armor plate from their spanking new B-17 planes) They were given two-weeks to check out the new equipment, before they would fly another mission. They christened their plane ‘Baby Me.’ (Slightly less defiant than the ‘That’s All Brother’ they emblazoned on the nose of their B-24.) Greayer Enemies in Love Page 315 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] The B-17 was a much more stable, less-drafty aircraft, and more comfortable for some crew members, but it was hell for the tail gunner. The ball turret, top turret, and waist gun positions were nearly identical to the B-24. A chin turret replaced the nose turret in the B-17, allowing the nose gunner to operate his guns from inside the airplane. The chin turret covered almost the same area as the B-24 nose turret, but eliminated the death trap of the B24, where the nose gunner and tail gunner risked being trapped inside the turret with no chance of rescue. The tail turret was also eliminated, and replaced by two hand-held fifty-caliber machine guns that the tail gunner operated from a kneeling position . This made the B-17 much more vulnerable to attacks from the rear since the ‘hand held’ tail guns didn't cover the wide angle the B-24 tail guns covered. They were of no use against a side attack, and the tiny six by eight-inch slab of bulletproof glass only protected the gunsight , not the gunner. B-17 tail gunners felt like clay pigeons. Cary felt naked without the eighteen by twenty-four-inch slab of bulletproof glass he sat behind in the B-24 turret. Spending eight hours on your knees was definitely awkward, and uncomfortable. After twenty minutes, crouched like a beetle, Cary’s legs got ‘pins and needles’ and he doubted he’d ever straighten up again. He feared that after twenty missions he’d evolve into Kafka's hero in Metamorphosis.
By the time of the changeover, the weather had turned cold, so to kill time, Cary decided to do something about it. Being an Engineers son had its benefits. Even without a ‘formal’ education, Cary had learned construction, plumbing, electrical, and many other skills from his Dad. When he discovered that the ground crews changed the oil in the bombers on a regular basis and stored the used oil in drums for later disposal he realized it wasn’t necessary to spend all his time shivering, under blankets. He strolled down to the dump, salvaged a battered oxygen tank, twenty feet of aluminum tubing, and a couple of shutoff valves, and went back to his Nissen hut and constructed a ‘fuel tank’ just outside with a pipe leading to their stove. He cut a hole on the top of the oxygen tank, filled it with used oil, and set up a ‘drip’ system on the top of an empty oil can. Adding a teaspoon of gasoline to the mix to get the fire started, he soon had an oil burning stove. The heat generated by this contraption turned the stove and the stovepipe cherry red all the way to where it exited the hut, ten feet above. This warmed the hut to a nice balmy 80 degrees. (They had to regulate the valve carefully or they could cook everyone.) He also modified the single forty watt illumination in the Nissen hut. He scrounged some wire and outlets from the dump and installed ten more sockets in the hut. When he went to requisition ten bulbs for the outlets, word spread of his accomplishment, and headquarters sent down a team of engineers to take a look. Engineering tried to ban the heating device, but soon every hut on the base had a replica. (It didn’t work too well in the ‘tents’ and a few of them burned down.) Fear of electrocution by the British 230 volt electrical system scared others from attempting to install additional lighting.
Once the change to B 17s was completed, missions came thick and fast. On his sixteenth mission Cary watched as one hundred and twenty bombs, (thirty tons of high explosive) made a bee line for the armament factory. A complete wipe out. Thirty six planes were used when one plane could have done Greayer Enemies in Love Page 316 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] the job. Not a single cloud, below. (The plane jumped over 100 feet.) We just loosed our full load of bombs, . . . there they go, . . .I can see them, three-hundred and seventy finned messengers, . . . swooping down with deadly precision. From the tail, I can see them hit.
#16.Mainz Germany 8 September 1944 12- 500 lbs First mission in B-17s 30,000 ft Armament Factory 7 Hours.
On their seventeenth mission, thirty-seven bombers zigzagged deep into Hitler's crumbling empire, to reach a ball-bearing factory in Brux, Czechoslovakia. It was their longest mission to date. If they went any further east, they’d have to land in Moscow. Flying a wing position on the lead ship, Cary could see all the planes arrayed behind him. Cooper, flying in the third echelon, hit some prop wash and he lost over two hundred feet, dropping down out of Cary’s view, before he recovered control. Standing on his knees, Cary saw Cooper pouring it on, full throttle and full turbo, trying to climb back into formation. He was burning over four hundred gallons an hour. If he didn’t look out he’d burn all his reserve and have to abort. If that happened, perhaps it wouldn’t be just so-long Cooper, but Goodbye . . . Cooper, as well. For the last hour Cary saw nothing but solid clouds below, so he knew they were wasting their time. They never dropped their bombs through the clouds over a friendly country, and Czechoslovakia was considered a friendly. But, over enemy (German) territory, the rules were different. So, their secondary target was Fulda, Germany. They’d drop them there, clouds or no clouds. Cary knew it. We’re banking left now. doubling back, toward the west. (The underside of thirty- five B-17s, all in a wide turn, were a pretty sight.) They’re good-looking planes, nicer than those flying coffins we used to fly in. There's Dresden to my left. We’re heading for Fulda . . . skirting Dresden to avoid the heavy flak areas around the industrial centers. That snow capped ridge, just poking through the clouds, separates Germany from Czechoslovakia and points the way to our secondary target, a Marshaling Yard, in Fulda. Suhl is just off our westerly course. Fate has selected Fulda to greet our silver chariots of doom. We’re spreading out for the bomb run. The target is standing out clearly beneath us, but frm the tail, I can’t see it. A beautiful white cloud is billowing up in waves. A white shroud reaching thousands of feet toward heaven. Looks like an angel. (A few ‘civilian homes were demolished too} Beauty is in the eye of the beholder .
#17.Brux Czechoslovakia, 11 Sept 1944, Ball bearing factory , 8 Hours 28 minutes - Bombed (Our secondary target) Fulda Germany, Marshaling Yd, 26,000 ft, 10 - 500 lb bombs. (Synthetic fuel)
Next day Cary’s crew didn’t fly . Lucky for them. The worst day for the 493rd bomb group. Ten ships were shot down. The missing crews were Oats, Owen, Tucker, Kittleson, Spencer, Cockerham, Carter, Goodman, Bisaro, E., and Vandertill. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 317 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Ninety men. No burial, . . . no eulogy, . . . no bodies, . . . no sense. Cary brooded. That didn’t help. He went to the mail room to see if there were some letters to give his spirits a lift. He had one from Jane. That was a welcome tonic. A few days later they were on their way to bomb the flak guns just across the channel near Rotterdam. It was a short one-hundred-and-sixty-mile hop from Debach. The long, narrow, strips of farmland were different from the rest of Europe. The area in and around Rotterdam was completely below sea-level.
This mission linked them directly with the men on the ground. Cary felt the bond. They had cleared the way for the gliders, or tried to. . . . He was part of the team causing the defeat of Hitler. All the other missions they flew were strategic, . . . perhaps useless. Bombing civilians didn't
destroy their resolve, . . . look at the Brit's. It just built up hatred for the next war . This mission supported the troops on the ground. They bombed the flak guns in preparation for an air INVASION. Thousands of paratroopers were about to rain down upon the enemy. Gliders with tanks, trucks, and other equipment would try to land in open fields. They had helped make this invasion possible. Cary shielded his eyes with his right hand. Those poor bastards are in for a hot reception. Even if we eliminated every flak gun, the German army is waiting for them. Coming down, hanging from a parachute in broad daylight . . . it will be like shooting clay pigeons. Those that make it to the ground - alive - won't sleep in a nice warm bed tonight. Our mission lasted four-and-a-half hours and now I can have chow, take a shower, and hit the sack - or, go to a movie. I wonder when these boys will have their next break? And how long will it take the wounded, hanging from a tree or lying in a ditch . . . to die?
#18.Netherlands Sunday, 17 September 1944 AIR INVASION (Flak Batteries near Rotterdam Holland) 20,000 ft 30 260 lb 7800 lbs of MBI Frags (Anti-personnel Bombs) 4 ½ hours. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 318 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 43
V-Two
By Cary’s fifth visit to London on Friday 22 September 1944, London had become quite familiar. He had seen all the tourists' sights. He had roamed past Trafalgar Square and Waterloo Bridge to the East, St. James Park and Westminster Bridge to the South, Hyde Park to the West, and Langham Hotel to the North. He had explored Harrod's on Brompton Road and Selfridge's on Orchard Street as well as Buckingham Palace. His main stamping ground was along Regent Street. The area near Piccadilly Circus, once known as the hub of the Empire, satisfied most of his needs. There were hundreds of pubs, hotels, cinemas, and theaters, not to mention Piccadilly Commandos in this area. The Piccadilly Commandos were the main attraction for many guys, but Cary steered clear. Walking through Piccadilly Circus he found himself secretly searching for Esmie and silently praying that he wouldn't find her. Esmie haunted his dreams. The wounds from their first encounter still troubled him. Cary was poorer, both monetarily and psychologically. What if his sisters . . . Had he helped her? If so, it was worth the sixty-plus dollars he had spent, but at that price he couldn't afford to save many lost children . Cary pushed Esmie from his mind. Tonight he would have fun. I always ask Hannah to come along when I take Lana out; . . . why do I do that? She’s really the most fun and the best looking. Makes my pulse skip a beat or two. Should be courting her instead of Lana. She’s a woman and Lana is a child. Her wit is quicker than a whippet and she is as playful as a kitten. Lana seems a little dim. Chittenden once said Lana was vacuous. That hurt at the time but he had a point. Hannah has to explain all our jokes to her. Hannah is fun and Lana just sits around looking beautiful. She really is vacuous. Cary decided to take them to the theater. Why do the British spell it theatre and we spell it theater? It's that way with many words, not to mention the different pronunciations. They pronounce privacy like privy. And then there's knickers for panties etcetera, etcetera, a whole different language. I’ll get the tickets at Leicester Square. They’ll set me back plenty, . . . well, . . . nowhere near as much as Esmie set me back. . . . and don’t even think about the freebie . . . offered you . . . free lodging . . . free sex . . . wow! Cary remembered the night he took Catherine to see Gone With the Wind. Seemed a thousand years ago. Saved for weeks to amass the ten dollars from my weekly budget. Tonight I'll spend two or three times that amount and hardly miss it. Watching the girls eat is my main pleasure. The British ration is a quarter-pound of meat per week so no wonder they seem starved when I take them Greayer Enemies in Love Page 319 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] out. Of course, all the restaurants have meat. Rationing is a joke to the rich since they can afford to go to restaurants. Like the American airmen, they can eat all the meat they want. Rationing is for the poor. Before these girls started dating Yanks they probably never saw inside a decent restaurant. Fish and chips are the British staples, usually sold along the sidewalk by street vendors. They dish up a hunk of cod and a fist-full of fries wrapped in a newspaper. Wonder if printer’s ink is good for the digestion? I love their fish and chips but it’s fun to watch the girls eat their steak. It’s probably horsemeat, but the girls really scoff it down at dinner. And as far as I can tell, if it’s horsemeat, it tastes the same as beef. Cary took the girls for tea and a sweet after the theater and then they took the underground home. Got off at Shadwell and walked to Riverside Mansions on Wapping Lane. At the front door Hannah ducked inside to give Lana and Cary a chance to say their goodbyes. The night was blacker than a blackmailer’s heart, so there was plenty of privacy. Her lips were soft and yielding and she opened her coat and moved her body close to his. Cary felt a definite invitation. She raised her skirt and he moved his hand inside her knickers. She wanted a little innocent petting and Cary was happy to oblige. He hadn’t heard anything more about the suspected pregnancies and he counted himself lucky to have dodged another bullet. (He heard Ruby was in the hospital . . . but . . . ?) A little harmless petting was one thing but Cary was determined he wasn’t getting in any deeper. (Oops, that was the wrong word.) Suddenly the sky lit up with the brightness of center-stage at the Met. Startled, Cary removed his hand and gasped, "What the hell was that." Grabbing his hand, she put it back in her knickers. "That was a V-two." "A V-two. What's that?" Before she could reply, he heard a huge explosion as though a five-thousand-pound bomb had gone off in his lap. It made him jump a foot. Then he heard a loud rumble that got softer for several minutes until he could hear it no longer. Lana gasped as she had her orgasm. Then she said, “It’s a rocket, Love. My, you are an innocent baby. Adolph’s been tossing those at us since D-day. Never ‘ear’ em coming. Once you ‘ear’ em, not to worry.” Lana was right. The rocket traveled above the speed of sound, so everything was backwards. First there was a flash, like lightning, then the sound of the explosion, and then the rumble, like thunder, of the rocket approaching, but it was backwards - as though it was receding. After the flash arrived they had time to have a conversation before the blast arrived. The speed of sound was just over one-thousand feet- per-second, so since the sound of the explosion arrived about thirty seconds after the flash, Cary guessed the impact was only five or six miles away. Cary's passion had dissipated, so he tidied himself up, gave Lana a kiss on her cheek, a swat on the butt and retreated toward his hotel. He was glad the lovemaking was interrupted. He wondered why he was so reluctant? She’s as cute as a kitten and as soft as a marshmallow. Since I’m courting her, I should be a little more eager, but, half the time I only fool around ‘cause it’s expected. She is rather tender. Don’t want to insult her and hurt her feelings by not even a little ‘fondling’. . . . Catherine would slice off my balls. Slowly it dawned on Cary that there was something lacking. Where was the passion he felt for Jane? If he were trying to re-create his relationship with Catherine, that was a washout too. Lana didn't do anything for him really, but, how could she. How could he put his heart into making love Greayer Enemies in Love Page 320 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] to Lana while thinking of Catherine? All his attempts to love someone else were failures. He loved Catherine more than ever. The pundits who claimed, 'absence makes the heart grow fonder for someone else', were all wet. Whoever made the original observation knew about love. If only he had seen Hannah first, he was sure he could work up a little more passion. Hannah had wit and intellect to challenge Catherine. And the chemistry roused him as much as Jane. That was a potent combination. No wonder he always asked her along on their dates.
On his way back to the hotel Cary passed the spot where the V-two had landed. It detonated just behind Selfridge’s, five blocks from Cary's hotel. Cary climbed over the piles of rubble and peered into a deep hole. "Officer, did anyone get hurt?" The bobby, looking at least six-six tall, with the high-domed helmet they wear, gazed down at Cary and said, "There is no official estimate Sergeant. Nothing left but this ‘ere ‘ole. In a week or so we can ‘azard a guess.” “How will you do that?” “ From missing person reports, . . . you see. There was a Pub on this corner. Usually about seventy-five in the Fox and Hound just before closing, . . . give or take." "A Pub?" "Yes Sergeant. Only inhabited building in these parts at this time of day." Cary hoped his pub-hopping buddies were not among the casualties. (It would be ironic if they perished while on leave after surviving so many missions.) The rocket had burrowed seventy-feet into the ground and exploded. All the blast energy dissipated straight up into the air. On his way over to his hotel, Cary passed Selfridge’s and saw manikins scattered around on the street. The blast had shattered every window for five blocks in every direction but the only other damage was a big hole in the ground: no fires, no chaos, . . . no terror . Lana hadn't even flinched when the bomb landed. Once she saw the flash, she knew it was all over; she wasn't even frightened. Sure some people were dead, but what's to be afraid of? it wasn't her. You can't win the war swatting seventy-five people a night. As an agent of terror, the V-two is a complete flop. No undertaker, no casket, not even the mess of burial. If you had to pick a way to die that would be it. . . Death never even rattled his saber, he tiptoed in. Those seventy-five people never heard him coming. She’d have continued with the love making had I shown any interest . . . but she did have her orgasm.
Missions
#19.Ludwigshafen Germany 25 September, Marshaling Yd, 10 500 lb. Hangers- Flak Guns - 6 Hours 45 Minutes #20.Ludwigshafen Germany September 27, Marshaling Yd, 7 Hours.
Friday, 29 September. Another letter from Sam. Let’s see what’s on his alleged mind.
Westover Field Greayer Enemies in Love Page 321 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Massachusetts September 25, 1944 Dear Cary, A dark green sexy sweater was dispatched to you September twenty-first. The postal people said packages couldn't go via air mail but said you'd receive it in two or three weeks. I think you'll like it. Had a helluva lot of fun buying it. I kept asking the sales girl for a sweater that fits "tight and snug . . . and you know." and I'd curve my hands in the air. I've forgotten the price. It's either four or five rocks. I think the tag is still on the sweater though. And was glad to get it for you. Incidentally dopey, you forgot to tell me the size. So when the salesgirl asked, I casually replied, "The girl is a blonde," and nonchalantly looked around, as if that should answer the question. The dame thought I was crazy. Iyam. You might as well get some connections for me too. Maybe we'll meet in London. Seems as though we couldn't in the States. See if your girl knows some sexy girl who wouldn't mind going out with an ugly sack. That's me. That's all for now. Acknowledge receipt of the sweater. Love and kisses Sam
Great - just as I'm losing interest in Lana, Sam sends the sweater. Oh well, she deserves it. These London girls don't have much. Trouble is, it will delay our split. Can't give her a present one day and then dump her the next, . . . it would seem . . . ? It's not that we don't have fun . . . the three of us. Besides, what else do I have to do? But, now that I've finally figured out that there's nothing there, I don't want to string her along. What the hell . . . the real tragedy in all this is Hannah! I should have been courting her all this time! Obviously I have been . . . I just didn’t realize it! I wouldn’t have asked Lana on a second date if Hannah hadn’t been along. . . . but now it’s tooooooooooooooooooooo late. Guess it won't hurt to hang in there another few weeks.
On their way to Bielfeld, Germany on mission twenty-one, Cary saw light flak as they entered the bomb run. It was way off the mark, nothing to worry about. From the tail, Cary saw the ships fanning out over the target, but as Cary watched the bombs fall a violent-rocking, bouncing motion seized the ship. Immediately, they flew through a huge black cloud. The ink blot in the sky looked like a huge burst of flak, magnified ten million times. Cary said, "What the hell was that?" No one answered. He learned later that a crew on their third mission, right in front of them, had dropped their bombs on another crew on their 30th mission . The rookie pilot had failed to fan out as they entered the bomb run. His rookie bombardier triggered his bombs when the lead ship released theirs. . . . They were still flying directly above a plane in the lower echelon. All the bombs landed on the ship directly below and exploded, turning the two ships into smoke and chaff. Eighteen men were Greayer Enemies in Love Page 322 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] vaporized . They weren’t the only casualties. Practically every ship in squadron was hit by debris from the explosions. Frank caught a piece of metal in his thigh Back at Debach he rode to the hospital in a weapon’s carrier. Brian and Cary sat by the runway and watched the ships limp in. Ships came back with large sections of wing or fuselage missing. Many had dead and wounded on board. Some ships had landed in Belgium to off-load their dead and wounded. It was several days before all surviving ships returned to Debach. Charlie from Heslip's crew lost an arm and Rich lost a leg. A piece of shrapnel went through Krupp's head severing the optic nerve. Unfortunately - he lived. Frank missed two missions before he made it back. It was weeks before all surviving crewmen returned. Some never made it back. Lots of purple hearts were earned that day.
#21. Bielfield Germany, Marshaling Yd September 30 6 Hours - Two Ships Exploded while in formation - Bombs Dropped on Crew on 30th Mission (Treece and La Flame crews were listed as MIA.) Yeah, right .
Later at chow, Brian saw blood trickling from Cary’s left forefinger. “Looks like you caught something; why didn’t you go to the hospital with Frank? ” “Huh. Thought the bleeding had stopped. . . . Oh, it’s nothing. . . . Certainly don’t need a hospital visit.” Cary rolled up his sleeve and applied pressure to a small wound in his forearm. “Just a scratch. Dug the pellet out with my pocket knife.”
“What did it look like?” Cary paused for a long . . . long minute. . . . “Someone’s tooth.”
#22.Munster Germany Airfield 5 October 6 Hours 5 Minutes12-500 GP's Abundant and Audible Flak - Any closer and we’d all be dead.
The Lorry screeched to a halt in front of the Ipswich train station. One at a time, the crew members jumped over the tailgate to the ground,. The train to London was just pulling out. Brian yelled, "Come on Cary, let's run for it." Running alongside, Cary opened a compartment door. "Get the lead out Brian, jump in." They were alone. They shoved their luggage on an overhead rack and they each sat near the window on the two bench seats facing one-another. "Just made it, Brian. The rest of the guys are stuck back on the platform." "You know Abbot, Cary. He's still offloading his steamer trunk from the truck." "You mean, poor Fang is. Someday, someone will hand him his teeth. Assumes enlisted men are his servants." "You should complain, you never spend much time with him." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 323 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "What have you guys been doing, Brian? Haven't seen much of you lately." "Bar hopping mostly. Get together with some of the girls we met at that PX party and get happy." "All except Potty and Fritz. They weren’t on the lorry." "Potty hasn't come to London for weeks. Does something back near the base and I don't really want to know what." Cary shuddered. "What about Fritz?" "Since he caught shrapnel in his butt, he seems to have found religion. Wonder how he reconciles that with his prejudices?" "Probably gives him another reason to hate. Once you have God in your corner, hating and burning people at the stake just comes naturally." "Yes, silly me." "What about Ray and Abbot? Ray was in love, with a married woman when he left LA., not to mention you. And how do you tolerate Abbot?" "Don’t mention Connie. She took it hard, when I dumped her. Ray is still in love. Drinks moderately. Abbot too. Abbot's not that bad when we're out socially. Never treats anyone as quite his equal, but he treats me as well as he treats Ray or Walter." "That’s understandable. He doesn’t distinguish between the peasants." Brian grinned. "Treats Fang OK too, whereas, on the base he uses Fang as his personal go-for. Walt and Ray never do that. Ray even carries my bag on occasion." "Lucky the brass didn’t see him. They’d Court Marshall him for fraternizing with riffraff." Brian howled. "Ray and Roland do a bit of horsing around with the girls, but they’re still faithful to their first loves. Ray still loves Louise and Abbot still loves himself." Both boys had a chuckle. "And who do you love, Brian?" "Still love my pecker. Right now I'm dipping into Winnie. You remember her. She came with Sarah, the gal who set up the party. And back at Debach there's still Patricia, that barmaid with the liberty- bell jugs." "Still not having any guilt pangs?" "Nary a one. Said I was putting all that on hold till after the war. You're the only one who can feels guilty for betraying no one. You'd think you were a Priest and had made a vow of chastity. Incidentally, what have you been up to?". "Wish I knew. Grace and Hannah live in Riverside Mansions out near the East India Docks where the LST docked when we came back from Normandy. She, Hannah, and I have been hanging out together. Last trip they got me a room out that way." "Sounds like you guys are thick as six in a bed." "Not as bad as it sounds. To keep things Kosher I stay with their neighbor in an extra bedroom. Only costs ten shillings for two nights including breakfast." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 324 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "The Columbia Club can’t beat a dollar a day with breakfast thrown in." "I take Hannah and Grace to the park, or we go to the movies. Sometimes, we go dancing but Grace has no rhythm. Wind up dancing with Hannah all night." "What a great deal, but with two girls you can't make out with either one. You have a built-in chaperon and staying right next door sure limits your options. All the disadvantages of marriage and none of the advantages." "Kinda stupid, I know. To make matters worse, I passed up a sure thing with Ruby. You would have loved it. Free rent, free sex, and no strings." "That’s what they all say." "No shit. She’s married. Her guy’s been in India for six years. Been saving it up all this time. Brian gave a low whistle. "She's some number - I'd be banging her if I were you." "Didn't want to get locked-in with anyone and now look at me. Gave her some sanctimonious crap when I turned her down. I'm such an unmitigated ass." "Don't know what unmitigated means, but the ass part sounds about right - especially if you had the key to her knickers." "Yeah, well, I still have an open invitation, but I wasn't ready to be a surrogate father. That was part of the deal. You scared the piss out of me when you said some of the girls missed their periods. What ever happened about that?" "Beats me. Sarah never mentioned it again. If anyone has been tabbed by any of the girls, I haven’t heard about it. But then, that’s not something you’d advertise." Cary got up and retrieved a bundle from his luggage. "Take a look at this sweater. Sam got it for me. It's for Grace." "Don't like the sound of this. Not getting serious about Grace are you? Never met Catherine, but if Lana can’t break her hold what makes you think Grace can?" "Lana is still my best bet. Once I accept that Catherine has scuttled me for good, maybe I’ll be able to love Lana. She really is a sweet girl." "She’s more than sweet. Those glamour pictures she had taken in her swimsuit are exciting. Every guy on the crew envies you. I’d have cut you out if I could. Don’t know about love, but like Babsie says, sex is forever." Brian held up the sweater and examined it. "It's not that I mind you getting her a nice sweater. These girls don't have much, but don't get serious about them, just enjoy them. Remember the girls back home." "Sam has been giving me the same lecture. Think I'm starting to listen. At least I haven't been in her knickers - well, not the way you mean." "Don't let this, 'tomorrow you may die' mentality carry you away. We've survived twenty-two missions, and we may just make it. I know what a serious guy you are. If you tell Grace you love her, you'll feel honor bound to marry her even if you discover you didn't mean it. To me, 'I love you' just means I want to get in your knickers." "Can’t get out of hand. Always ask Hannah along on our dates. Keeps things on the up and up. Hannah makes herself scarce when I take them home so we can say our goodbyes in private. Don't do Greayer Enemies in Love Page 325 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] much, just hold hands. Never kissed her till last time." "If you never kiss them, what have you been doing?" "Keeping hands-off mostly. But, if that V-two hadn't dropped at the crucial moment I may have gone further than I wanted. Was inside her knickers and about to check her temperature when blooey. She's no virgin, so why am I keeping my hands off? Don't suppose I'm trying to re-create my relationship with Catherine do you?" "Don't know much about your relationship with Catherine. It was already kaput, by the time we met." "Had Catherine on such a pedestal I never tried to touch her. Never could keep my hands off other girls, but I don’t paw Grace." "Having Hannah around doesn’t help." "Maybe that’s it. Grace is cute and has approximately the same build. A little more hippy and busty than Catherine, but close. That's where the resemblance ends. She hardly talks and her conversation leaves a lot to be desired." "Sounds like Chittenden was right." "Grace is nowhere near Catherine in appearance, intelligence, or personality and yet I'm trying to put her up on that same pedestal with Catherine. Since I hardly touch her, I think she's about to decide I'm queer!" "You're queer all right. You think too much. Once my pecker rises my brain cuts out. I have some kind of switch. Just like the Sperry bombsight, I'm locked on until bombs away. Now Hannah, I could really go for her." "Really goofed up there. Was already concentrating on Grace when I met Hannah at the big blowout." "Hannah is a real beauty and from what you say, it's no contest in intellect and personality." "Was really pissed when Chittenden said Grace looked vacuous but I have to admit there's some truth in that assessment. She has animal magnetism, but that's about all. Just stands around and poses." "For a guy that does all the analyzing you do you sure have blinders on. Doesn't take a genius to see you're keeping your hands off because you don't want to be committed. It's time to get out, and fast, before you do something stupid."
Cary spent a low key weekend with Hannah and Grace, trying to decide where this relationship was going. The sweater was a big hit and Grace warmed up considerably. Perhaps it was his hand inside her knickers on his last trip? With Brian's words ringing in his ears, he made sure Hannah was always present. Hannah had beauty, intellect, wit, animal magnetism, and when they danced it was . . . electric. Cary needed out fast. He worried that Grace had fallen, just when he was backing away.
#23. Cologne Germany 15 October - Marshaling Yd. 6 - 250 GPs 4 - 500 Incendiaries 7 Hours - P. F. F. Heavy Flak. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 326 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 44
Death in the Sky
By their twenty-third mission the Crew were judged to be getting “Flak Happy” so two days later, Tuesday, 17 October, they boarded a train for Southport, a beautiful resort town on the west coast of England, for ten days of flak-leave. The stately mansion stood on a west-facing bluff overlooking endless tranquil sandy beaches. A very British manservant greeted the Crew and escorted them through marble clad hallways, up sweeping circular staircases, and into luxuriously carpeted rooms, full of magnificent antique furnishings. They strolled through several parlors, a library, a billiard room, a card room, dining rooms, and a private Chapel. The library housed twice as many books as the public library in Cary's neighborhood on Myrtle Avenue. They slept in bedrooms that Dukes and Duchesses had occupied. A group of depression era lads from the farms and ghettos of America, dropped into an environment suited to the aristocracy. Even Abbot was open mouthed, for though he was conditioned to wealth, the wealthy in the USA didn’t live on a scale remotely approaching the opulence of the nobility of Europe. And the paintings! Cary thought he was at the Hermitage, in Russia. (Although he’d never seen it, he had certainly heard of it.) The luxury didn't end with their lodgings. When the Red Cross took over the property they retained the full British staff. Anxious to cater to their every need, they were free to sleep-in, . . . have breakfast in bed, . . . or read books in the quiet of the well-stocked library. They could play tennis on a private tennis court, play golf on the estate, or check out a horse from the stables and go riding along the surf. They did all these things and more. Near the end of their ten days Brian was still walking around in a dream. Alone in the dining room with Cary, he said, "Wonder why the military went to all this expense. I'll never have another week like this if I live to be a hundred." "I'm naive about some things, but strictly cynical about the motives of the military. They've rolled out the red carpet so they can push us for another twelve missions without driving any of us nuts.” “Too late.” “You may be right. I’m close to the breaking point, and Potty is over the edge. Ray still seems to have it together, but you can’t be sure. Ten days of flak leave is cheaper than having Ray go balmy and crash the plane.” “Gunners can cause havoc too. Eric started hallucinating the other day and shot up a couple of our bombers. Lucky he didn’t kill anyone." “That’s not the way the brass sees it. Men are expendable but bombers are sacred. Remember that shuttle mission to Russia? The night before the planes were to return home, the Luftwaffe seeded the airfield with Bouncing-Betty land mines. To detonate the mines the Russians just rounded up a bunch of Greayer Enemies in Love Page 327 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] peasants, made them join hands, and marched them across the airfield at gunpoint. They didn’t want to take a chance a land-mine might puncture a tire. What did a hundred peasant lives matter? ” “They just carted off the bodies and stacked them at the side of the field like cordwood. They were mostly women and children. Thank God we didn’t see that slaughter. One of the guys on that mission wound up a section eight. Communists have no regard for human life.” “Communists! Don’t kid yourself, Brian, we’re all cannon fodder. Remember that beach on Normandy? Our generals knew those blockhouses had a commanding view of the beaches. They just kept sending bodies up until the Krauts ran out of ammunition. That was the cheapest way of knocking them out.” Brian thought about that for a second. “Guess it’s the same with us, Cary. They’ll keep throwing men and planes at Hitler until he runs out of bullets. Hardly matters how many of us are killed. It’s a war of attrition.” Cary nodded. “I got the picture when they stripped all the armor plate out of our planes as soon as they landed in England. The pipeline is full of gunners. The supply is endless. Sam has been cooling his heels in Westover for weeks. ” “This rest cure is just cheaper than training more crews. When our tour is over, they’d just as soon drown us. That would be cheaper than sending us home.” “Don’t give them any ideas, Brian. That’s what they’d do if they could get away with it. Not many of us will be worth a shit when we do get back, . . . we’re used up anyhow. You already have St Vitus Dance.” "By the end of our tour we’ll all be basket cases, but there won’t be any rest cures for us, then.” “They’ll turn us back into society and it will be sink or swim. We'll have to recover as best we can. Wonder how many of us will lose it and shoot up our neighbors.” “You and I may get back on track, Brian, but we'll never be the same. The more fragile will never recover. First day I was a messenger on Wall Street, I dropped a nickel in a pan handler’s cup. He gave me a gap-toothed smile and said, ‘bless you son.’ Then he showed me a medal he’d won on the Western Front. He was a World War I hero, and he was sleeping in the gutter." "Christ, Cary, will we wind up like that? How can you tell how bad off you are? There are some who look on the edge, but we can't really see ourselves." "That has me a bit worried. Guys are jumping and fidgeting all over the place. I have a nervous tic and you do too. Sometimes, you start a sentence and pause for two or three minutes before you continue. Do I do that?" "Yes. . . . You go off into outer space before you finish your thought. We all do it. Doesn't seem that you’re irrational, though. You always come back to the right spot." “The thing is, I have these vivid dreams. No problem when I dream of Jane or some such. I enjoy my ‘wet’ dreams and don’t have a guilty conscience when realize it was a dream. It’s when I dream a complete mission and think it really happened that it gets scary. My mission log sets me straight, though." "Know what you mean. I've had to check your mission log too, Cary. Hope we don't go completely off our rocker and wind up like that panhandler." Brian paused for a moment. “Made any plans Greayer Enemies in Love Page 328 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] for when it’s over?” “I’ve thought about it. . . . You?” “Once I had big ambitions, but now I’ll take the easy route. My father-in law owns a chain of markets. Probably work for him.” “That’s convenient.” Cary thought for a few minutes. “For me it depend on whether I marry Catherine or Jane.” “What difference does that make?” “Take Jane for instance. She lives at my home, and calls my folks Mom and Dad. They love her. She and my sisters are pals, and she and I have been building our relationship for over a year. I could marry her without a ripple.” Cary got up and looked out the window. “Meanwhile, my romance with Catherine is on the rocks. My family doesn’t even know her and her mother despises me.” Cary took a swig of cold coffee. “On top of that, Catherine is an intellectual, a college graduate.” “You may not be a college graduate, but you’re plenty smart.” “Smart won’t cut it. Catherine will keep on learning. Couldn’t be a machinist and feel worthy of her. Would have to have a profession.” Brian grimaced. “That’s a tall order from where you sit.” “I’ve already lost five years. By the time I’m discharged it could be eight or nine. I’d have to hold down a day job and attend night school for twenty years to catch up.” “Do you have the energy for that?” Cary realized that Jane was the nurturing type. She would fold him in her arms and kiss him where it hurt. Catherine would stand on her pedestal and make him climb up beside her. He said, “I’m emotionally and physically exhausted. I need someone to lean on while I recover.” “Sounds like Jane has the inside track.” “You’re right. She and I know one-another in a way that I haven't even dreamed about with Catherine. We’ve exchanged letters for the past eight months and have grown close. Jane will accept me as I am.” “So what are you saying?” “Realistically, Catherine is beyond me. She has rejected me and I don’t have the energy or the time to pursue her. Jane loves me and I love her. It’s time I accepted defeat and forget about Catherine. I’ll ask Jane to marry me.”
On their 24 th mission they were headed for Merseburg when they were recalled. As the hangman was slipping the noose over their head, they got a reprieve from the Governor. Instead of a death sentence, they got a freebie. Thank God.
#24.Merseburg Monday 30 October 1944 Mission Recalled 5:30 Hours.
Three days later they took off for Merseburg again, and again fate intervened. Fifteen-minutes from the target they had engine trouble and had to abort. Cary was just rejoicing another escape from the executioner when they got lost on the way home and wandered into heavy flak near Kassel. Flak began pelting the ship like hail in a summer storm and Cary rolled himself into a ball and prayed for deliverance. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 329 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] I just mailed my proposal to Jane and before my letter leaves Britain she may get a notice from the war department that I’m dead. Poor Jane, a proposal from a dead man. Suddenly, Ray took evasive action, avoiding the flak. Cary uncoiled himself but he realized they weren’t home free. They were all alone and they were still a long way from home. Better check for bogeys . Christ, what a prophetic thought! A twin engine ‘spec’ is closing on us fast. Looks like an ME 262 jet. They're too fast for our propeller driven fighters, and, their thirty mm cannons could blast a big hole in me without my nice shield of bulletproof glass. Cary swung his guns into position and let go a short burst, waking up the rest of the crew. "Right on our tail, guys. Six o’clock high." Tracers went too low, well below the Messerschmitt . . . Need to raise my sights. The ball turret, top turret and tail gunners all held down their triggers, sending hundreds of rounds toward the bandit. The combination of six, fifty-caliber guns created a tremendous ear splitting, reverberating racket, like a jackhammer, rattling Cary's teeth and vibrating the entire bomber. ME closing fast. His thirty millimeter tracers coming right at my face . Cablowie. The ME blew up right behind Cary’s tail and the instant it blew, a thirty mm shell exploded right through Cary’s tiny two-inch-thick glass shield, showering Cary with glass splinters and knocking his helmet off. His helmet went careening about inside the turret nearly knocking Cary out. Glass shards everywhere and a blinding pain, in Cary's right ear and temple. While holding his hand to his temple, he checked for other bandits. He smelled singed hair and skin, and felt a knot on his forehead where his helmet bounced off, . . . nothing more. A great cheer went up over the intercom from the top turret and ball turret when the ME exploded. Just as Cary and the rest of the crew were rejoicing their escape they heard the bombardier calling Don over the intercom. "Hey, Don what's the matter? Are you hurt? . . . Hey guys I think Don bought it!" Silence followed Walt's announcement. Ray said, "Frank, take the first-aid kit and help Walter." Lt. Harrison and Frank worked on Don while the rest of the crew waited anxiously for word. Twenty minutes later Walt said, "Don is dead." Don was a fatalist and never wore his flak suit. He had often said, ‘If your number's up you're going to get it.’ Perhaps he was right. A piece of flak came through the plexiglass window and ended up in Don's chest. He had a wound under his left armpit. The flak suit protects only the front and back of the chest . . . the sides are open. Had he worn the vest, he would still be dead. After surviving two crashes, Don felt he had a charmed life. Felt God or fate or whatever was saving him for something special. He was right about that too. This was his last mission, his 35 th . The Eighth Air Force put up two- thousand bombers on this day, and the Luftwaffe put up over five-hundred fighters, in a last gasp attempt of a dying nation. When the rest of the 493rd bomb group reached Merseburg, low clouds obscured the target. The Group Leader took them down below ten-thousand feet to get a clear shot at the chemical plant. It was a grand day in the annuls of aerial warfare. The Eighth Air Force lost 40 bombers and the Luftwaffe lost 208 fighters. Six-hundred and eight good men sacrificed to the Gods of war. The group leader of the 493rd was counted among the missing. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 330 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Next day, they learned that Don's brother died the same day as Don, near the Sarthe river. While Don was dying at twenty-thousand feet, his brother died four miles below with Patton's army. Coincidence? Obviously. Fate? Who can say? Cary saw it as the perverse cruelty of God. He had to blame someone. Many a fatalist was born that day.
#25. Merseburg 2 November 1944 12 - 500 lbs Chemical Plant Lost 2 ships Aborted 15 minutes from target. 7 Hrs. Got lost. Wandered into heavy flak. Attacked by ME262. Landed Woodbridge. Lost Col. Whitlock. Don was killed on his 35 th mission.
#26. Coblentz Saturday 11November Bombed Marshaling Yd. from 25,000 ft P. F. F. Light Flak 6 Hours Jack Cloud took Don’s place.
#27. Duren Thursday, 16 November - Ground Support - dropped 24 - 250 lb Frags on Troop Concentrations - No Flak 6 Hours - Field socked In - Landed at Woodbridge - Had two close calls. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 331 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 45
Gypsy
Friday, 17 November, Cary spent another weekend in London. He took the girls to the theater. Sitting in the movie between Lana and Hannah, Cary mused on the contrast between his awkward days with Catherine and his present status. Look at me. Suddenly, I have the poise I needed when I was courting Catherine. Here I am taking out two beautiful girls at once and thinking nothing of it. These girls are real knockouts too, as Alex would say, . . . not plain-Janes. What good does it do me now? With Catherine, overpowering love and abject poverty made each date painful. But, why am I enjoying myself with these girls? I’m not in love. Perhaps happiness is just the absence of pain. If that's the secret, you surely don't want to marry anyone you love. That was Babsie’s philosophy. He said ‘love’ was just wanting someone you couldn’t have. After the theater, Cary took the girls for tea and a sweet. It was fun watching the girls enjoy themselves. They really loved their tea and sweets. It's great having a little money. Cost never enters my mind. The girls were in a gay mood. Hannah spoke up. "Lana, dear, there's a Gypsy at the back of the shop. Take your teacup and have your fortune read." "I'm too bashful. . . . I’ll go if you come too." Cary gave them some change for the Gypsy and encouraged them to go. They returned, all aglow with excitement. Hannah said, "Go on Love, it's fun. She told me all sorts of things that she couldn't possibly know unless she was psychic." Lana said. "Yes hon, she really is good. For some reason these Gypsies have this gift." Cary was reluctant. "Gypsy? She looks like the Queen Mother with a babushka around her head. I'll probably burst out laughing when I hear her British accent." "Now don’t be a naughty boy,” Hannah said. “There are Gypsies all over the world. There's no reason why a Gypsy can't have an English accent." "Old level headed Hannah! I can't believe you go for this hocus-pocus." "Why hocus-pocus? You believed your premonition. Why can you be psychic and no one else?" "Who says I'm psychic?" "What do you call your premonition? You're alive today because of it, . . . thank God. Now you want to scoff and rationalize it away and say it was all coincidence, but at the time you believed it and acted on it.” Hannah grabbed his hands, playfully, and pulled him out of his seat. “You hide your tender heart Greayer Enemies in Love Page 332 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] behind your logical mind, but you're not the cynic you think you are. You can't hide from your, ‘Hannah’. I can see what a sweet baby you are. Now be a good boy, take your teacup, and march right up there." Hannah's gentle chiding gave him an odd glow. Reluctantly, Cary took his cup to the Gypsy. Despite Hannah’s lecture, she looked less like a Gypsy than Greer Garson. Kinda ruined the illusion, . . . not that Cary had any illusions. Cary was cynical. The Gypsy can see I’m with Lana and Hannah, she’s not blind. She’ll just describe a blue-eyed blonde as my future wife. Lana and Hannah look enough alike so I could take her portrait to mean either one. Placing his cup in front of the Gypsy, Cary sat across from her. She raised it carefully, swished the liquid around and poured out the dregs into a saucer. Then, holding the cup daintily between her fingertips, she peered vacantly into space. "You have been in grave danger," she said. Cary could barely suppress a laugh. ( With gunners wings, the Air Medal, and combat theater ribbons on my chest, it’s really difficult for her to figure, right ?) "You come from far away . . ." (Really tough. She doesn't have any imagination. How does she do it with my American uniform and quasi New York accent to throw her off? ) . . . "from a place of sunshine and flowers with lots of palm trees." Cary stopped laughing. His New York accent didn't signal flowers and palm trees in the dead of winter. "The prayers of four women who love you very much, have protected you. They pray constantly for your safety." (Now he was listening intently, hanging onto every word. How did she come up with four women? Was it just a guess? I suppose if she said five, I would think Aunt Maud was the fifth, but if she said three what would I do, think of my sisters and Mother and leave Jane out? Not likely. Uncanny. Four is the right number and she hadn't asked any questions.) "I see another woman - “ (Here's where she blows it. There are no other women.) “. . . a woman dressed in white with blue eyes and dark hair. . . . “ (Blue eyes and dark hair? His heart stopped.) “She is in a different place, apart from the others. A cold place with snow on the ground. She is alone and she is crying." (Cary felt dazed . . . a little faint. Now, he was praying all this was real. She came up with a fifth woman and he wasn't thinking Aunt Maud! He was thinking Catherine. I never saw Catherine dressed in white, but she’s in a cold place. She sounds like Catherine). . . . "I see a shroud around you that has protected you - twice - from harm. It will protect you a third time." Cary went back to the girls in a daze. Still gushing about their own readings, The girls never noticed Cary's reverie. He wanted to scoff but how did she do it. How did she guess California? There was nothing about him that suggested California. His accent was a blend of New Jersey and New York all mixed up with his parent’s British accents, whatever that was. And why five women? He could see four of the women and he wanted to believe there was a fifth. Could you take any soldier walking down the street and feed him that line and would he construct a scenario to make it seem prophetic? Probably. But she got an awful lot right. Anyone in combat could come up with two close calls. If she said three or four close calls, he could agree. Even ten close calls would be reasonable. Every time he flew a mission he was flirting with death, so there was nothing remarkable about that. But, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 333 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] four women? That was good. And, a fifth woman - in a cold place separate from the others! He did so want to believe in that fifth woman. A woman in white. Could it be . . . Catherine? So she saw Catherine. And crying. That wasn’t good. . . . Catherine didn’t cry, so it couldn’t be her. Cary looked around sheepishly. Listen to me; I'm as bad as those giddy girls, starting to believe in this hocus-pocus.
That night Cary dreamt he was back in highschool. He carried Catherine’s books as he walked her home from the bus. She kissed him on the lips when they parted on her doorstep. Cary had never kissed Catherine in his life, so when he awoke there was no need to spend ten or twenty minutes getting re-oriented. He knew exactly where he was. Cary shed a few tears of self pity before pulling himself together. Then he dressed quickly and headed back to Debach. Cary wrote a few letters on the train, and later, . . . walking to chow with Brian, he dropped them off at the mail room. A letter from Jane was waiting for him. Ah, this was more like it; she hadn't written for over a week. Since he told her he loved her, he usually received one or two letters a day. He was beginning to worry. This would be her happy response to his proposal. Standing outside the mail room, Cary said, “That’s funny. Postmark says San Bernardino. Didn’t say she was taking a trip to see her folks. Hope she hasn’t been ill.” “Typical broad. They’re gung-ho while you’re dragging your ass. Now that you’ve proposed she’s probably having second thoughts.” Cary took a swipe at Brian. “Up yours Brian.” Nimbly avoiding the kick, Brian grabbed the letter and looked at the envelope. “Must be a world record, Cary. Letter only took two days to get here. Feels pretty thin. Not her usual ten-page epistle.” Cary grabbed the letter back. “Doesn’t take ten pages to say hooray. Hang on, Brian, while I see what Jane has to say.” They sat side by side on a bench outside the mail room. Cary opened his letter.
Dear Cary, Bill and I were married on Saturday the 11th. We areare oonn our way to Tennessee. I've left no forwarding address so if youyou write, your letter won't reach me. Please tell your family for me; I couldn't do it myself,myself, this has been painful enough. Forgive me. Wish me luck. Jane
Cary's head was spinning. Talk about a dear John letter! No matter how often he reread Jane's letter, he couldn't comprehend. It wouldn't sink in. “What’s the matter buddy? you look ill.” Cary handed Brian the letter and held his head in his hands. His world was crashing down around him. “Well I’ll be . . . ” Cary was in a quandary. Was there anything he could do, except grieve? In another month he Greayer Enemies in Love Page 334 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] could have been on his way home. Who was he going home to now? Cary began to ramble. “I know I was keeping my options open, but it was a risky option. When I asked her to marry me I was confident she’d make me happy. She wrote faithfully, baked cookies, knitted socks. She dreamed we’d have a long, happy life together. She gave so much, how could anyone fail to love her?” Brian interrupted. “What now buddy?” “Poor Jane, what an end to all her happy dreams.” “Why poor Jane? I’d be plenty pissed.” “Hang on Brian. Can’t you see . . . ” “See what??” “She’s pregnant .” “Pregnant! Never thought of that.” “I grieve for her. She loved me more than I deserved.” “When she had the hots for you, you called her a whore and now when she’s pregnant you grieve for her. I don’t get it.” “Come off it Brian. You know about Bill’s emergency leave. It was her soft heart that caused her downfall.” “Man, you’ve sure changed your tune.” “Maybe I’ve grown a little. One moment's act of compassion has sealed her fate. Just as Helen and I empathized with one-another, she sympathized with Bill. She played Russian Roulette and got caught.” “She may have a soft heart, but you have a soft head.” “Bullshit.” Brian wasn’t buying this. He was still hung up by stereotypes. Brian would laugh if Cary revealed all he felt about Jane. Society puts labels on women like her, . . . women who feel too much. He had worried about those labels. It was his immaturity that made him fearful. His fear prevented him from accepting her love earlier. Now that she was gone he felt this overwhelming love - another indication of his immaturity. Now she will live the life of unrequited love just as I seem destined to do. If we had married and I turned into a bastard, she could learn to hate me, but now her fate was sealed; she can't fall out of love with me, she’s doomed to love me forever, just like I’m doomed to love . . . Catherine. “Don’t you see the trap that Fate set for her, Brian?” “What trap?” “For countless generations unmarried women have had three choices, commit suicide, live the life of an outcast, scorned by society, or live the life of a martyr, shackled in a loveless marriage for the rest of her life.” Brian hadn’t thought about it so he was silent. “Our lovely society even had another sadistic little ritual. If an unmarried woman bore a child, they stamped the child’s birth certificate with the word, BASTARD, making it the ‘child’s fault’ its parents were unmarried. No doubt this was the ‘mandate’ of the ‘Christian’ church with its ‘all forgiving’ God.” “I didn’t know that.” “Oh, this is a great civilization we live in, Brian. I too would be a BASTARD, except that my old man married my mom. That way I’m not branded, but both my mom and dad are trapped.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 335 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “He did the right thing.” “Yeah, great. Mom has hated him all her life. She told my sister’s that on her wedding day she prayed the taxi would have a wreck on the way to the church and she would be killed.” “Bummer.” “Not too great for my old man either. He has loved Mom and been faithful for twenty-four years,
but knowing your wife hates your guts doesn’t make it much fun.” “What will you do now?” “Don’t know. Catherine is gone; . . . I’ll not rekindle that childish hope that she is still waiting. Jane was my security blanket. Now she’s gone too. I’m going home to no one.” “Will you reconsider Lana?” “No way. I'll grow up. I won’t hang onto Lana as a consolation prize.”
#28. Merseberg 25 November 1944 Heavy Flak Bombed Oil Refineries from 27,000 ft. Saw a P-51 strafe a locomotive - spectacular explosion - 8 Hours 45 min - lost one crew
#29. Bielfield, Germany - 26 November 1944 Short 300 mile mission, - Marshaling Yd. No Flak Over Target 6 Hours P. F. F.(My 24th birthday)
#30. Hamm, Germany - 29 November 1944 Heavy Flak - another 300 mile mission - 6 Hours 6 - 1000 lb Bombs No crews lost! Greayer Enemies in Love Page 336 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 46
Hannah
"You're falling behind on your log Cary, or am I hallucinating again." Cary shook his head. "You’re just getting anxious. By my count we've flown thirty missions.” “Anxious! How about you. You’ve checked the bulletin board every twenty minutes to see if we’re on alert.” “Have nothing else to do. With Jane gone I hardly write any letters . . .who’s left to write?" Brian laughed. "Yeah. I noticed you’d cut down to only a hundred people." “Only write family members and letters to girls who never were. Girls who mean nothing. Just vanity girls to puff up my chest. Not even friends, really. Girls I met once at a USO dance, or sisters of my old Cadet buddies; . . . some I never met.” “See you writing lots of letters to Marilyn.” “Just answer her letters. When I mentioned Jane got married, she put two and two together and got five. Now she writes me every day.” “Where did you meet her?” “Never did. She’s Harry’s sister, one of my buddies back in Cadets. Harry told her about me, so she started writing. Even went out and had a glamour photo taken - in a bathing suit!.” Cary dug out her photo. “This isn’t the swimsuit one but here’s her photo.” He handed the photo to Brian. “Harry said she’d never sent a boy her picture before. She did it just for me.” Brian studied the picture. "Not bad. Can tuck her shoes under my bed any day." "It was one of my letters to her that Otto and Silas mailed to Catherine. A letter to some girl I never met screwed me up with Catherine. That's the goofy things I do.” “You do goofy things all right, like the time what's her name came down at Macy's when you Greayer Enemies in Love Page 337 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] were waiting for Catherine.” “Like you said, I'm an accident looking for a place to happen. Do you suppose I'll wind up marrying one of these accidents?" "Your chance of marrying someone is improving every day. If our luck holds, we could be done by Christmas.” “Don’t even mention it.” “If you’re going to let Lana down easy you’d better do it on your next trip. You won’t have many more passes to London." "Can’t go this week. Sam called and left a message. Wants to meet in Ipswich. Haven't seen one-another in over a year, so I'm canceling my trip to London. That postpones my break-up with Lana." Brian said, "Coward. Not a good idea. You need to settle that."
Brian was right. Sam stood Cary up. Three days later he got a letter from Sam. Cary was pissed. I cancel my trip to London so I can see Sam and the prick never shows. No phone call, just stands me up. See he’s still using his old stationary. Let's see what his fucking excuse is this time.
WESTOVER FIELD MASSACHUSETTS December 3, 1944 Dear Cary, Just came back from furlough and must immediately tell you why I was unable to get to Ipswich. Went to London as planned and at the end of the first night during which time, got entangled with a bottle of Scotch and a Piccadilly commando, got rid of all my dough. Borrowed three pounds from our officers that were in town too. In two hours the rank was back for the dough. They too had, had an adventure. Luckily had a return ticket to my place. Soooo, I had to spend the rest of the time near the post. I hope you're not angry and didn't screw up any of your plans waiting for me.
(Great. Sam screws up my weekend and comes up with that lame excuse. I'm supposed to feel sorry because a bottle of Scotch was more important than meeting me. Bastard! This is the third time ‘I’ was there and he didn't show. You'd think he would have the decency to lie and not admit he couldn't suspend his animal appetites for a few hours. A Piccadilly Commando isn't exactly the love of his life. Let’s see what else he has to say.)
Made buck yesterday. Hooray! Missed payday, though, and will have to wait for the supplementary to repay you. Incidentally, I'm in debt Greayer Enemies in Love Page 338 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] thirty pounds including your five and won't even get enough to cover.
(Good old Cary. He’s always handy for a loan and I never have to pay him back when I promised. He won't mind.)
Are you coming down on your next forty-eight and when? Lemme hear Bring your extra A-2 jacket. I'd like to buy it from you old feller. All in all, had a pretty nice time on my pass. Knocked off a sweet piece near here, but standing up and doing it with an instrument of my size isn't too good. Can't reach the vital organs from a standing position. Wot can I do? . . . You lucky dog. Let me hear from you soon. Love and kisses. Sam.
Still pissed, Cary threw the letter in his foot locker. Has the nerve to tell me what a great time he had while I was cooling my heels on a street corner and then complains about his small dong and expects me to get all sorry for him because I’m hung like a water buffalo. Cary vented his frustration to Brian, “Stand around on a street corner for four hours thinking the bastard got killed and I'm supposed to forgive him because a bottle of Scotch was more important than meeting me. Not a great excuse in my book.” "Come on Cary, give the guy some slack; you sound like a wife." "Fuck you. Called off a date with Lana and Hannah.” “Hey what did I do?” Cary kept ranting. “Need to get it settled with Lana, but it will leave me ‘girl-less’. . . Mighty depressing. Sam doesn't realize how much I needed his wise counsel. That's what I'm really pissed about.” "You don't need his counsel; you have mine.” “I’ve heard your advice. You just say screw everyone in sight. I need an independent council. Though, come to think of it, Sam’s just as horny as you.” “If a mission doesn't foul it up, you see Lana every two weeks You know what you have to do, you’re just procrastinating. Our next pass should be 15 December.” “I know I should dump Lana, but there's nothing for me at home, . . . anymore. Maybe I should marry her and end my agonizing?" Wow, that thought really brought things in focus. "No way. You really are insane. You haven't screwed her because you don't want to marry her." "You're right. But, she has a certain handle-with-care look that attracted me. Wanted to be her protector. Why I thought I could fill that role I can't figure. Guess I’m so wounded I recognized a kindred soul?" "You go for the strong independent type. You don't want to be a keeper of stray puppies." "Just feeling guilty, I guess. Up to my old tricks, using other women as surrogates for Catherine. Wrote her a batch of poems. Was really writing poetry to Catherine.” “Lana was using you as a surrogate for that tank corps Sergeant of hers.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 339 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “At least I never screwed her. That’s all I’d need to add to my self loathing.” “Oh for Christ’s sake, you’re such an innocent, . . . maybe they feel guilty for corrupting you.” “I’ve picked out this sweet girl and manufactured a romance out of my need to recreate my relationship with Catherine. As Sam would say, mental masturbation . . . squared!" "I agree with Sam. There's really no future with Lana. You'll go home and put the war behind you as soon as possible. You'll want to forget everything that reminds you of it, including Lana." "Right. Take the honorable way out. Give it to her straight. Don’t let her wait weeks or months before she realizes it was a wartime romance." "Hold on, buddy. Don’t use bare knuckles. At least put some sixteen-ounce gloves on." Cary decided he’d be a bachelor. Forget death, forget playing the hero, forget love. Put the whole bloody mess behind him. You couldn't spend your life reminiscing. His Dad had shown him what being a man was. It wasn't drinking booze and strutting around with a chip on his shoulder. Life may deal you a poor hand, but you never complained. Winning doesn’t take manliness. Surviving takes guts. Life could knock him down but he’d get up again. A man might lose everything but he always struggles, never accepts defeat. There were more men on skid-row than on Park Avenue. Park Avenue is easy. With these heroic thoughts out of the way, he said, "Don't worry, I'll do the right thing. I'll wait until Lana and I are parting on the last day and then lay it on the line. A sharp break is better than the slow decay. That's the honorable thing, the kind thing. Lana’s other Yank wrote her a Dear John letter after he left; . . . that’s not my way." Brian said, “That all sounds very noble, but don’t burn all your bridges. Why not go home, find Catherine, and marry her if she’ll have you. That’s what you’ve always wanted to do.” Cary remained silent, considering Brian’s pitch. The gypsy had given him a shred of hope. He was clinging to the vision of the blue-eyed brunette with the tear stained face. On that shaky foundation he started building that eternal castle. Cary wavered. Then he straightened his back and said, “Told you I’m exhausted. It’s just too much work.” “You told me lots of things. You’ve never been able to get her out of your system. Maybe she’s not as unattainable as you think.” “Not opening that can of worms again. Just not up to it.”
MISSIONS
#31. Geissen 4 December 1944 Marshaling Yd. 7 1/2 hours Accurate Flak -Moderate
#32. Geissen, Germany Monday11 December 1944 Marshaling Yd.-Bouncy mission - Prop wash all the way - 7 Hours - No Flak - P. F. F. Scrubbed Paris (Over two thousand Eighth Air Force bombers were supposed to overfly Paris as a morale booster. The mission was scrubbed without explanation.)
#33. Darmstadt, Germany 12 December 1944 Marshaling Yd. Eight Hours Light Flak - Visual conditions - Missed the yard. (The lead bombardier was blind in one eye and couldn’t see in the other) One town vaporized in ten seconds. Rough landing - piss poor visibility.
On his way to London on 15 December, Cary worried about dumping Lana. He had to break off Greayer Enemies in Love Page 340 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] his relationship, but he didn’t want to hurt her. He agonized, as he waited until the last few moments of the last night of his leave. Sparing no expense, he’d shown both girls a great time. Then after Hannah left them alone, he steeled himself for his ordeal. It was now or never. Sitting on a bench next the Riverside Mansions, Cary began kissing Lana softly as he mentally rehearsed his speech. She was looking pensive, but Cary hadn't noticed any difference from her usual faraway demeanor. Looking off toward the garden, Cary began in a low key. "You know Lana, I’ve already flown thirty-three missions and there are only two more to go. We’ve had great fun, you and I and Hannah, but if I survive that last mission, they will send me back to the States almost immediately. There won't be another op . . ." Cary had intended to continue but Lana cut him off. "Yes, I’ve been thinking too, Love. I'm sort of a dim bunny and get all confused. Hannah helps me a lot, keeps me from getting things muddled in my head. I have this worked out . . .” Cary tried to interrupt but Lana silenced him. “Please let me finish what I have to say, Love, without interrupting, or I'll forget my speech. This may sound memorized, because it is. And turn your head so you’re not looking in my eyes." After her preamble, Lana cast her eyes down and hurried on. Other thoughts kept popping into her prepared statement, but she was well rehearsed and finally finished what she intended to say. "This is some dream. You don't want to marry me. Why would you? Don't answer that, Love. . . . You would try to be nice. . . . How do I say what I mean? I know this is over. That is what I want to say. We like each other, but it’s not love. Once you're back home you’ll write me less and less until you forget to write altogether. And, not just you, it will be me, too. You’ll have your friends and I’ll have mine. We’ll slowly drift apart. We’ll realize this was just a wartime romance. I don't want to hang onto false hopes like I did last time. I’ve grown up a bit since then and have you to thank for some of that. You helped me get my life back. As you would say, we should face facts. You just go on home and forget about me. I'll always be grateful to you for helping me over a bad patch.” Lana took a moment and then continued. “I could have fallen in love with you if Hannah hadn’t cautioned me right at the beginning.” “Lana lifted her eyes and looked at Cary. “Hannah forgot to take her own advice. She’s already in love with you, and you never even noticed. But Hannah will be OK. She has been in love before." His head was spinning as her prepared speech came to a close. It took a few moments for her statements to penetrate. He groped for a response. He knew he should be dancing for joy that he didn't have to hurt her, but he did not feel like dancing. Someone had let the air out of his balloon. Combat was supposed to be rough, but he'll take combat any day. She had said all the things he had rehearsed like she was reading from his script. First Jane shot him down and now Lana buried him. When she said Hannah loved him, that pleased his ego, but all-in-all his ego seemed to have taken a beating. What he wanted to happen, . . . happened, . . . just not the way he envisioned it. It clearly wasn’t easy for Cary to deal with another blow. Somewhat like getting hit by a Mack Greayer Enemies in Love Page 341 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] truck that you never saw coming. He was looking left and it came from the right. He was in England, after all, he should have known they drove on the wrong side of the street. No wonder he dithered while Catherine slipped away. Impulsively he wanted to argue that she was wrong and he did love her, but he checked that. He liked playing devil's advocate, and instinctively took the opposite side of any argument even when he agreed with the premise. In the end all he could think to say was, "Perhaps you're right. It was fun while it lasted. You are a lovely girl and will make some man a fine wife, someday." Just the night before they kissed passionately. Now, new ground rules had been set. They were awkward as they parted with a brotherly-sisterly-kiss. As he stumbled through the garden, to his digs next door, he met Hannah. They said goodbye and shook hands. Then suddenly they embraced and exchanged a heartfelt kiss that seemed more like hello than goodbye. More like the beginning of something than the end of something . . . that never was. Both faces were tear-stained and his throat and jaw were so tight he couldn't swallow. Neither spoke as they let go, . . . reluctantly, . . . of one another's hands, . . . with a light squeeze.
Next morning, Cary lay in bed going through his routine of sorting out the happenings of the night before. He was trying valiantly, methodically to hang on. It was his way, his rational effort to survive. Only two more missions to go and he would go home. That seemed right. It’s Saturd . . . no it’s Sunday. Sunday, 17 December. I have to catch a train back to Ipswich at noon. I've flown thirty-three missions. He was sure he had that right. He had the number written in the palm of his left hand. That’s how many he had when he left Debach on Friday and he was in London, so he couldn’t have flown any more. He wouldn’t change the number written in his palm until he flew his next mission. It was the only way to keep things straight. Two more to go. That seems OK . . . but what happened last night? Last night is all jumbled up with some vivid - exciting dreams. How do I get a handle on them? How do I separate my dream from reality? Lana. I remember Lana - saying goodbye - that was no dream. Felt like a kick in the balls so it must have been real. And then Hannah? No, that was a dream. That kiss in the garden seems real but what happened in my bedroom. I was tired but too aroused to sleep. Had to have a hot bath? It’s all so confusing. Hannah in the tub? No-no, no way. But it all seems so real. I better hang on; I'm losing it. But, the fragrance of her rose, the softness of her flesh - I still smell and feel her. There Cary lost it. Was she? Was Hannah in the garden - her fragrance - her softness - her taste - her kiss? He could still taste her lips. Where does the dream end and reality begin? Now he sees Hannah in the doorway to the bathroom. Hannah is walking toward him with her Greayer Enemies in Love Page 342 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] finger on her lips - bidding him to be quiet. She’s standing beside the tub. . . . She disrobes. She removes and folds her garments carefully, placing each on a stool next the tub. It's so vivid. She’s just standing there looking down. Every detail, the soft curve of her thigh, her hip, her breast is fresh in his mind. But it's her face, her cheek, her jaw, her lips, her eyes that haunt him. The quiver of her lips, the misty look in her eye. Her lips are parted. She bites her lip. Her breast heaves a sigh. She's looking down at me. . . . Placing one hand on each side of the tub, she’s climbing in. I can't separate this fantasy from reality! She says she loves me, has to have me - once - just once. We're making love. Talk about fantasy - I've really gone over the edge. Every man should have such a fantasy. This dream is better than real life; I felt love. I still feel love. How can a dream arouse this emotion in me? If this is lunacy hooray for lunacy. No, it’s just a dream, but why didn't I realize Hannah was the one complete woman, the only real competition for Catherine? She’s gorgeous, intelligent, sensitive, a great dancer, and has a great sense of humor. Catherine can't dance and we were always so up-tight that we never had much fun. Babsie says love isn’t meant to be fun. Born poor, we never learned how to play. Hannah and I always had a great time. Why didn't I dream this dream sooner? There's no time left to make this dream a reality. It will have to happen in another lifetime. I feel her lips on mine, her body 'gainst mine, but within a week I'll be on my way home and Hannah will be lost - just as I have lost Jane and Catherine. It’s too late, too late - too late - the story of my life. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 343 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cary rolled over to get out of bed. . . . There on the pillow - next his head - lay a rose petal. . . . A drop, a single drop of liquid was nestled within. Was it a dewdrop - or . . . was it . . . a tear? Greayer Enemies in Love Page 344 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 47
The Letter
Foul weather grounded the Eighth Air Force for seven days. During this lull, Germany launched a huge counteroffensive. Their tenuous hold on Normandy was under an all-out attack, threatening another Dunkirk. Newspapers called it The Battle of the Bulge and reported a series of German successes. Allied troops were in desperate need of air support. Like the weeks before his thirty-second and thirty-third missions, fog kept the planes grounded. It was almost Christmas and Cary hadn't flown since 15 December. On constant alert, everyone sat in their planes waiting for the weather to clear. When missions come every two or three days there was little time to think. Now, on unending standby, Cary’s tension mounted. With two missions to go, his anxiety to finish became an obsession. It had to end . . . one way . . . or another. I’m so weary, I move like a sloth. This war has numbed my senses. I’ve lost the ability to smile -- and to frown. I've worked myself into a deep depression. To survive, my intellect has taken over my being, the ultimate rational man. Life is reduced to probabilities. I’ve no prospects, nothing to live for, nothing to die for. When I throw the dice, I accept one result as readily as another. You live or you die, it’s all the same. My pulse rate no longer increases when I see a fighter or hear the flak. The death of a comrade no longer brings a tear to my eye. Love, what is love? Do I love? Can I love? I no longer know. I'm a zombie, the living dead. I wouldn’t mourn even at my own tomb. You do not mourn for the dead, you mourn for the living . . . and I - I am not living. How can I pull myself out of this gloom? If I live through my next two missions, perhaps I'll start to recover. With clear weather we could fly and be out of here in a week. There won't be much time to think once that happens. Will hope make life bearable again? Christmas is three days away. Ah, there may be mail and some packages with cookies and such in the mail room. That’s a happy thought. At least my taste buds are alive.
Snow blanketing the ground, and a chill wind off the North Sea made Cary hustle. He stomped his feet as he entered the mail room. The mail clerk said, "You haven't been in for a few days. You're usually so eager, we thought you’d copped it. We have a stack of stuff back here for you.” "Lost track of time. . . . we’ve been sitting on our tails, on alert, all week. . . . Not even sure what day this is." Greayer Enemies in Love Page 345 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] “Lucky you got here. Smells like Tollhouse in there somewhere. Gordo figured you'd had it and was itching to open that one." “Tell Gordo to keep his greedy paws off my cookies.” Now that Jane was gone, who could be baking him cookies? He surely missed Jane and her many sweet letters. A man could perish without someone to love. With Catherine gone, and Jane gone, and Lana gone, all hope of love was gone . . . unless? But he needed someone now or he may as well die. The mail clerk roused him from his reverie. "I’ll get some string Sgt. Grant, and bundle this stuff up so you can carry it.” “Thanks, that wind is fierce. My letters would blow all over, otherwise. " Bucking a stiff headwind off the North sea, Cary headed back. He was pleased with his haul, but he quickly found mood-depressing thoughts. Fate is just sending me to my doom with a smile on my face. I'm really getting morbid. How do I get these damn scary thoughts out of my mind? Whenever I think ‘only two more missions’, I remember the crew who had a load of bombs dropped on them on their last mission. And, then there was Don! Copped it on his 35 th . Fate had set him up. After surviving two crashes he thought he was invincible. Fate saved him so he could buy it on his last mission. That Gypsy said there was a shroud around me that had protected me - twice. Said it would protect me a third time. Have I used-up that third time already? How would I know? Our crash was my first, I guess? My premonition, on my tenth mission, was the second time. Have I gone without a close call since then? How about my shootout with the ME on my fifteenth mission? That shell-fragment came within a hair of killing me. A half-inch to the right and my crew could have had fried brains for dinner. Surely that was the third time? Perhaps she didn't count the crash? Wait a minute. I’d already flown twenty-seven missions when she said I had one more, protection left?????????????? Holy-cow, look at this nonsense I'm thinking because of a Gypsy! I'm as bad as Frank who's turned into a religious nut. Hocus-pocus! But, Cary couldn’t discount everything. I've seen several miracles, in combat. I may be nearly balmy, but, I did have a premonition. That really happened. No wonder Frank turned into a religious nut. If you lived an ordinary life, you wouldn't see one bonafide miracle in a lifetime. Combat breeds death and miracles. Every day I’m alive is another miracle. I'm working myself into a stew. Is this a premonition? No, a premonition comes out of the blue, it's not something you worry yourself into. A premonition is specific, like on my tenth mission when I felt the flak hitting my ass. I knew what to protect. This is just a vague fear, there's no vision attached to it. Cary decided to forget it, and took his mail back to his bunk for sorting. It caught Cary's eye immediately. "Hey Brian, take a look at this package." "Golly jeepers. Looks like you picked it up off a trash heap." "It's from cousin Maggie in Montreal. Mailed it to San Antonio, Texas, in November 1942. Did you hear that? November 1942! Two years ago!" "No way. Where has it been?" "All over. Forwarding addresses cover the brown-paper-wrapper. It's been forwarded to Vernon Texas, Enid Oklahoma, Sheppard Field Texas, Panama City Florida, Salt Lake City Utah, Blythe Greayer Enemies in Love Page 346 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] California, El Paso Texas, McCook Nebraska, Lincoln Nebraska, and Debach England. It’s been to some bases several times. It’s impossible to tell which base it came from last." "But, that's twenty-five months of bouncing in and out of bases. There's even a footprint on it." "Hey Guys, I claim the world record for the most misdirected package in the history of WW2." The hubbub of claims and counter claims became a can-you-top-this contest. Everyone had his own horror story. The final consensus declared Cary's package the winner. The others were just bigger liars. "What's in the package?" "Fruitcake, what else? That’s what Cousin Maggie is famous for. It’s that fruitcake Mom wondered about. She said Maggie sent me one for my first Christmas.” Brian said. “No wonder it’s still knocking around. Who the hell wants fruitcake?” "She makes the greatest fruitcake in the world. You ate a piece that first night at my house, remember?" Everyone gathered round to observe the opening. Sent for his 1942 Christmas enjoyment, the fruitcake arrived two years late. Reduced to a fruity smelling dust, Cary poured the contents into a tin that had once held Tollhouse cookies. None of his buddies were interested in sampling the fruitcake, but there were a few wrestling matches as some had the contents forced on them. While the wrestling matches were going on, Cary turned back to his mail. Here's that package of cookies the mail clerk smelled. Jane mailed it two weeks before her dear John letter. Poor Jane. She wasn’t thinking about marrying Bill then. What a terrible week she must have had. Nothing I’ve experienced in combat can compare. One minute she’s dreaming of marrying the man she loves and the next moment she finds herself pregnant by someone she just felt sorry for. A life sentence for an act of kindness. I washed out of cadets when I tried to help Otto and Silas. Is that the way the story of the Good Samaritan is supposed to end? To make matters worse she got my proposal after she knew she was pregnant. What cruel irony. Oh, oh, last time she sent cookies, I never got to eat one. Brian was the ring leader, dirty-dog. Got my buddies to tie me to a chair, and then they devoured my cookies while they taunted me, telling me how delicious they were. Bastards. Cary slipped the package under the bed. My only chance is to eat them at night, while the others are sleeping. Jane's cookies are worth waiting for. They’ll be delicious. Cary began sorting the rest of his mail and putting them in piles: Two letters and a package from Mom, two letters from Dad, one letter each from Ann, Beth, Joyce, Ruby, Helen, Marilyn, Jeanette, and . . . aunt Maud. Ah, I see Aunt Maud finally got over her snit. Oh, oh, here's a letter from Jane mailed a week before her Dear John letter. Shouldn't read it. Whatever she said wouldn't apply, now. That's not true. You can't turn love off at will. I’ll save it for some time when I’m feeling sorry for myself. Here’s one from Sam. What’s on his mind besides Piccadilly Commandos.
December 20th, 1944 SGT Sam Friedman 492nd Bomb Grp. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 347 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] 858th Bomb Sqdn. APO 557 U.S. Army
Hello you old fart! You may be pissed off at me - but brother, I'm a damn sight more pissed off at you. Whyinhell didn't you write sooner?! Tried calling and had the same old trouble and then I was sure you'd had it. Ferchrissakes, feller, you must know that, that's the first thing a guy is going to think when a letter is way overdue...... shucks! Now I'll have to pay back that five pounds. And again feller, I'm glad as hell to hear that you have only two more to go - and perhaps and probably by now, are done. Look, do me a favor and let me know as soon as you've completed and can come for a visit. Our setup is SNAFUed as per usual and I don't know when our next freedom comes up. But - keep me posted on your activities . . . and don't go foolish over that gal in London. Home is much better enchantment. We had quite an exhilarating pre-Christmas celebration here with Scotch and bourbon flowing like water. I became quite polluted and had a hellofa good time thereby. Likker is wonderful - he says - although he was sicker'n hell in the morning. We had one kid take on a very vicious drunk and he fought with everyone. It was ugly as hell and we should have beat him up - but we had our heads up our ass and let him do damage. You should see the bruises in this hut. Hurry and write and let me know the good news. as ever, Love and kisses, Sam
Good old Sam. How can you stay pissed at a guy like that? Guess I should have written sooner. Just because he was an asshole doesn’t excuse me for being one too. Besides, he’s the best in spite of his idiosyncracies. Cary put Sam’s letter back in its envelope and went on sorting his mail. Suddenly Cary's pulse skipped a beat. . . . The handwriting on the envelope leapt out at him. His heart started pumping wildly at the sight of that script . . . that fabulous penmanship he knew so well. - handwriting he last saw eighteen months ago, when she said goodbye and good riddance. His hands became clammy, and his body started to quiver. His breathing became labored, his throat tightened, his jaw locked. Tears filled his eyes and spilled over. The room swam before his eyes. His body began shaking. Desperately trying to staunch the tears, he laid face down, griping both sides of the bed to control his distress. His heart reverberated like a jungle tomtom in his ears. Surely the guys in the hut could hear Greayer Enemies in Love Page 348 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] it. A shudder and a spasm convulsed his body. Then another. He lay for a long space, gradually regaining sufficient control to move. Escape. I must escape to some private place to examine this letter. Meanwhile, he couldn't control his mind, his anticipation. What did this letter contain? Clutching the letter inside his jacket, he left the hut as casually as possible. England at 3:30 P.M. in midwinter was dark, . . . dark, dark. The mess hall would be empty at this time of day. He headed there, walking swiftly, bucking the north wind, trudging through the snowdrifts covering the farmer’s fields. And then he ran. He ran the mile-and-a-half, . . . ran all the way to the mess hall. Since that fateful day, that day in May 1943, over eighteen months ago, he had- had no word, not one word from her. Once he stepped on Eddie's foot while jogging in formation, it was all downhill. The hospital, . . . the letter mixup, . . . the betrayal by his ‘friends’, . . . the washout, . . . her reaction, . . . then the long slide until he hit bottom in gunnery school. You struggle up, then one small misstep and you slide right to the bottom. Like Dad always said, "You never know before, till after." He squirmed as he thought of his orgy of sexual gratification with Cora. After the ‘fall’, there were times when death looked more attractive, but for his ‘parent's sake’ he hoped to die in battle rather than take his own life. Tail gunners had short life expectancies so I volunteered to take the tail guns. The pain should end soon. It was that thought that sustained him, initially. In battle, however, he found he clung to life, he fought to survive. How come? He tried repeatedly to build a life without Catherine, but Jane didn't work and Lana didn't work. Nothing worked, but he survived. Now he found hope was not entirely dead. He could feel it rising now. Cary lectured himself. You're getting too excited. You must open this letter before your hope rises too high. You don't want to come crashing down again. This is just her final kick in the face, her final sign off, what else could it be? But she’s already done that. She’s already delivered her final, no nonsense kick in the balls that only Catherine can deliver, . . . so what is it? No, don’t get your hopes up. You’re too low, too beaten, too battle weary to survive another left jab from Catherine. It will kill you for sure. You should burn it instead of opening it. Cary searched his pockets for a match, but as a non-smoker he didn’t have one. Oh yes, here’s one from that weekend with Helen. Always the gentleman, I put some matches in my pocket so I could light her cigarettes. She must have smoked two cartons in two days . Cary lit the match. But, I’ll be leaving for home in a week. Jane is married. Should I bother trying to find Catherine. At least this letter may save me the trouble of trying to find her. The match burned his finger and he blew it out. Cary looked around. There's a table in the far corner, a semi-private spot. One instant has demolished the world. The world doesn't exist. I’m alone, more alone than if I were on the moon. There's just me and this letter. This letter, inside my jacket, is either my ‘salvation’ or my ‘death warrant’. But, I’m already dead; what can it hurt? He sat, and withdrew the letter. Held it in his hands. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 349 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Mailed September 12, 1943 , at 6:00 P.M.! The letter has been to as many bases as the fruit cake package. It followed me for fifteen months. She mailed it four months after that day. I had no hope of ever seeing her again. I tried to put her memory behind me. The powerful emotion that gripped him now told him that he had failed. Sitting there holding the letter with trembling hands, he was unable to open it. I'm holding my life, my fate - in my hands. The miles and the months have collapsed. He went into a trance. Catherine is in the room. She’s sitting in the chair opposite me. Catherine will speak to me. I will hear her voice, her soft, melodic voice. His stomach churned, and blinding tears streamed down. The flesh on his arms began flapping like his mothers wash in an autumn breeze. Conflicting emotions of hope and fear had him completely paralyzed. If I open it, I’ll not be able to read it. Calming himself, he opened the envelope and withdrew the letter. He laid it on the table and set salt and pepper shakers on the corners to hold it flat to stop it from shaking . It said:
12 September 1943 Dearest Cary, It’s been four months since I received a partial letter from you, along with scraps of letters to several other girls. I tore the letters to shreds and couldn't stop crying for a week. I couldn't believe that after proposing marriage to me, you would still be writing your other girlfriends. I was so mad I couldn’t see straight. Here I was anticipating that you would suggest some concrete plan for our future - and nothing! I was so furious, I sent you that hateful letter. I can’t remember what I said, but since you never replied it must have been a corker. I’d broken up with you dozens of times before and never succeeded in silencing you. A week ago, your friend Joe took time from his honeymoon to come by and visit me. He helped me see that it was willful and unfair of me to give you an ultimatum to marry me. I realize now that I’ve been spiteful ever since and have been trying to punish you for refusing to knuckle under. He explained that a man couldn’t try to escape his duty, it was inbred. It wasn’t easy, but I’ve finally come to my senses. He told me all about your attempt to help Silas and Otto and your washout from cadets. I cannot believe the series of misfortunes that have befallen you in the army. I feel terrible about the things I have done which contributed to your misery. Can you ever forgive me? I know I don’t deserve it after the hell I’ve put you through, but I love you; . . . I love you; . . . I love you; . . . I'll love you forever. I truly am your Catherine
#34 Homburg, Germany - Saturday - 23 December - Marshaling Yd. - 24 250 lb. GPs - Clear skies over target - 6 1/2 Hours - Saw Fighters. 28,000 ft - Moderate Flak (dozed off 6 times) Greayer Enemies in Love Page 350 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] #35 Frankfort, Germany - Our last Mission Who cares about the details . . . it’s over !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Greayer Enemies in Love Page 351 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 48
Marry Me
They barely hit the sack when the CQ awakened them for their thirty-fifth mission. They tumbled out bleary-eyed but excited. If they survived this day they would be on their way home. "Today's Christmas eve Brian. Our last mission, one way or another." "Cut that out Cary. Don’t jinx us." "The day of reckoning is here. Don't get too happy. If you’re still alive tomorrow, you’ll have to face June." "Oh, oh. Forgot about that.” "With your luck, Brian, we'll get shot-down and some German lass will keep you in her cellar for your big cock.” Brian laughed. “Seriously Brian, don’t you think it’s ironic. This is Christmas eve, for Crist’s sake; no pun intended. We’re Kriss Kringle, delivering bombs on Christmas Eve. Some of those German kids won't even get to look in their Christmas stockings." Potty said "What are you cackling about, they're just fucking Krauts. Should have killed them off in the last war." "Is there anyone you don’t hate? Maybe we should exterminate the Limeys and the Frogs too, while we're here?" "Pompous nigger lover." "Come on guys, cool it," Fang said. "We've held it together this long, you can make-believe you love one-another for one more mission."
Complacency was the enemy. Life had become a little more precious since Catherine’s letter. Cary prepared more carefully than usual. He tried to think of anything that could improve his chances of survival. Nothing came to mind. On this, their thirty-fifth mission, his preparation routine was flawless. Could this be the same green crew that flew their first mission on 7 June, just six-months and seventeen- days ago and only one pair of guns were working? This is just like all the other Christmas Eves in my life. Great expectations. What kind of comeuppance has fate got in-store for me now? If it follows true to form, I’ll be dead on Christmas morning. Feels like that morning I was so happy, running down to see what Santa brought me, . . . poor sucker. What did we kids know about the depression. Our parents always filled our heads with ‘sugar and spice and everything nice.’ We were completely un-prepared to find that Santa had left Greayer Enemies in Love Page 352 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] us a white handkerchief, an . . . orange, and . . . a nickel. But, maybe not this time. This mission felt different. He carried Catherine's letter over his heart. Cary’s other talisman, the Coney Island wedding ring had served him well and he wore that too, with his dog tags. That letter he wrote back in McCook, . . . just in case, . . . now bore her new address . . . from the letter he just received and Chuck would mail it - if . . . Ernie Kash, his original emissary, went down over Normandy on D-day, more than six months ago. Three other emissaries had bitten the dust since then. Chuck was the fifth in a long string.
Ernie and Don Covey, the kid who married Priscilla in a drunken stupor, were still listed as MIA. Some chutes were seen when their plane collided and went down, but they were so low there’s no chance they were still alive. Once a crew finished their tour the strict code of secrecy was relaxed. They were permitted to send cablegrams to tell their families and sweethearts they were on their way home. With luck, Cary’s family would learn that he’d completed thirty-five missions on Christmas eve. They didn’t even know, for sure, that he’d flown any. They could only guess and, for the most part, they were in denial. And Catherine didn’t know if he was alive or dead, . . . let alone in combat. Cary planned to send a dozen red roses and a proposal as soon as he returned - alive and unharmed. Well, not exactly unharmed. I’ve aged twenty-years. Half my hair has fallen out and I’m as jumpy as a grasshopper. She may not even recognize me. Cary hoped the flowers would spark a little more joy than the pitiful corsage he gave her the night he took her to see Gone With the Wind. He shuddered as he recalled the flowers he took Jane on their last weekend together. But, flowers hadn’t always been a death knell. He took flowers to Lana and Hannah several times and they were always pleased. And after his weekend with Helen he sent flowers out of friendship. He treasured her heartfelt thank-you note. So far his friendships, male and female, had been more rewarding than his one true love. Maybe Babsie was right. If you want to be happy, don’t fall in love.
When they took off on their mission they were one of 2,034 heavy bombers, joining 936 fighters that took part in the attack on Germany that day. Flying to the target Cary tried to keep his mind from wandering. It didn't work. One moment he would scour the sky for any sign of the enemy and the next he would awake from a daydream. It was hopeless. He did wake up for the bomb run and was dumbfounded at the scattered flak. They were missing by a thousand yards. There was no precise box-pattern that he had become used to. Certainly, our chaff can’t suddenly have become more effective. All I see are a few flak bursts way below our ship. Two thousand feet higher and the flak would paint a deadly picture. Perhaps flak like this terrified me on my first missions, who knows? Not now though, I’m too happy, and too experienced. These guys are amateurs, . . . or are the real gunners home on xmas vacation? Their plane jumped. Bombs away . Their bombs obliterated the marshaling yard. Just as they left the bomb run, Cary saw them. He alerted the others. "Fighters circling to the rear. Eight o'clock high, out of range." Cary fired a short burst to make sure his guns were not frozen up. The other gunners did the same. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 353 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Gunners in surrounding planes came to life and fired a few rounds. The Jerries thought better of it and turned off, climbing rapidly. Cary watched until they disappeared. Anticipating the fighters would try to surprise them on their return trip kept Cary wide awake. His eyes felt like they were popping out, he was staring so hard. Suddenly, specks appeared dead to the rear. There they were, right on his tail. Three, no, - four specks. They’re so far out of range they’re barely visible. If I blink my eyes, I'll lose them. No use alerting the others, they'll never see them. The hairs rose on the back of his neck as he sat with his fingers poised on the triggers. Get it over for Christ sake, attack us, or get the fuck out of there. Without his mittens, his hands began to freeze but he needed to be ready. If they're jets, or worse - rockets - they could be on him in a second. He couldn't take a chance and put his mittens back on. Then, all of a sudden, he saw . . . the bogeys were just specks of dirt on the inside of his plexiglass enclosure. They weren't bogeys after all, just boogeymen.
#35.Frankfurt - 24 December, Airfield, Clearest Day Ever Saw - Not a Cloud anywhere - Ruined Field - 9 ½ Hours, Moderate Flak 20,000 ft. Saw ME 262 s LAST MISSION - WE ARE GOING HOME.
After they landed Cary sent two telegrams which would arrive Christmas morning. A dozen roses would accompany his wire to Catherine. Then he striped his bulletin board of his pinups, packed all his gear and waited to be shipped home.
Now for the long wait. Cary remembered a phrase, ‘These are the times that try men’s souls.’ He couldn’t remember to what momentous event the author was referring, but Cary was certain that there was nothing more frustrating than just waiting. The mind could conjure up thousands of hobgoblins to inflict torture. Once in Spotswood, Dad didn’t come home at the usual time. We kids were terrified. There were no telephones back then or at least we didn’t have one, so he couldn’t call us. We three sat by the dining room window, gazing out into the gloom of that rainy winter’s night worrying that our father may never return. We sat there whimpering for what seemed like hours. Finally we saw a lonely figure hobbling down the country road on his stiff right leg as he walked the two miles from the train station to our home Turned out the train had broken down and was two hours late. We died a thousand deaths in that short space of time. Until then, we never knew we loved him. He was just the old man who paid the bills. But this wait is not one of dread, but one of happy anticipation. When I was a child, I spent many a Christmas Eve in happy anticipation only to have my hopes dashed on Christmas Morning. For children, Christmas must be the unhappiest day of the year. All children have to swallow the better pill of disappointment on Christmas morning. What Christmas can possibly match a child’s dreams? So here I am on yet another Christmas Eve dreaming impossible dreams. But why impossible? Catherine is not a frivolous person. We’ve been in love for seven years so it’s unlikely she’s changed her mind since she wrote that letter fifteen months ago. Fifteen months! That’s a lifetime. Anything could happen. Now I am worried. Catherine will get my cablegram Christmas morning. For her, there has been no anticipation. It can’t be Greayer Enemies in Love Page 354 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] painful to suddenly learn that someone loves you. If nothing else, her ego will be pleased just as my ego was pleased to learn that Hannah loved me. It’s always satisfying when someone declares their love.
Hannah’s declaration was especially welcome since Jane had just married Bill and Lana (thank God) had just dumped me. I desperately needed that ego boost. Little did I know that Catherine’s wonderful letter was about to arrive. No, I can’t see any potential boogeymen out there. Catherine should be pleased to receive my proposal and should wait for my arrival as anxiously as I now wait. . . . unless . . . since she wrote that letter. . . she has had six kids. But, am I missing something? I have learned through bitter experience to expect disappointment. Has fate prepared another surprise for me. Will I finally hold Catherine in my arms or will I again suffer the crushing defeat????
A week later Cary and Brian were walking to chow across fields dusted with a light blanket of snow. Brian said, “What do you suppose hap . . .” Cary cut him off. “Fuck it. Don’t want to talk about that. Have enough to worry about.” "We can’t ignore it, Cary. Ray is looking for Potty." "Don’t give a shit about Potty. I’m not his keeper.” “Ray is processing our orders for our trip home. We have to locate him. He may foul things up.” Cary faced Brian. “You know the bastard. Probably off in the boonies on one of his perverted Greayer Enemies in Love Page 355 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] outings." Brian slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. "God damn him. Would serve him right if he gets caught and thrown in the stockade. He’d better hurry back or Ray will have his balls." “Stockade nothing. Hanging’s too good for him if he’s up to what we suspect.” “They don’t mess around over here. That Lieutenant who blasted that Duke or Earl or whatever with a shotgun while out on a Grouse shoot was off his rocker. Instead of putting him in the Booby-hatch, where he belonged, they hung him.” “Potty’s not balmy. Was messing around long before our first mission.” Brian screwed up his face. “Would be a blessing if he were caught.” “Not if it screws up our departure.” “Hate to think of the damage that slimy guy will wreak on unsuspecting parishioners once he’s hiding behind a Priest’s frock.” “Not to mention the damage he’s already done.” Plowing through a knee-deep snowdrift at the edge of a hedgerow, Cary said, “Should have cut his balls off ourselves.” Brian tried to be objective. “Let’s not get carried away. We have our own problems. As much as we despise him, we need to cut him some slack. He may not be guilty of our worst suspicions." “Perhaps you’re right. Could anyone who plans to be a Priest, be that twisted?”
On their way back from chow, Brian said, "Let's visit Philip one last time before we ship out." “Ok.” As they were passing the farmhouse, they stopped, and knocked. The old man opened the door and greeted them. They all took seats in the parlor around a roaring fire in the fireplace. "Glad it's all over for you lads. Rumor has it that the war is almost over, too.” Brian said. “When the Battle of the Bulge collapsed they say it was the beginning of the end.” “We’ll be giving you your island back, soon,” Cary said. “I’ll miss you two lads. Without my daughter and my bride, I needed your company. You’ve been more like sons." The boys were touched. They swallowed hard and embraced their surrogate Dad. After a few moments Brian said, "We haven't visited for a couple of weeks. How did you know we flew our last mission?" “I keep the lads and lasses well plied with candy. They keep me apprized of your comings and goings.” Brian said, “Have any of your twerps told you about our missing crew member?” Philip faked indignation. “They’re not twerps!" With a twinkle in his eye he said, “Could write an interesting yarn about the exploits of certain Sergeants in London.” Brian an Cary laughed. Brian said, “Certainly, they don’t give any details.” “No, just the general goings and comings and the cast of characters. I’m still sufficiently perceptive to supply the details.” Cary said, “Don’t let your imagination run away with you Pops, I‘m as pure as the driven snow, or . . . nearly.” Brian said, “Seriously Philip, with an underground like that, you must know something about Justin Greayer Enemies in Love Page 356 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Potts.” “Justin Potts? Didn’t know he was on your crew.” “So, you know about him?” “Aye. His activities have been monitored.” Cary and Brian chorused, “So what about him? Where is he?” “Can’t rightly say. They found him down the road a piece." Brian and Cary leaped from their chairs. "Found him? Did they arrest him or what?" "No need. Got crosswise with the wrong character.” Brian said, “Where is he? We need him pronto. He’s holding up our orders.” “Won’t be much use. Found him face down in a ditch. Had no trousers on.” The two looked puzzled. “What happened to him?” “Hope he wasn’t a close friend.” Philip got up an stoked the fire. When he sat back down, he said, “When they rolled him over, his rattle was missing." After a moment of stunned silence, Brian said, "Christ, I never liked the bastard, but never thought he’d wind up like that." Cary sat back down. “Hope none of your Lads and Lasses found him.” Philip didn’t exactly answer. He said, "News travels fast in a town this size. I've known the Constable since he was five.” After a while Brian said, “Do they know who did it?” Philip just winked. The three men sat quietly for half an hour. Philip broke the silence. "Have some news of my own. Red Cross contacted me yesterday. My daughter and my bride are safe. They’re on their way back." "Gosh, that's great," Brian said. "Thought she was your wife. How come you call her your bride?" "Married her twenty-six years ago. She'll always be my bride." Cary was still mulling over the news about Justin, but he tried to give Philip’s happy news the attention it deserved. "I wish we could have met her. She sounds very special." Philip just smiled a contented smile.
On the way back to the hut Cary said, "Guess someone’s old man found out what Justin was up to and decided to take matters into their own hands." "Sounds too professional for someone’s old man." Cary had an unwelcome thought. "Perhaps . . . he was in the trenches in World War one? Once they teach you how to kill, . . . I don't suppose you forget." “Who?” “Philip. . . . Could it be Philip?” "Don’t get carried away. Philip is too gentle.” “My father is a gentle old man too, but I’d hate to have meet him if someone messed with my sisters . . . he wouldn’t call the cops.” “Nah. Philip’s too old. But, I won’t say he didn’t know.” They walked a few hundred yards in silence. Then, Brian changed the subject. “That really got to me, him calling his wife his bride. Do you suppose I could appreciate June the way Philip appreciates Greayer Enemies in Love Page 357 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] his bride, or is it too late?" "You just took the first step. If June doesn't ask, don't feel you have to spill your guts. Go with the feeling you have right now, and treat her accordingly. From what you've told me, she won't pry." Brian noticed Cary glancing at his watch. "God how time drags. What can we do to speed things up?” “Our flying buddies are no help. They just sleep.” “Odd they can sleep with missions staring them in the face. Sweet oblivion.” “Brian, sleep is impossible for me, . . . now, . . . there’s so much to live for.” "You can always write. That's your favorite pastime." "I've written everyone in London to say a last goodbye.” “How about our ground crew?” “Made the rounds Monday. Written my last letter for Bernard. Nothing left to do.” “Can he handle it on his own now?” “He’s learned a lot. I think he can fly." "How about Lana and Hannah? Did you write them?" "You’re kidding? My last night with Hannah is too fresh in my mind. I confess, if it wasn't for Catherine's letter I'd be in London right now with . . . Hannah.” “Wow, that’s a switch. Hannah must really be something. No other girl ever challenged the lock Catherine has on you.” “I’m just saying . . . well, who knows what I’m saying. It just popped out. Maybe Hannah could be as strong a love as Catherine, but Catherine is back now and I’ll not think about it.” Then. Cary got off on one of his pet peeves. “Frosts me that officers can decide to marry a local girl, but an enlisted man has to get the approval of ‘daddy’. The same old horse-pukey; in the military, officers are somehow superior creatures; enlisted men are just moronic imbeciles. ” "The irony is, Cary, you’d be an officer if - etcetera, etcetera. So the issue is purely the uniform, not your IQ.” “The privileges of rank.” “Considering the present circumstances, Cary, perhaps you’re lucky. Feeling the way you do you might be tempted to settle for a bird in hand.” "You know me better than that, Brian. If I allowed myself to love Hannah, no amount of red tape could deter me. Obstacles don’t divert me, they only increase my determination.” “What you’re saying is, you’re pig-headed.” Cary grimaced and recorded his last mission on his bulletin board.
#35.Frankfurt - 24 December, Airfield, Clearest Day Ever Saw - Not a Cloud anywhere - Ruined Field - 9 ½ Hours, Moderate Flak 20,000 ft. Saw ME 262 s LAST MISSION - WE ARE GOING HOME.
Cary got an official copy of 493 rd missions and added this to his master record......
Thursday, 4 January, they boarded a train to a holding depot near Southampton. They were going Greayer Enemies in Love Page 358 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
home! Just before they left, Cary got a letter from London. There was no return address, but inside, he found a rose petal . . . and a three-word message. Goodbye . . . my love. Just then the conductor blew his whistle and shouted ‘All Aboard.’ Cary slipped the envelope in his B4 bag, zipped it closed and boarded the train. . . . And there it . . . remained!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Unopened. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 359 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 360 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 49
Homeward Bound
When the crew arrived at the holding depot, they learned they were scheduled to depart on the next convoy for the States. Taking no chances, Cary restricted himself to the base. It was a lonely vigil. Every night, Brian and the rest of his buddies were on the prowl. They never got back til dawn. A week later Brian was headed out the door when Cary decided to say something. “Brian, you haven’t had a check up since we left Blythe. With your St. Vitus Dance and lapses in speech, perhaps it’s time to see what other blessings combat has bestowed on you?” “Who appointed you my Guardian?” “Don’t be pissed. Ever since I took your physical in Blythe I’ve been worried. Would feel responsible if something happened.” “Worry about yourself. I’m fine.” “Oh, is that so? I just had a checkup, and I’m not fine.” Turning to the rest of the crew, Brian said, “You guys go on. I’ll see you in the Red Lion later.” Turning to Cary he said, “So what’s your problem.” “Hey, nothing serious. Have a heart murmur is all. Just thought with your blood pressure you might want to slack off.” “Heart murmur. What caused that?” “Doc. says all men who see combat, wind up with a heart murmur. It’s caused by Leaky valves. Says under enough stress, your heart can leap several inches. Says when you feel your heart in your throat, . . . it is.” “And, that caused the leaky valves?” “Says if I was forty, I’d have had a heart attack. At twenty, I just wind up with leaky valves.” “Will it go away?” “If I avoid combat for a few months. A year would be better.” “How do we lose our St. Vitus Dance?” "Same way. Lead a tranquil life. Will take three or four years, though. Best if we don’t get sent over to Japan. ” “Christ, will they send us to Japan?” “They’ll ship us on the first boat; once the murmur is gone. We’ll be stamped US Grade ‘A’ Choice beef, ready for packing and shipping.” “We’d still have the twitch.” “No problem. They’ll ignore the twitch, the stammer, and the vacant stare if we’re not quite section Greayer Enemies in Love Page 361 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] eight material . . . yet.” “What does that buy them? One combat mission and the murmur will return.” “Ah, but they won’t check once we’re back in combat. The Army only run tests before and after. They never checked us once we left the States. A mid-combat test would leave the trenches empty.” “Same old horse-puckey. But, I have nothing to worry about. My sky-high blood pressure should keep me safe. Won’t be stupid enough to let you take my physical for me . . . again.” “But, your blood-pressure may be in the stratosphere by now. You don’t want to pop off while having one of your quickies.” “I’ll chance it. Can’t pass up all this free sex. Ever since they shipped ten-million men to France, these girls can’t get enough. They’re as hungry for sex as the guys.” “Sure is rough on the professionals . . . with so much free stuff around.” After a pause Cary said, “Haven’t heard much about June lately. Guess you’ve decided to divorce her.” That brought Brian up sharply. “No way. I love June.” Cary was flabbergasted. “You’ve screwed half the girls in London and now you say you love June.” “Thought you, of all people, would understand. You’ve kissed hundreds of girls, but never kissed Catherine and still you love her. If I hadn’t screwed all those girls I’d never have discovered how much I love June. She isn’t much good in the sack, so I must love her.” “What do you mean she isn’t much good in the sack? You said you two couldn’t get enough of one another when you first married?” “That’s before I had experience. She was better than screwing the hole in the toilet-paper role, but not by much. Was always so up-tight she never had an orgasm.” “But, you said she was just as gung-ho as you.” “She just did it to please me. Got so I hated to inconvenience her.” “Holy cow. You’re such a sex maniac I was sure that was all you cared about.” “Thanks a lot. The way I see it, you can’t raise women to feel sex is revolting and expect them to turn into sex goddesses on their wedding night. June will never be any good at it anyhow, so why make her suffer.” “Now you’re starting to sound like Babsie. He says it’s like drilling for oil. Sometimes you have a gusher and sometimes it’s a dry hole.” “Amen.” “Says those muscles need exercise or they atrophy.” “He’s right. Some women are as lifeless as a knot-hole. Others have muscles in there you wouldn’t believe. Both of you can lie perfectly still and they’ll bring you to orgasm in ten seconds.” Rita was like that. Stripped the condom right off me. “It’s interesting that you should say that. You remember that Orgy we had with the PX girls on our first pass to London?” “Do I ever.” “Well, one of the ‘Married’ gals escorted me to an empty bed. Said she hadn’t had sex in six years, ever since they shipped her hubby to India. So naturally, she wasn’t anxious to get herself pregnant on her first roll in the hay.” “Huh?” “Exactly. Even though she saw me take the condom from my wallet in it’s original wrapper; (This was the condom the Army issued me the day they showed us the Mickey Mouse films. I had never used it.) she insisted that I blow it up like a balloon to be sure there were no holes.” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 362 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Brian shrugged. “So she was careful, so what? Was she any good?” “Once I inserted my prod, I didn’t have to move a muscle.” “What do you mean?” “Her vagina seized my prod and began massaging it like I’d inserted it into a meat grinder. When we were finally exhausted and I withdrew, . . . I just laid there, exhausted, but in shock.” “Shock! What about?” “The condom . . . was . . . gone.” “Gone? What do you mean . . . gone.?” “I mean . . . Gone! Her vagina had stripped it off. I was so shocked, I just rolled over and hid . . . I never said a word.” “Christ, and you turned her down?” “Like you said, great sex isn’t love. Babsie says women think all they have to offer is a sheath for a penis. They all dress like ‘call girls’ even though that’s the last thing they have to sell. If sex was all men wanted we’d all marry Whores.”
On Wednesday, 31 January, 1945, the SS Uruguay, lead ship of a fifty-ship convoy, sailed out of Southampton harbor bound for New York. Cary and the rest of the crew were aboard. A luxury cruise ship before the war, the SS Uruguay had been converted to a troop ship and had transported thousands of soldiers between the new world and Britain. On Eastbound trips, the ship was filled to capacity with young, healthy men in the prime of life. On Westbound voyages, combat had taken its toll. The SS Uruguay carried less than ten-percent of capacity. They were the refuse of war, mostly mentally and/or physically impaired men returning from combat. On this particular trip the SS Uruguay transported returnees from the air battles over Germany. The Air Force only accepted the top two percent of the nation. Typically, these had been the brightest and most physically fit of all the selectees. Now they were all damaged goods. Of the eighteen-hundred men who were still breathing, there were three hundred airmen returning for section-eight and other medical discharges and fifteen-hundred airmen who had finished their tour. There was a fine line between the fifteen-hundred able bodied men and the three hundred disabled and section-eight candidates. They all suffered from battle fatigue and mental and physical ailments to one degree or another. None were as mentally or physically fit as the day they left the States. Forget about the lost hair and the nervous tic. Forget about the stammer and lapses in concentration. Forget about the heart murmur and soaring blood pressure. Although these men had no visible scars and were judged sane, combat had left its mark. You can’t take a man through the gates of hell thirty-five times and bring him back unchanged. In combat the airmen quickly learned this wasn’t like playing cowboys and Indians, this was Russian Roulette. They were all on ‘death row.’ On Alert meant their execution date was set. Cigarettes glowed in the night as they waited for their wake-up call. After their last meal, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 363 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] they walked to their chariot of death to climb into their execution chamber. On the way, the Catholics on the crew stopped off to receive communion and last rites. If you hadn’t realized it before, that woke you up to the fact that you were about to die. Only a miracle could save you. As each man entered his solitary execution chamber, he prayed to his own God for a miracle. If the guillotine misfired, and you came back unharmed, you knew it was a bonafide miracle, for while you escaped, you witnessed executions all round you, both in the air and on the ground. For not only were you the condemned man, you were also the executioner. The bombs you dropped executed men, women, and children on the ground. . . . In any event, it was just a temporary reprieve. A new execution date was set as soon as you returned. You would have to survive thirty-five scheduled executions to earn a pardon.
After each mission the crews were de-briefed. Intelligence officers gathered information on the success of the mission and the number of casualties. Medical officers evaluated the mental condition of each crew member. They looked for signs that someone might flip out. They had to make certain no one was about to damage the equipment . Somewhere around mid-tour the missions began taking its toll. Some men flipped out and others stood on the verge. When the medical officers decided a crew was ‘Flak Happy,’ the crew was given leave. They were sent to an English Manor House for ten days of pampering, with breakfast in bed, horseback riding, tennis, golf, croquet, punting on the Thames, and any of dozens of indoor games. They were allowed to ‘look’ at the gorgeous females on the Red Cross and Manor House staff, but they could not touch. Once flak-leave was over, they were not ‘good as new.’ They still had their nervous tic, their stammer, their lapses in concentration, but they were judged fit enough to complete their tour. Crews were returned to death row and the whole routine began over. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 364 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] By the time their tour was over, they were all ready for the funny farm. This time, however, they got no rest cure, no pampering, . . . they wereon aput ship and dumped back in the USA to recover as best they could. Some would never make it.
When they arrived home, their families and friends would throw parties and celebrate. They would shake their hands, drink toasts to their health, pat their backs, and say, ‘good show.’ Everyone would put on a happy face, and smile for the camera, but, alone in their bed at night their friends and loved ones would silently mourn, . . . and cry themselves to sleep . Greayer Enemies in Love Page 365 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 50
Congratulations
At dawn, Monday, the SS Uruguay, . . . lead ship of the fifty-ship convoy . . . plodded slowly, west; engines throbbing, carrying eighteen-hundred . . . living . . . battle scarred - barely sane . . . combat survivors; toward New York, . . . toward America, . . . toward . . . home. The rhythmic rise and fall of the ship and the gentle splash as the ship's prow parted the waters was like their mothers ‘rockabye baby’ and soothed the anxiously waiting warriors straining for their first glimpse of home. Then on 12 February 1945, a blast from the ship's horn and then another suggested that some sharp-eyed lookout had seen the
New York skyline through the morning mist. Everyone rushed on deck searching the grey horizon for the skyline. Gulls in graceful swoops and sudden dives skimmed over the choppy water below. Opposite the Coast Guard Station on Governor’s Island, where Alex had been stationed, the SS Uruguay sailed past the Statue of Liberty. Muscles of Cary's jaw, throat and chest were tense and breathing was difficult. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 366 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Cary had left New York for San Antonio on 4 November 1942 and the United States for combat on 15 May 1944. It was an emotional moment. With temples throbbing, pain reached down from his forehead to his neck and breast, as silent tears ran down his face. He could not swallow. Although Cary lived in New York for eight years before he left for combat, the Statue of Liberty
was just a history lesson; he had never seen it; it had no real meaning until . . . now. Cary tried to suppress his overwhelming emotional reaction; he felt it was unmanly; but his effort was futile; his effort to hold back those tears caused his head to throb. His father’s mandate that “Men don’t cry,” was still in control, but looking round at his companions on deck, he saw tears streaking the silent faces of all those anxious faces round him. Letting go, the sobs escaped. These were tears of joy, such extreme joy the only way to express it was with tears. Once the tears flowed freely, the pain subsided. Could he now cry openly because he no longer doubted his manhood? Perhaps he had just realized he was home, and he was alive! Suddenly he was hugging those around him just as his crew had embraced after their crash in Normandy, those many months ago. Was it only months? It seemed like years, a lifetime, and so it was. Nothing seemed real on this day. Bidding goodbye to members of his crew, . . . probably for the last time, men forever bonded (having survived a common danger), was unreal. Some he loved more than he could have loved a brother. Now they shook hands and got on with their lives. They rushed through the moment of parting to get it over with. The pain was too intense, too wounding to linger over. Don't think or feel, just leave. Sort it all out later. You must go forward -- or really, back - back to take up old relationships, none of which can ever have the intensity of those bonds forged under the constant threat of death. He thought of Sam. They hadn't been on the same crew but they were kindred souls, had the same Greayer Enemies in Love Page 367 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] values, had the same visceral reactions. Like Catherine, they communicated through some sixth sense, some subliminal harmony. Sam had washed out of Cadets as had Cary, but not in the same way. Was this the closest relationship because of those shared experiences or was Sam a special person? Sam was a special person. Will we keep in touch or will we grow apart? Probably the latter. If he had washed out the way Ed had . . . because he couldn't fly; he could accept that; . . . but he could fly; . . . could fly with the best of them! They had mugged him, . . . raped him, . . . gang raped and robbed him of his future, robbed him of his dignity, stripped him naked and left him to die. Now he knew how a woman felt when she was raped. Now, he must go back to the world he had escaped, back to his family and friends, doomed to know that nobody would ever believe, . . . would ever know that he could fly like a bird, like an eagle. No one, not even Catherine, . . . not even she . . . would know . . . would believe . He could never tell her, . . . never share his pain . . . with her, because he knew he would see the doubt . . . the disbelief in her ‘eyes’. The pain of that disbelief would cut deeper than any pain he had thus far suffered, . . . deeper than the pain of betrayal, . . . deeper even than the pain of . . . death. So he was doomed to keep it a secret, to be branded forever . . . forever branded as , . . . a failure. . . . . Only he knew . . . only he and Silas and Otto knew . . . only Caesar and Brutus knew . . . and that was not . . . not enough. Brutus will keep the secret.
They entered New York harbor shortly after dawn and spent the day in processing. Finally, in the gathering gloom of nightfall, Cary got his furlough. Twenty minutes later he Greayer Enemies in Love Page 368 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] was walking crosstown from the pier on the Hudson River toward the eighth avenue subway. Daylight was short in winter, so there was still sufficient time to reach Catherine's house at a reasonable hour. How fortunate her letter reached him before he shipped out or he would still be in a quandary, wondering where she moved. But, of course, she still had no phone, so he couldn’t call for directions. It would still take some time, some looking to find, because he was unfamiliar with her exact street.
Her address was in the same neighborhood close to where she had lived. Fortunately, for the early part of the trip, everything was so familiar he could do it in his sleep. At 14th street, Manhattan, he changed from the Eighth Avenue Subway to the IRT. The train crawled across Manhattan and then Brooklyn: - Bedford Avenue, Graham . . . Jefferson, DeKalb, and finally Myrtle Avenue. He disembarked at the station in Ridgewood and Carrying his B-4 bag walked down the staircase to the trolley car terminus behind the Parthenon theater. He walked in a stupor of exhaustion, spent emotion, battle fatigue, and grief over Brian who had recently joined all those friends and comrades who had paid the supreme price. Cary waited patiently while the trolley disgorged its passengers and the motorman prepared the car for its trip in the opposite direction. While waiting, he noticed a patrol car parked across the street with two fatherly looking officers seated in front. The two policemen saw the Staff Sergeant standing on the curb. The Sergeant had gunner's wings on his chest and combat ribbons below. He also had a look that these officers had seen before. They each had boys who had seen death, . . . boys who came back with that vacant stare, . . . typical of men who had seen too much suffering, too much dying. In this war, they call it battle fatigue. In World War I, they called it shell-shock. They saw the heavy B-4 bag the Sergeant was carrying and knew he had just arrived from overseas -- from combat. They eased the patrol car away from the curb and made a U turn, stopping in front of the Sergeant. "Going somewhere Sergeant?" "Yes officer but I'm not quite sure where. I used to live in Glendale, and I remember a 79th Street and a 79th Lane also, but I don't really know which is 79th Place." "Let's see. Oh, we know where that is. Let me have your bag; I'll put it in the trunk. Hop in back, we'll take you there.” "Thanks Officers, I really appreciate this. I've been up since three a.m. Got off the boat this morning but after all the red tape it took all day to get here. I'm exhausted; what time is it? ” "It's eight o'clock. Our boy is in the Navy so we have a spare bedroom. Me and the Mrs. would be happy to put you up. You could get some rest and do this tomorrow. " "Thanks Officer, but I wouldn't sleep anyhow. Haven't seen my Highschool sweetheart for over two years; can’t wait any longer. ” Greayer Enemies in Love Page 369 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] "OK Sergeant, it won't be long now." The officers cruised down Myrtle Avenue at less than ten miles per hour. When their sons had come home, they felt shut out, unable to reach through the barrier, unable to share their son's agony. “Rough, was it, Sergeant?” Cary didn’t answer. He had taken this trip down memory lane that day nearly two years earlier. He had passed the many places where he and Catherine had met and talked, had grown to know one-another: Kollety's ice cream parlor, the Madison theater and all the other landmarks on the way to Catherine’s house. They drove silently down Myrtle Avenue passing the Acme theater near her old home, the butcher shop where she and Doris told him of their college plans, the Glendale Library where they shelved books Thursday evenings after school. They passed the neighborhood bakery and the A&P on the corner of 80th Street where Babsie had worked. They passed Frank's barber shop and Cary’s old apartment next door. They passed the pharmacy on 81st Place. It was all so familiar, yet Cary felt like a traveler in an alien land. He was seeing it for the first time. The squad-car turned and drove North for a couple of blocks, then looped back down 79th Place and stopped under a street lamp. The officer retrieved Cary's B-4 bag, and opened the back door. "This is it Sergeant. Good luck." Cary took the officers hand as he mounted the curb. "Thanks Officers, and thanks for the lift." The officers left Cary under the streetlight surveying the solid facade of brownstone apartments. This house looked the same as the one she moved from. A cinnamon colored brick building, iron railings, six stone stairs, a stone platform in front of the door; . . . all the same. The snow had been cleared from the steps and mounded to each side and to each side of the sidewalk leading to the stairs. It was all so familiar and yet . . . so strange. Cary walked toward her stoop, . . . the crisp air searing his throat and lungs, and mounted the six stairs. He stopped. Catherine lives behind that door. She has lived here during most of the days, weeks, months and years that I’ve been away. For that whole time I have lived for this moment, lived with the one thought that she was the whole reason for my being; she alone defines my life, . . . is my life. But am I hers? That letter she wrote proves she loved me . . . once. But, that was long, long ago . . . Greayer Enemies in Love Page 370 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] in another lifetime. No longer am I that boy; . . . that boy is dead. I should leave her alone, let her remember me as I once was. He wavered. Can’t let her see this empty shell, this bundle of jangled nerves, this broken down cripple . I should silently fade away. He picked up his bag and strode toward Myrtle Avenue. She can hardly remember me. He stopped. But, I sent her a telegram . . . told her I was coming; . . . she’s expecting me. Cary turned and walked back. Resolutely, he mounted the six steps to her front door. A streetlight cast a cool glow across the oval pane and lace curtain behind. Music emanated from within. Someone -. . . Catherine? - was listening to, . . . "Paper Doll." Cary paused, living the moment that he had lived for - for all these months. . . . The woman he loved was just behind that door. You’re only the shell of the man you once were . . . If you truly love her, you’ll walk away; But, I'm committed, she has my telegram. He pushed the button. A sudden stab, a harsh sound pierced the harmony. The music switched off and muffled sounds of footsteps approached. Catherine's mother, Helga, opened the door. "Mrs. Wagner, I would like to speak to Catherine please." Catherine called from within that she was coming and her mother retreated. Cary moved back to the foot of the stairs and waited. Catherine appeared. He looked up at her. The light reflecting off the glass door created a halo round her head. His heart stopped. . . . The Madonna stood before him. The same emotions he experienced entering the harbor, gripped him. Suspended in time he stood, . . . struck dumb. She looked and smelled wonderful. Her eyes, . . . he saw only her eyes, . . . they were pleading. . . . tears were trickling down at the corners as she struggled to control some great emotion. Her lips started moving but her voice seemed far away, . . . like in a dream. Words filtered through as though delayed by a great distance. “Even after I gave up hope, hope that you still loved me . . . I knew . . . I always knew somehow . . . deep down inside . . . that I would see you again, someday. Then on June 29th last year I read in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle that you were missing, . . missing-in-action. . . . Greayer Enemies in Love Page 371 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] I’ll never forget that day. You were a tail gunner . . . in combat. You were shot down on June 25 th . I never knew, . . . never even knew you were in combat; . . . never prayed for you. I died that day and stayed dead for a long, . . . long time. After not hearing from you for so many months . . . it was too much to bear. To start living again I had to give up all hope for us. I forced myself to stop living . . . stop living a dream. . . . Christmas day, when your telegram and your roses arrived. had been married a month. I married Warren; . . . I married him . . . on your birthday."
Cary stood, stunned. Her long delayed letter had rekindled his hope. . . . now he came crashing down, . . . again. After a long, uncomprehending pause, . . . Cary said, . . . “Congratulations.”
Picking up his B-4 bag, Cary walked toward Myrtle Avenue. Cary walked several blocks in a daze. Then he began rationalizing. At first he was bitter. Guess Dad was right. New York isn’t America, it’s just a collection o European satellites. Why the US locked up a few Japanese Farmers in concentration camps when these German Nazis sympathizers, still smarting over their defeat in WWI were the ones who should have been confined, is beyond me. Then he turned on himself. Oh quit your bellyaching, you know it’s just sour grapes. Hopefully, she’ll be happy. Let’s face it, you’re not the only person in the world worth loving. Maybe now you can quit writing fairy tales and face reality, maybe then you can find someone else too. . . . Twenty-centuries ago the Greek philosopher, Publilius Syrus: (C. 100 B.C.) noted: “To love is in our power . . . but, not to . . . stop . . . loving.” Catherine and Cary were doomed to love one-another . . . forever. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 372 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Chapter 51
New Hope
As he slunk down Myrtle Avenue, toward his aunt Mae’s home in Richmond Hill, he heard his father’s mandate loud and clear, “Be a Man. Men don’t cry,” . . . but . . . despite his best effort . . . the tears cascaded down. Then, he remembered a letter Hannah handed him just before he left London. . . . I just tossed it in my bag and forgot to open it. Maybe Hannah? . . . He set his bag down, . . . unzipped the side pocket, and withdrew the envelope he got from Hannah as he was boarding the ship to leave Britain. He opened it. Oh, oh, it’s her sister Lana’s Photo . As he gazed open-mouthed at her lovely visage his eyes riveted on her . . . declaration, written across the cover . I’ll be . . . Loving you . . . ALWAYS! Lana
While the message pleased his ego, this was another sock in the kisser. Cary realized that if something happened during the eighteen months it took Catherine’s letter to reach him, and if her declaration was no longer valid, he was subconsciously hanging on to Hannah! This message from Lana eliminated that one ‘ace in the hole’ Cary had been hanging onto. Holy cow, this certainly is a change from last time I saw Lana. What does it mean? Has she Greayer Enemies in Love Page 373 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] really changed her mind? She’s certainly a lovely lady, a woman any man could be proud to call his Wife; but . . . just before I left, Lana confessed she didn’t love me . . . said it was her sister Hannah who loved me! . . . I was happy cz I had already concluded that it was Hannah I had been courting all those weeks and months when I escorted the two of them to all the London nightspots. At that moment, if I hadn’t just received Catherine’s ‘long lost’ letter, after eighteen months of silence, . . . I’d have asked Hannah . . . But now Lana has changed her mind and says ‘I’ll be loving you Always.’ . . . That changes things!!! . Hannah is impossible . . . they’re sisters after all. . . . Could I learn to . . .? No way !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How come I’m even considering Lana?. . . Do you suppose I’ve finally grown up and can accept the fact that my love, . . . my obsession with Catherine is actually my love of, . . . my obsession with . . . ‘me’. . . ‘me’ . . . ‘me’.
Am I finally able to deal with the fact that there actually are people in the world . . . women in the world who can live without . . . me! I see now that I was the one who was lost. Perhaps now I’ll ‘permit myself to see the lovely women who have actually loved me and quit insisting that the one woman who ‘couldn’t’, was the only one for me. After this admission, he couldn’t decide if he felt ‘more’ or ‘less’ suicidal. Cary strode to the trolley car and traveled up Myrtle Avenue. He debarked at 114 th St. and walked toward his Aunt Mae’s who lived on 114 th near Liberty Ave. He strode past Richmond Hill High School, . . . where it all began, . . . Greayer Enemies in Love Page 389 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] crossed Liberty Avenue and reached Aunt Mae’s house. Still stewing, he mounted his Aunt’s stoop and rang her doorbell . Aunt Mae opened the door and greeted him warmly. As he entered, he took off his overcoat and hung it on the coatrack, behind the door. Turning toward his aunt, she pointed toward the sofa and introduced him to her guest from Trinidad, BWI. Cary’s heart stopped. Sitting on a sofa with her back toward him, his Aunt’s guest, looked over her shoulder and said, . . . “Hi.” Holey molie! Perhaps
all hope
is not Lost Greayer Enemies in Love Page 390 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Epilogue
Two weeks later, after a whirlwind romance in Washington, Grace was suddenly discharged from the British military service and shipped back to Trinidad. When Japan surrendered and WWII ended, Wes received an honorable discharge, returned to civilian life, and boarded a freighter bound for Trinidad, his mother’s birthplace. He stayed with his grandmother’s brother and sister Uncle Frank and Aunt Louisa. (Uncle Frank was a bachelor. Aunt Louisa had lost her betrothed in WWI and remained single for the remainder of her life.) Two of his Trinidad cousins, were living there also. The boy, Clyde and Wes were the same age so they became constant companions at all the local social events. In early 1946, the island exploded with calypso music, staging the grandest celebration the Island and perhaps the world had ever seen. (Trinidad had not had a Carnival since Britain declared war on Germany in 1939.) Grace became Queen of the Carnival and Wes became a member of her troupe. When she married the ‘King’ of the Carnival, Wes fled back to Los Angeles. (Several years later she wound up in Hollywood becoming Rita Hayworth’s double in the movie Gilda.)
Greayer Enemies in Love Page 391 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Next Wes graduated from Berkeley as a Mechanical Engineer and was hired by Northrop’s Engineering test department. On his first Engineering assignment at Northrop Aircraft Engineering Test Dept (1952 - 56), (As part of Northrop’s development of the SNARK missile), Wes invented an Acceleration Sled which simulated the launch acceleration of the Snark missile when launched from its zero-length launcher. Wes’s supervisor, Ray Daniel, assigned several engineers to help him design the project. Let’s see if I can remember some of th e i r names. 1. Leo Thompson 2. Ed Fox 3. Ken Klier 4, Eric Swanson 5. Pat Brady 6. Eugene Borson 7. Merl Fairchild and several others. . . . Oh, oh? 17. ??????????? Here’s an old list. Mom, Aunt Minnie & Gregg Greayer Enemies in Love Page 392 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] These are some photographs of the end product Horizontal and vertical wheel mechanisms
Programing and quick opening valve mechanisms Greayer Enemies in Love Page 393 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Sled project set at missile launch angle Greayer Enemies in Love Page 394 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 395 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Sled with lead weights mounted on bed
Che ckin g Quic k ope ning valv e Greayer Enemies in Love Page 396 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Wes took the California State Professional Engineers Test Greayer Enemies in Love Page 397 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 398 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Eric Swanson and Wes Greayer in control room
Greayer Enemies in Love Page 399 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
A scolding Wes received from the Department Clerk, Vivian Hosmer Greayer Enemies in Love Page 400 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 401 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 402 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Wes Greayer Preparing to launch sled Greayer Enemies in Love Page 403 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 404 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 405 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 406 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 407 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 408 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 409 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 410 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 411 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Project was reported in CEC recordings and other technical journals. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 412 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 413 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 414 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 415 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Northrop Aircraft paid Wes Greayer the grand sum of ONE DOLLAR for his PATENT!!! NO RAISE EITHER (Corporations always paid their ‘EMPLOYEES’ $1.00 for their inventions) Greayer Enemies in Love Page 416 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Life Magazine featured Northrop’s Acceleration sled, in an article titled Missile Man’s Magic, showing some frames from the “You Asked For It” TV program in which Wes Greayer, the sled’s inventor, was interviewed by Art Baker. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 417 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 418 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Wedding, 1960.
Wh en We s Gre aye r had a Greayer Enemies in Love Page 419 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] heart attack at age 47 he was told that his life expectancy was five years. With such a short life-expectancy, Wes retired at 57. He then read a book titled ‘Live Longer Now’ by Pritikin who recommended a diet of no red meat and vigorous exercise. Although his cardiologist disagreed, it made sense to Wes and he began riding his bicycle to work (16 miles each way) and running three miles a day during his lunch hour. His 90 th birthday is in November of 2010. Here are some citations documenting his exercise regimen. (At that time, standard treatment after a heart attack was Zero exercise.)
Greayer Enemies in Love Page 420 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 421 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 422 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 423 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 424 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 425 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
French Government Citation Family Some of my
arts and crafts activities Retirement Greayer Enemies in Love Page 426 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Wes designed and built a house in Hollywood, off Mulholland drive (Doing much of the labor himself). The Los Angeles Times featured the home in the HOME section of their Sunday
newspaper Screen actress, Jayne
Kennedy leased the property. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 427 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
As a consultant he worked on Thor Missile and energy conservation projects. Visited both Britain and Wake Island in connection with Thor Missile program.
In January 1956, fearful that the Soviet Union would deploy a Greayer Enemies in Love Page 428 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] long-range ballistic missile before the United States, the Air Force began developing the Thor, a 1,500 miles (2,400 km) intermediate-range ballistic missile (IRBM). (Testing many of the guidance system components on Wes Greayer’s Acceleration Sled) The Thor program unfolded with amazing speed, and within 3 years of the program’s inception the first of twenty Royal Air Force Thor squadrons became operational in the UK. The UK deployment carried the codename 'Project Emily'. One of the advantages of the design was that, unlike the Jupiter IRBM, the Thor could be carried by the USAF's cargo aircraft of the time, which made its deployment more rapid, although the launch facilities were not transportable, and had to be built on site. The Thor was a stop-gap measure, however, and once the first generation of ICBMs based in the United States became operational, existing Thor missiles were quickly retired. The last of the missiles was withdrawn from operational alert in 1963.
A small number of Thors, converted to "Thrust Augumented Delta" launchers remained operational in the Anti-Satellite missile role as Program 437 until April 1975. These missiles were based on Johnston Island in the Pacific and had the ability to destroy satellites in low Earth orbit. With prior warning of an impending launch, they could destroy a Soviet spy satellite soon after orbital insertion. These missiles remain in storage, and could be reactivated, though the W-49 Mod 6 warheads were all dismantled by June 1976. [edit] Initial development as an IRBM Greayer Enemies in Love Page 429 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
First launches Greayer Enemies in Love Page 430 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Thor test launches were to be from LC17 at Cape Canaveral. The development schedule was so compressed that plans for the Atlas bunker were used to allow the completion of the facility in time. Nevertheless pad LC17-B was just ready for the first test flight.
The first flight of the Thor IRBM was on 25 January 1957. The first airframe, number 101, was delivered in October of the previous year. The vehicle reached an apogee of 6 inches (150 mm) whereupon contamination destroyed a LOX supply valve causing the engine to lose thrust. The Thor slid backwards through the launch ring and exploded on contact with the thrust deflector. Serious pad damage occurred.
The second Thor flight (102) lasted 35 seconds after an April 1957 launch. It was ended by a range safety officer who destroyed the missile after seeing faulty data on a readout which indicated that the missile was heading inland over Florida.
Thor vehicle 103 (May 1957) exploded on the pad during tanking due to a faulty main fuel valve resulting in tank over pressurization leading to tank rupture.
Thor vehicle 104 (August 1957) broke up after 92 seconds due to a loss of guidance.
Thor vehicle 105 (20 September 1957), 21 months after the start of construction, flew 1,100 miles (1,800 km) downrange. Estimated range without the extra load of the R and D instrumentation was 1,500 miles (2,400 km).
1957 saw five more flights, the longest of which covered 2,700 miles (4,300 km). [edit] Deployment
Thor was deployed to the UK starting in August 1958, operated by twenty squadrons of Royal Air Force Bomber Command. The first active unit was No. 77 Squadron RAF at RAF Feltwell in 1958, with the remaining units becoming active in 1959. All were deactivated by September 1963.
All sixty of the Thor missiles deployed in the United Kingdom were based at above-ground launch sites. The missiles were stored horizontally on transporter-erector trailers and covered by a Greayer Enemies in Love Page 431 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
retractable missile shelter. To fire the weapon, the crew electronically rolled back the missile shelter and then, using a powerful hydraulic launcher-erector, lifted the missile to an upright position. Once it was standing on the launch mount, the missile was fueled and fired. The entire launch sequence took about 15 minutes. Main engine burn time was almost 2.5 minutes, boosting the missile to a speed of 14,400 ft/s (4,400 m/s). Ten minutes into its flight the missile reached an altitude of 280 miles (450 km), close to the apogee of its elliptical flight path. At that point the reentry vehicle separated from the fuselage and began its descent down toward the target. Total flight time from launch to impact was about 18 minutes.
The Thor was initially deployed with a very blunt conical G.E. Mk 2 'heat sink' re-entry vehicle. They were later converted to the slender G E Mk 3 ablative RV. Both RVs contained a W-49 thermonuclear bomb of 1.44 megatons yield.
Government Citation in recognition of efforts for Energy Conservation
After Wes and his wife Susan visited Britain in 1994 for the fiftieth anniversary of D-Day, Wes Greayer Enemies in Love Page 432 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] began writing books. In 2002 Publish America published my first book 'The Tornado Struck at Midnight'. They published my second book in 2009 I induced the manager of my local BORDERS to order and stock TEN of my first book. When I happened by a week later, they were gone. I told the manager, and he restocked. When this same scenario happened several times, I did my best to get BORDERS CORP to stock the book NATIONWIDE, but PA's ‘no return policy’ (at that time) quashed all my efforts. With my book displayed in only one bookstore, my vision of a bestseller was hopeless and I lost interest. But, I was curious as to 'why' my book sold out so rapidly? Then it hit me!!!!!!! 'The Tornado Struck at Midnight' was a mystery. Since my name is Greayer BORDERS stocked my book on their bookshelves between Grafton . . .and Grisham . That area of Greayer Enemies in Love Page 433 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] the bookshelves probably got ten to twenty times the traffic of other areas of the bookstore, and the attractive cover (designed by my son Gregg) caused people to take a look. Once they did, they were hooked. (But, one bookstore is still very limited exposure) Nationwide distribution would have given me (and Borders) a BESTSELLER My most recent book is my Memoir and contains 347 WWII vintage pictures. This is a JPG of the cover. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 434 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
This story is true, only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. It chronicles the author's youth through his return from combat after flying thirty-five missions over Germany with the Eighth Air Corp during WWII. It covers his romantic and aerial battles until he completed his tour and returned home to find his highschool sweetheart . . . 'married'. Dialogues are a product of the author's imagination but are in keeping with events reported. Mission log entries are from the author's actual ‘Mission Log', which he recorded upon his return from each mission on a 4' x 4' piece of drywall next to his bunk. The log entries record mission targets, bombs dropped, flight times, crews lost, and other significant events during each mission. Descriptions of other events are the author's recollection of his experience; any resemblance to real incidents or persons, living or dead, is entirely intentional ... Greayer Enemies in Love Page 435 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Postscript HOLOCAUST
Back in Chapter 36 of my Memoir, I inserted the following.
(Jerry was one of Cary’s many Jewish friends but when Jerry was shipped to Britain to join the 493 rd bomb group he was offered a new set of Dog Tags using a pseudonym (Jerry Eaton) instead of the very ‘Jewish’ surname his dogtags currently bore, (Jerry Epstein). Cary had no idea why all his Jewish friends wore dogtags with a pseudonym for their last name and none of his friends ever explained the reason, if they knew.
Perhaps I was naive, but I was completely unaware that behind the scenes Germany was systematically exterminating every person the Nazis considered undesirable and Jews were at the head of the list. Today I am 90 years old and have just learned (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia) the full extent of the Nazis atrocities. While these atrocities were occurring before and during the war I did not mention them in the body of my story since I, and the general public were completely unaware that these things were occurring, but I now realize I lived a ‘fairy tale existence’, and thank God WWII occurred to remove this evil from our presence. (Lest I sound too pious, let’s realize these atrocities still occur in various parts of the world and even occurred in the US when we seized the country from the Indians.) All of the pictures and data below I obtained from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Jewish intellectuals were among the first to leave Germany. The philosopher Walter Benjamin left for Paris on March 18, 1933. Novelist Leon Feuchtwanger went to Switzerland. The conductor Bruno Walter fled after being told that the hall of the Berlin Philharmonic would be burned down if he conducted a concert there: the Frankfurter Zeitung explained on April 6 that Walter and fellow conductor Otto Klemperer had been forced to flee because the government was unable to protect them against the "mood" of the German public, which had been provoked by Greayer Enemies in Love Page 436 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
"Jewish artistic liquidators."[61] Albert Einstein was visiting the U.S. on January 30, 1933. He returned to Ostende in Belgium, never to set foot in Germany again, and calling events there a "psychic illness of the masses"; he was expelled from the Kaiser Wilhelm Society and the Prussian Academy of Sciences, and his citizenship was rescinded.[62] Saul Friedländer writes that when Max Liebermann, honorary president of the Prussian Academy of Arts, resigned his position, not one of his colleagues expressed a word of sympathy, and he died, ostracized, two years later. When the police arrived in 1943 with a stretcher to deport his 85-year-old bedridden widow, she committed suicide with an overdose of barbiturates rather than be taken.[62]
The Holocaust (from the Greek ?????????? [holókaustos]: hólos, "whole" and kaustós, "burnt"),[2] also known as The Shoah (Hebrew: ?????, Romanized HaShoah, "calamity"; Yiddish: ?????, Romanized Churben or Hurban[3], from the Hebrew for "destruction") was the genocide of approximately six million European Jews during World War II, a programme of systematic state-sponsored extermination by Nazi Germany.[4] The genocide of these six million people was a genocide of two-thirds of the population of nine million Jews who had resided in Europe before the Holocaust. also known as the Shoah (Hebrew): ?????, Romanized ha'shoah; Yiddish: ?????, Romanized churben or hurban[3] is the term generally used to describe the genocide of approximately six million European Jews during World War II, a program of systematic state-sponsored extermination by Nazi Germany.[4]
Some scholars maintain that the definition of the Holocaust should also include the Nazis' systematic murder of millions of people in other groups, including ethnic Poles, Romani, Soviet civilians, Soviet prisoners of war, people with disabilities, homosexuals, Jehovah's Witnesses, and other political and religious opponents.[5] By this definition, the total number of Holocaust victims would be between 11 million and 17 million people.[6] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 437 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
The persecution and genocide were carried out in stages. Legislation to remove the Jews from civil society was enacted years before the outbreak of World War II. Concentration camps were established in which inmates were used as slave labor until they died of exhaustion or disease. Where the Third Reich conquered new territory in eastern Europe, specialized units called Einsatzgruppen murdered Jews and political opponents in mass shootings. Jews and Romani were confined in overcrowded ghettos before being transported by freight train to extermination camps where, if they survived the journey, the majority of them were systematically killed in gas chambers. Every arm of Nazi Germany's bureaucracy was involved in the logistics of the mass murder, turning the country into what one Holocaust scholar has called "a genocidal state. During the 1930s, the leader of Nazi Germany, Adolf Hitler made extensive use of death squads, starting with the infamous Night of the Long Knives and reaching a peak with the invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941 . Following the frontline units, the Nazis brought along four traveling death squads called Einsatzgruppen (Einsatzgruppe) to hunt down and kill Jews, Communists and other so-called undesirables in the occupied areas. This was the first of the massacres that made up the Holocaust. Typically, the victims, who included women and children, were forcibly marched from their homes to open graves or ravines before being shot. Many others suffocated in specially designed poison trucks called gas vans. Between 1941 and 1944 , the Einsatzgruppen killed about 1.2 million Soviet Jews, as well as tens of thousands of suspected political dissidents, most of Polish upper class and intelligentsia, POWs, and uncounted numbers of Romany. (IBM Germany) Greayer Enemies in Love Page 438 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] company's punch card machines, producing meticulous records of the killings. As prisoners entered the death camps, they were made to surrender all personal property, which was carefully catalogued and tagged before being sent to Germany to be reused or recycled. (Hebrew): ?????, Romanized ha'shoah; Yiddish: ?????, Romanized churben or hurban[3] is the term generally used to describe the genocide of approximately six million European Jews during World War II, a program of systematic state-sponsored extermination by Nazi Germany.[4]
Starting in 1939, the German Nazis began to systematically move Polish Jews into designated areas of large Polish cities. The first ghetto at Piotrków Trybunalski was established in October 1939, the one in Tuliszkow was established in December 1939 or January 1940, followed by the first large scale ghetto, the ?ódz' Ghetto in April 1940 and the Warsaw Ghetto in October with many other ghettos established throughout 1940 and 1941. Many Ghettos were walled off or enclosed with barbed wire. In the case of sealed ghettos, any Jew found leaving them was shot. The Warsaw Ghetto was the largest ghetto in Nazi occupied Europe, with 380,000 people and the ?ódz' Ghetto, the second largest, holding about 160,000. The situation in the ghettos was brutal. In Warsaw, 30 percent of the population was forced to live in 2.4 percent of the city's area, a density of 9.2 people per room. In the ghetto of Odrzywó?, 700 people lived in an area previously occupied by five families, between 12 and 30 to each small room. The Jews were not allowed out of the ghetto, so they had to rely on food supplied by the Nazis: in Warsaw this was 253 calories (1,060 kJ) per Jew, compared to 669 calories (2,800 kJ) per Pole and 2,613 calories (10,940 kJ) per German. With crowded living conditions, starvation diets, and little sanitation (in the ?ódz' Ghetto 95 percent of apartments had no sanitation, piped water or sewers) hundreds of thousands of Jews died of disease and starvation.[1] In 1942, the Germans began Operation Reinhard, the systematic Greayer Enemies in Love Page 439 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] deportation to extermination camps during the Holocaust. The authorities deported Jews from everywhere in Europe to the ghettos of the East, or directly to the extermination camps — almost 300,000 people were deported from the Warsaw Ghetto alone to Treblinka over the course of 52 days. In some of the Ghettos the local resistance organizations started Ghetto uprisings. None were successful, and the Jewish populations of the ghettos were almost entirely killed. The Holocaust (from Greek ?????????? [holókaustos]: hólos, "whole" and kaustós, "burnt")[2], also known as the Shoah Some scholars maintain that the definition of the Holocaust should also include the Nazis' systematic murder of millions of people in other groups, including ethnic Poles, Romani, Soviet civilians, Soviet prisoners of war, people with disabilities, homosexuals, Jehovah's Witnesses, and other political and religious opponents.[5] By this definition, the total number of Holocaust victims would be between 11 million and 17 million people.[6 The persecution and genocide were carried out in stages. Legislation to remove the Jews from civil society was enacted years before the outbreak of World War II. Concentration camps were established in which inmates were used as slave labor until they died of exhaustion or disease. Where the Third Reich conquered new territory in eastern Europe, specialized units called Einsatzgruppen murdered Jews and political opponents in mass shootings. Jews and Romani were confined in overcrowded ghettos before being transported by freight train to extermination camps where, if they survived the journey, the majority of them were systematically killed in gas chambers. Every arm of Nazi Greayer Enemies in Love Page 440 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Germany's bureaucracy was involved in the logistics of the mass murder, turning the country into what one Holocaust scholar has called "a genocidal state".[
Extermination camps Approx. number killed at each extermination camp (Source: Yad Vashem[110]) Camp name Killed Coordinates Ref. Auschwitz II 1,400,000 50°2?9?N 19°10?42?E? / ?50.03583°N 19.17833°E? / 50.03583; 19.17833? (Os'wie;cim (Auschwitz, Poland)) [111][112][113] Belzec 600,000 50°22?18?N 23°27?27?E? / ?50.37167°N 23.4575°E? / 50.37167; 23.4575? (Belzec (Poland)) [114][115] Chelmno 320,000 52°9?27?N 18°43?43?E? / ?52.1575°N 18.72861°E? / 52.1575; 18.72861? (Chelmno (Poland)) [116][117] Jasenovac 600,000 45°16?54?N 16°56?6?E? / ?45.28167°N 16.935°E? / 45.28167; 16.935? (Jasenovac (Sisac(ko-Moslavac(ka, Croatia)) [118][119] Majdanek 360,000 51°13?13?N 22°36?0?E? / ?51.22028°N 22.6°E? / 51.22028; 22.6? (Majdanek (Poland)) [120][121] Maly Trostinets 65,000 53°51?4?N 27°42?17?E? / ?53.85111°N 27.70472°E? / 53.85111; 27.70472? (Malyy Trostenets (Belarus)) [122][123] Sobibór 250,000 51°26?50?N 23°35?37?E? / ?51.44722°N 23.59361°E? / 51.44722; 23.59361? (Sobibór (Poland)) [124][125] Treblinka 870,000 52°37?35?N 22°2?49?E? / ?52.62639°N 22.04694°E? / 52.62639; 22.04694? (Treblinka (Poland)) [126][127] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 441 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
During 1942, in addition to Auschwitz, five other camps were designated as extermination camps (Vernichtungslager) for the carrying out of the Reinhard plan.[128][129] Two of these, Chelmno (also known as Kulmhof) and Majdanek were already functioning as labor camps: these now had extermination facilities added to them. Three new camps were built for the sole purpose of killing large numbers of Jews as quickly as possible, at Belzec, Sobibór and Treblinka. A seventh camp, at Maly Trostinets in Belarus, was also used for this purpose. Jasenovac was an extermination camp where mostly ethnic Serbs were killed.
Extermination camps are frequently confused with concentration camps such as Dachau and Belsen, which were mostly located in Germany and intended as places of incarceration and forced labor for a variety of enemies of the Nazi regime (such as Communists and gays). They should also be distinguished from slave labor camps, which were set up in all German-occupied countries to exploit the labor of prisoners of various kinds, including prisoners of war. In all Nazi camps there were very high death rates as a result of starvation, disease and exhaustion, but only the extermination camps were designed specifically for mass killing. “There was a place called the ramp where the trains with the Jews were coming in. They were coming in day and night, and sometimes one per day and sometimes five per day … Constantly, people from the heart of Europe were disappearing, and they were arriving to the same place with the same ignorance of the fate of the previous transport. And the people in this mass … I knew that within a couple of hours … ninety percent would be gassed. ”
—Rudolf Vrba, who worked on the Judenrampe in Auschwitz from August 18, 1942 to June 7, 1943.[130] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 442 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
The extermination camps were run by SS officers, but most of the guards were Ukrainian or Baltic auxiliaries. Regular German soldiers were kept well away from the Gas chambers. At the extermination camps with gas chambers all the prisoners arrived by train. Sometimes entire trainloads were sent straight to the gas chambers, but usually the camp doctor on duty subjected individuals to selections, where a small percentage were deemed fit to work in the slave labor camps; the majority were taken directly from the platforms to a reception area where all their clothes and other possessions were seized by the Nazis to help fund the war. They were then herded naked into the gas chambers. Usually they were told these were showers or delousing chambers, and there were signs outside saying "baths" and "sauna." They were sometimes given a small piece of soap and a towel so as to avoid panic, and were told to remember where they had put their belongings for the same reason. When they asked for water because they were thirsty after the long journey in the cattle trains, they were told to hurry up, because coffee was waiting for them in the camp, and it was getting cold.[131]
According to Rudolf Höß, commandant of Auschwitz, bunker 1 held 800 people, and bunker 2 held 1,200.[132] Once the chamber was full, the doors were screwed shut and solid pellets of Zyklon-B were dropped into the chambers through vents in the side walls, releasing toxic HCN, or hydrogen cyanide. Those inside died within 20 minutes; the speed of death depended on how close the inmate was standing to a gas vent, according to Höß, who estimated that about one third of the victims died immediately.[133] Joann Kremer, an SS doctor who oversaw the gassings, testified that: "Shouting and screaming of the victims could be heard through the opening and it was clear that they fought for their lives."[134] When they were removed, if the chamber had been very congested, as they often were, the victims were found half-squatting, their skin colored pink with red and green spots, some foaming at the mouth or bleeding from the ears.[133] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 443 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
The gas was then pumped out, the bodies were removed (which would take up to four hours), gold fillings in their teeth were extracted with pliers by dentist prisoners, and women's hair was cut.[135] The floor of the gas chamber was cleaned, and the walls whitewashed.[134] The work was done by the Sonderkommando prisoners, Jews who hoped to buy themselves a few extra months of life. In crematoria 1 and 2, the Sonderkommando lived in an attic above the crematoria; in crematoria 3 and 4, they lived inside the gas chambers.[136] When the Sonderkommando had finished with the bodies, the SS conducted spot checks to make sure all the gold had been removed from the victims' mouths. If a check revealed that gold had been missed, the Sonderkommando prisoner responsible was thrown into the furnace alive as punishment.[137]
At first, the bodies were buried in deep pits and covered with lime, but between September and November 1942, on the orders of Himmler, they were dug up and burned. In the spring of 1943, new gas chambers and crematoria were built to accommodate the numbers.[138]
Saul Friedländer writes that: "Not one social group, not one religious community, not one scholarly institution or professional association in Germany and throughout Europe declared its solidarity with the Jews."[40] He writes that some Christian churches declared that converted Jews should be regarded as part of the flock, but even then only up to a point.
Friedländer argues that this makes the Holocaust distinctive because antisemitic policies were able to unfold without the interference of countervailing forces of the kind normally found in advanced societies, such as industry, small businesses, churches, and other vested interests and lobby groups.[40]
Killing of adults Mental patient, March 1934
Brandt and Bouhler soon developed plans to expand the program to adults. In July 1939, they had held a meeting attended by Dr Leonardo Conti, Reich Health Leader and state secretary for health in the Interior Ministry, and Professor Werner Heyde, head of the SS medical department. This meeting had made preliminary arrangements for a national register of Greayer Enemies in Love Page 444 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] all institutionalized people with mental illnesses or physical disabilities.
The first adults with disabilities to be killed by the Nazi regime, however, were not Germans but Poles, as the SS men of Einsatzkommando 16 cleared the hospitals and mental asylums of the Wartheland, a region of western Poland which was earmarked for incorporation into Germany and resettlement by ethnic Germans following the German conquest of Poland. In the Danzig (now Gdan'sk) area, some 7,000 Polish inmates of various institutions were shot, while 10,000 were killed in the Gdynia area. Similar measures were taken in other areas of Poland destined for incorporation into Germany.[31] At Posen (occupied Poznan'), hundreds of patients were killed by means of carbon monoxide gas in an improvised gas chamber developed by Dr Albert Widmann, chief chemist of the German Criminal Police (Kripo). In December 1939, the SS head, Heinrich Himmler, witnessed one of these gassings, ensuring that this invention would later be put to much wider uses.[32]
The idea of killing useless mental patients soon spread from occupied Poland to adjoining areas of Germany itself, probably because Nazi Party and SS officers in these areas were most familiar with what was happening in Poland. These were also the areas where Germans wounded from the Polish campaign were expected to be accommodated, creating a demand for hospital space. The Gauleiter of Pomerania, Franz Schwede-Coburg, dispatched 1,400 patients from five Pomeranian hospitals to Poland, where they were shot. The Gauleiter of East Prussia, Erich Koch, likewise had 1,600 patients killed. In all, more than 8,000 Germans were killed in this initial wave of killings. These were carried out on the initiative of local officials, although Himmler certainly knew and approved of them.[33] The program for killing adults with mental or physical disabilities began with a letter from Hitler issued in October 1939. The letter charged Bouhler and Brandt with "enlarging the authority of certain physicians, to be designated by name, in such a manner that persons who, according to human judgement, are incurable, can, upon a most careful diagnosis of their condition of sickness, be accorded a mercy death."[34] The letter was backdated to 1 September to provide legality to the killings already carried out,[35] and to link the program more definitely to the war, giving it a rationale of wartime necessity.[15] This letter, which provided the sole legal basis for the program, was not a formal "Führer decree", which in Nazi Germany had the force of law. For this reason Hitler deliberately bypassed Health Minister Conti and his department, who were held to be not Greayer Enemies in Love Page 445 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] sufficiently imbued with National Socialist ruthlessness and who might have raised awkward questions about the legality of the program, and entrusted it to his personal agents Bouhler and Brandt.[36]
The program was administered by Brack's staff from Tiergartenstraße 4, under the guise of the Charitable Foundation for Cure and Institutional Care, supervised by Bouhler and Brandt. Others closely involved included Dr Herbert Linden, who had been heavily involved in the children's program, Dr Ernst-Robert Grawitz, chief physician of the SS, and August Becker, an SS chemist. These officials chose the doctors who were to carry out the operational part of the program. They were chosen for their political reliability, professional reputation, and known sympathy for radical eugenics. They included several who had proved their worth in the child-killing program, such as Unger, Heinze, and Hermann Pfannmüller. The new recruits were mostly psychiatrists, notably Professor Carl Schneider of Heidelberg, Professor Max de Crinis of Berlin and Professor Paul Nitsche from the Sonnenstein state institution. Heyde became the operational leader of the program, succeeded later by Nitsche.[37]
In early October all hospitals, nursing homes, old-age homes, sanatoria were required to report all patients who had been institutionalized for five years or more, who had been committed as "criminally insane", who were of "non-Aryan race", or who had been diagnosed with any of a list of specified conditions. These included schizophrenia, epilepsy, Huntington's chorea, advanced syphilis, senile dementia, paralysis, encephalitis and "terminal neurological conditions generally". Many doctors and administrators assumed that the purpose of the reports was to identify inmates who were capable of being drafted for "labor service". They therefore tended to overstate the degree of incapacity of their patients, to protect them from labor conscription — with fatal consequences.[38] When some institutions, mainly in Catholic areas [citation needed], refused to co-operate, teams of T4 doctors (or in some cases Nazi medical students) visited them and compiled their own lists, sometimes in a very haphazard and ideologically motivated way.[39] At the same time, all Jewish patients were removed from institutions and were killed during 1940.[40]
As with the child inmates, the adults had their cases assessed by a panel of experts, Greayer Enemies in Love Page 446 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] working at the Tiergartenstraße offices. The experts were required to make their judgments solely on the basis of the reports, rather than on detailed medical histories, let alone examinations. Sometimes they dealt with hundreds of reports at a time. On each they marked a + (meaning death), a - (meaning life), or occasionally a ? meaning that they were unable to decide. Three "death" verdicts condemned the person concerned. As with the children, over time these processes became less rigorous, the range of conditions considered unsustainable grew broader, and zealous Nazis further down the chain of command increasingly made decisions on their own initiative.[39] Grafeneck Sonnenstein castle Bernberg in 1650 View of Hadamar about 1900
At first patients were killed by lethal injection, the method established for killing children, but the slowness and inefficiency of this method for killing adults, who needed larger doses of increasingly scarce and expensive drugs and who were more likely to need restraint, was soon apparent. Hitler himself recommended to Brandt that carbon monoxide gas be used.[41] At his trial, Brandt described this as a "major advance in medical history".[42] The first gassings took place at Brandenburg an der Havel in January 1940, under the supervision of Widmann, Becker, and Christian Wirth, a Kripo (criminal police) officer who was later to play a prominent role in the "final solution" extermination of the Jews. Once the efficacy of this method was established, it became standardized and was instituted at a number of centers across Germany. As well as Brandenburg, these included Grafeneck in Baden-Württemberg {10,824 dead}, Schloss Hartheim near Linz in Austria {over 8,000 dead}, Sonnenstein in Saxony {15,000 dead}, Bernburg in Saxony-Anhalt and Hadamar in Hesse {14,494 dead}. As well as killing patients from mental homes, nursing homes and sanatoria, these centers were also used to kill prisoners transferred from concentration camps in Germany and Austria. Greayer Enemies in Love Page 447 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Patients were transferred from their institutions to the killing centers in buses operated
by teams of SS men wearing white coats to give an air of medical authenticity. To prevent the families and the doctors of the patients tracing them, they were often sent to transit centers in major hospitals where they were supposedly assessed before being moved again to "special treatment" centers. (The expression "special treatment" (Sonderbehandlung) was later widely employed as a euphemism for killing during the extermination of the Jews.) Families were sent letters explaining that owing to wartime regulations it would not be possible to visit relatives in these centers. In fact most of these patients were killed within 24 hours of arriving at the centers, and their bodies cremated.[41] For every person killed, a death certificate was prepared, giving a false but plausible cause of death, and sent to the family along with an urn of ashes (random ashes, since the victims were cremated en masse). The preparation of thousands of falsified death certificates in fact took up most of the working day of the doctors who operated the centers.[43]
During 1940, the centers at Brandenburg, Grafeneck and Hartheim killed nearly 10,000 people each, while another 6,000 were killed at Sonnenstein. In all about 35,000 people were killed in T4 operations that year. Operations at Brandenburg and Grafeneck were wound up at Greayer Enemies in Love Page 448 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] the end of the year, partly because the areas they served had been cleared and partly because of public opposition. In 1941, however, the centers at Bernberg and Sonnenstein increased their operations, while Hartheim (where Wirth and Franz Stangl were successively commandants) continued as before. As a result, another 35,000 people were killed before August 1941, when the T4 program was shut down. Even after that date, however, the centers continued to be used to kill concentration camp inmates: eventually some 20,000 people in this category were killed.[44]
In 1971 the Austrian-born journalist Gitta Sereny conducted a series of interviews with Franz Stangl, who was in prison in Düsseldorf after having been convicted of co-responsibility for killing 900,000 people as commandant of the Sobibór and Treblinka extermination camps in Poland. Stangl gave Sereny a detailed account of the operations of the T4 program based on his time as commandant of the killing facility at the Hartheim institute.[45] He described how the inmates of various asylums were removed and transported by bus to Hartheim. Some were in no mental state to know what was happening to them, but many were perfectly sane and for them various forms of deception were used. They were told they were at a special clinic where they would receive improved treatment, and were given a brief medical examination on arrival. They were then induced to enter what appeared to be a shower block, where they were gassed with carbon monoxide (this ruse was later used on a much larger scale at the extermination camps).
The racial policy of Nazi Germany were a set of policies and laws implemented by Nazi Germany, asserting the superiority of the "Aryan race," and based on a specific racist doctrine which claimed scientific legitimacy. It was combined with a eugenics program that aimed to achieve "racial purity" of the "Aryan race" by using compulsory sterilizations and extermination of the Untermensch (or "sub-humans"), which eventually culminated in the Holocaust. These policies targeted, first of all, Jews, who were considered as the most "inferior race" of all on a hierarchy that included Jews at the bottom and the Herrenvolk (or "master race") of the Volksgemeinschaft (or "national community") at the top.
Kristallnacht From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia Jump to: navigation, search
Kristallnacht (German pronunciation: [k??s?tal?naxt]; literally "Crystal Night") or the Night of Broken Glass was an anti-Jewish pogrom in Nazi Germany and Austria on 9 to 10 November 1938. It is also known as Novemberpogrome, Reichskristallnacht, Reichspogromnacht or Pogromnacht in German.[1]
Kristallnacht was triggered by the assassination in Paris of German diplomat Ernst vom Rath by Herschel Grynszpan, a German-born Polish Jew. In a coordinated attack on Jewish people and their property, 91 Jews were murdered and 25,000 to 30,000 were arrested and placed in concentration camps. 267 synagogues were destroyed, and thousands of homes and businesses were ransacked. This was done by the Hitler Youth, the Gestapo and the SS.[2] Kristallnacht also Greayer Enemies in Love Page 449 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected] served as a pretext and a means for the wholesale confiscation of firearms from German Jews.[3]
While the assassination of Rath served as a pretext for the attacks, Kristallnacht was part of a broader Nazi policy of antisemitism and persecution of the Jews.[4] Kristallnacht was followed by further economic and political persecutions. It is viewed by many historians as the beginning of the Final Solution, leading towards the genocide of the Holocaust.[5][6]
List of Nazi-era ghettos From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia Jump to: navigation, search Ghettos established by the Nazi Germany in which Jews were confined, and later shipped to Nazi concentration camps. The Holocaust Early elements Racial policy · Nuremberg Laws · Nazi eugenics · Action T4 Jews German Jews
Pogroms: Kristallnacht · Bucharest · Dorohoi · Ias,i · Kaunas · Jedwabne · Lviv (Lvov)
Ghettos: Budapest Ghetto · Lublin · Lviv (Lvov) · ?ódz' · Kraków · Kovno Ghetto · Minsk · Warsaw · Vilna · (List of ghettoes)
Einsatzgruppen: Babi Yar · Rumbula · Ponary · Odessa · Erntefest · Ninth Fort
Final Solution: Wannsee · Operation Reinhard · Holocaust trains · Extermination camps · Madagascar Plan
Resistance: Jewish partisans · Ghetto uprisings (Warsaw · Bia?ystok · ?achwa)
End of World War II: Death marches · Berihah · Surviving Remnant Greayer Enemies in Love Page 450 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Other victims
Romani people (Gypsies) · Homosexuals · People with disabilities · Slavs in Eastern Europe · Poles · Soviet POWs · Jehovah's Witnesses Concentration and extermination camps Nazi concentration camps · Nazi extermination camps ·
Auschwitz-Birkenau · Be?z.ec extermination camp · Bergen-Belsen · Bogdanovka · Buchenwald · Che?mno · Dachau · Gross-Rosen · Herzogenbusch · Janowska · Jasenovac · Kaiserwald · Majdanek concentration camp · Maly Trostenets · Mauthausen-Gusen · Neuengamme · Ravensbrück · Sachsenhausen · Sajmište · Salaspils · Sobibór · Stutthof · Theresienstadt · Treblinka · Uckermark · Warsaw · (List of Nazi concentration camps) Responsible parties
Nazi Germany: Adolf Hitler · Heinrich Himmler · Ernst Kaltenbrunner · Theodor Eicke · Reinhard Heydrich · Adolf Eichmann · Rudolf Hess · Nazi Party · Schutzstaffel (SS) · Gestapo · Sturmabteilung (SA)
War Collaborators
Nazi Ideologues
Aftermath: Nuremberg Trials · Denazification · Reparations Agreement between Israel and West Germany Lists Greayer Enemies in Love Page 451 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Survivors · Victims · Rescuers Resources The Destruction of the European Jews Functionalism versus intentionalism v • d • e Main article: Ghettos in Nazi-occupied Europe This article is a list of Nazi German Jewish ghettos. Those ghettos were created by Nazi Germany and its allies for the purpose of isolating and controlling Jewish population on territories they controlled, either before the Second World War, or after occupying them during it.
This list is incomplete; In Europe
* Andrychów Ghetto * Baranowicze (Baranovichi) Ghetto * Be;dzin (Bendzin) Ghetto * Be?chatów Ghetto * Berdychiv Ghetto
* Bershad Ghetto * Beuthen (Bytom) Ghetto Greayer Enemies in Love Page 452 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
* Bia?ystok Ghetto * Brest (Brzes'c') Ghetto * Budapest Ghetto * Chortkiv Ghetto * Cze;stochowa Ghetto * Daugavpils (Dvinsk) Ghetto * Drohobych ghetto * Grodno (Hrodna) Ghetto * Cluj (Kolozsvár) Ghetto * Kraków (Cracow) Ghetto * Kovno (Kaunas) Ghetto * Kielce Ghetto * Kletsk (Kleck) Ghetto * Lakhva (?achwa) Ghetto * Litzmannstadt (?ódz') Ghetto * Lviv (Lwów, Lemberg) Ghetto * Lubartow Ghetto * Lublin Ghetto * Marcinkance (Marcinkonys) Ghetto * Medzhybizh Ghetto * Mie;dzyrzec Podlaski Ghetto * Minsk Ghetto * Min'sk Mazowiecki Ghetto * Otwock Ghetto * Piaseczno Ghetto * Piotrków Trybunalski Ghetto * Pin'sk Ghetto * Przemysl Ghetto * Radom Ghetto * Radomsko Ghetto * Riga ghetto * Siedlce Ghetto * Sokernitze Ghetto * Sosnowiec (Sosnowitz) Ghetto Greayer Enemies in Love Page 453 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
* Tarnow Ghetto * Tluszcz Ghetto * Tomaszow Mazowiecki Ghetto * Theresienstadt Ghetto (concentration camp, sometimes referred to as a ghetto) * Trochenbrod (Zofiówka) Ghetto * Warsaw Ghetto * Vilna (Wilno, Vilnius) Ghetto * Vitebsk Ghetto * Zaklików Ghetto * Zhetel (Zdzie;cio?) Ghetto
Action T4 (German: Aktion T4) was a program, also called Euthanasia Program, in Nazi Germany spanning October 1939 until August 1941, during which physicians killed 70,273 people[1] specified in Hitler's secret memo of September 1, 1939 as suffering patients "judged incurably sick, by critical medical examination",[2] but described in a denunciation of the program by Cardinal Galen as long-term inmates of mental asylums "who may appear incurable".[3] Greayer Enemies in Love Page 454 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
The Nuremberg Trials found evidence that German physicians continued the extermination of patients after October 1941 and evidence that about 275,000 people were killed under T4.[4]
The codename T4 was an abbreviation of "Tiergartenstraße 4", the address of a villa in the Berlin borough of Tiergarten which was the headquarters of the Gemeinnützige Stiftung für Heil- und Anstaltspflege, bearing the euphemising name literally translating into English: as Charitable Foundation for Cure and Institutional Care.[5] This body operated under the direction of Philipp Bouhler, the head of Hitler's private chancellery,[6] and Dr Karl Brandt, Hitler's personal physician. This villa no longer exists, but a plaque set in the pavement on Tiergartenstraße marks its location.
The euthanasia decree, written on Adolf Hitler's personal stationery and dated 1 September 1939, reads as follows:
Reich Leader Bouhler and Dr. Brandt are charged with the responsibility for expanding the authority of physicians, to be designated by name, to the end that patients considered incurable according to the best available human judgment [menschlichem Ermessen] of their state of health, can be granted a mercy death [Gnadentod].[7]
The Ponary massacre (or Paneriai massacre) was the mass-murder of 100,000 people, mostly Jews, by German SD, SS and Lithuanian Nazi[1][2][3][4] Sonderkommando collaborators (Special SD and German Security Police Squad "Ypatingasis bu-rys" units)[1][2][5] during World War II and the Holocaust in Reichskommissariat Ostland. The executions took place between July 1941 and August 1944 near the railway station of Paneriai (Polish: Ponary), now a suburb of Vilnius. Some 70,000 Jews were murdered in Ponary,[6] along with estimated 20,000 Poles and 8,000 Russians, many from nearby Vilnius.[1][3][7]
[List] A. Eichmann's list
* Old Reich [Germany proper]: 131,800 * Ostmark [region of the former Austria, incorporated in the Reich]: 43,700 * Eastern Territories [Polish areas annexed by the Reich]: 420,000 * General Government [occupied Polish lands]: 2,284,000 * Bialystok [district in eastern Poland, under German civil administration]: 400,000 * Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia: 74,200 * Estonia: free of Jews Greayer Enemies in Love Page 455 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
* Latvia: 3,500 * Lithuania: 34,000 * Belgium: 43,000 * Denmark: 5,600 * France/occupied territory: 165,000 o unoccupied territory: 700,000 * Greece: 69,600 * Netherlands: 160,800 * Norway: 1,300
[List] B.
* Bulgaria: 48,000 * England [i.e. United Kingdom]: 330,000 * Finland: 2,300 * Ireland: 4,000 * Italy including Sardinia: 58,000 * Albania: 200 * Croatia: 40,000 * Portugal: 3,000 * Romania including Bessarabia: 342,000 * Sweden: 8,000 * Switzerland: 18,000 * Serbia: 10,000 * Slovakia: 88,000 * Spain: 6,000 * Turkey (European portion): 55,500 * Hungary: 742,800 * USSR: 5,000,000 [including subtotals for:] o Belarus exclusive of Bialystok: 446,484 o Ukraine: 2,994,684
"Total: over 11,000,000" Greayer Enemies in Love Page 456 (310) 377-6500 A Tailgunner’s Diary [email protected]
Hitler was the most heinous mass-murderer in the history of mankind, and does not deserve membership in the ‘human’ race, but not all people feel as I do. Berenbaum writes that the Final Solution of the Jewish question was "in the eyes of the perpetrators … Germany's greatest achievement." I, on the other hand, view the extermination of Hitler, and everything he stood for, as ‘mankind’s’ greatest achievement. Maybe someday we can recover from the virus of ‘GREED’ that ‘Capitalism’ has instilled in our hearts, and return to the feeling of Charity’ and sharing our bread, that Christianity was once all about. My Trinidad friend, Clyde, once visited me in Los Angeles, and as he walked toward my home, a gentleman approached him and asked for ‘one hundred dollars’. Clyde stopped, opened his wallet, withdrew ‘one hundred dollars’, and forked it over. When he related the incident, everyone was aghast. Clyde’s comment was, “It won’t make me and it won’t break me.” What a wonderful attitude.