Alternate Memories - Ft. Meade Ch. 01

Author's Preface:

This is the third in the Alternate Memories Series. The first was entitled NORFOLK and the second, DAYTON. You might want to read these in order, but each is written to stand alone. Enjoy.

About two years ago, I received an unexpected letter from a woman named Maribeth who I had dated for a short time in the fall of 1965 as I was finishing up my last semester at the University of Dayton. After graduation, I had accepted an ROTC commission in the U.S. Army and had subsequently deployed to Vietnam the following year. As is common in such circumstances I had lost touch with Maribeth, so it was with some surprise that I discovered that she had not only found me, but reached out after all these years.

To make a long story short; Maribeth told me that she was extremely ill and was fighting cancer for the second time. Her Doctor's prognosis was not encouraging, but she was determined, and I remembered that she was a fighter. In her letter she brought me more or less up to date on her life which, as with us all, had both up's and down's, but for her, mostly the latter.

On the up side, she had risen to the top of her profession as a clinical psychologist and had earned a doctorate in that field with multiple honors and awards.

However this was more than counterbalanced by a horrible childhood, a stern aloof mother and an unknown father. A failed marriage of her own followed by several less than desirable attempts with other relationships. No children and no relatives, and a series of medical problems that could bring several individuals to their knees. As she wrote;

"As I look back on my life, the one and only time I ever felt really happy was the few months I spent with you."

For a long time I pondered on how I should respond to Maribeth's letter. She lived a thousand miles away, I was married for almost 50 years and had three grown children and four grandchildren. What could I possibly do to reach across all those years and, in some way, aid Maribeth in her latest struggle?

We had corresponded for a while when I had the germ of an idea. Often, Maribeth would remark that she had few good memories of her life and so I began to consider the possibility that perhaps, through my writing, I could replace those bad memories with better, more exciting ones.

This was the genesis of a series of stories that I have collectively titled "Alternative Memories." While these are fictional accounts, the people, places and events in them are real and evoke a realistic timeline that Maribeth could adapt into her mind and actually achieve the intended purpose.

Maribeth has since joined in this project by adding her own new memories which is serving to heighten the realism and impact. Obviously I hope that these "Alternate Memories'' will make Maribeth's burden easier to bear. If so, I'm satisfied with that. But, in truth, I wonder about myself. What are memories anyway, and who's to say these stories weren't real.

Does it matter after almost 50 years? What is reality anyway? Consciousness creates everything we take to be real and true and my opinion is that...

If it feels real, it must be so. You be the judge.

(July - December 1966)

The drive from Dayton to Ft. Meade was pleasant enough. With temperatures in the high eighty's the top was down most of the way. The new Interstate 70 was a vast improvement over US 40 which would have been the most direct route previously. It was almost 6 p.m. when I pulled into the BOQ parking lot. The Bachelors Officers Quarters would be my new home for however long I would be stationed here. I gave a copy of my orders to the Sargent at the front desk, signed a few registration forms for myself and 'Charlie,' and got a room assignment and two keys which I had to fork over a $2 deposit.

The room was quite spacious. In addition to the bunk which surprisingly was queen sized. There was a small kitchenette with a small table and two chairs and a sitting area with a couch and a chair, a couple of end tables with lamps and a TV that had to be about 24", so it was about as big as any I had ever seen. Black & White of course, the new color TV's were just then being commercialized, and I hadn't seen one of those yet. There was a nice sized bath with no tub, just a shower and a huge closet and dresser parked inside. This room was by far the biggest and nicest I'd lived in for quite awhile. Maybe ever.

I looked at my watch and found the usual pay phone at the end of the hall by the ice machine. Fortunately I had enough change that I didn't have to scrounge around for any, so I placed a call to Maribeth, hoping that I had remembered correctly that she would be home and not at work. She answered immediately and I gave her my new mailing address and told her about the trip which had been uneventful. We exchanged some small talk with lots of double entrande references to our time together in the last few days. It was a short call, maybe only about four minutes, but already I was missing her terribly.

The settling in took most of the next day. I had to register 'Charlie' for a blue base sticker which got me past the M.P.'s at the gate and being blue it identified me as an officer which got me a salute. A quick stop at the Commissary got me the basics; bread, milk, beer and hot dogs and prepared to report to my new unit the next morning.

The 566th Transportation Company was located at the far end of Ft. Meade, not far from the huge NSA complex. I was wearing clean fatigues with shined boots and the first person I met was the First Sargent, who as all senior enlisted do, gave me a good look over. I gave him a copy of my orders and he told me to have a seat and Captain Buffardi would see me shortly. He then went back to whatever he was doing. No small talk, no how are you, nothing!

About fifteen minutes later, I was told that the Captain would see me. I knocked on the door and saluted and told him I was reporting for duty as ordered. He returned a half hearted salute, then stood and shook my hand. He introduced himself as Louis Buffardi, but he wanted it known that I, and everyone else, would prefer to him by his rank. It was obvious that no mornings would begin with, "Hi Lou, how are you?"

I was informed that I would be leading the company's first platoon and that, in fact, other than the Captain, I was the only other officer in the unit so far. The 566th had just been reactivated two weeks prior so all of its personnel were new. I was told that the platoon was training in the motor pool area under the platoon Sargeant whose name I understood to be Rivera. It turned out to be Revis. Either I misheard or even the Captain didn't yet know who his troops were.

Sgt. Revis was an E-6 from Puerto Rico and we hit it off well enough. He had had some experience with breaking in new second lieutenants and I explained I was aware of what I did not know, and I was hopeful that we'd jell as a team. He asked if I wanted to speak to the men, and I said only to introduce myself which is basically all I said except that I added that I had grown up in the military and was the son of a Sargent so I knew a lot about how how enlisted men regarded a lot of officers, and I would try diligently to not be one of those.

While the scuttlebutt was that the unit was being mobilized for deployment to Vietnam as part of an entire battalion, there were no actual orders yet. Another interesting tid bit, was that we had no equipment. We were a truck company with no trucks! So to qualify driver's and to do other training we begged, borrowed and 'stole' trucks, jeeps, radios etc. from other units in the base temporarily. I suspect the various sargeants pulled all of this off, since that's what Sargent's do.

In the next ten weeks things settled into a routine. Mostly training, some in classrooms, but most hands on with equipment. Morning PT for everyone, Captain Buffardi led but only required a three mile run every morning. I did my other two on my own time since I didn't want to break the habit. To my surprise Sgt. Revis sometimes tagged along. I was enjoying his company.

The unit's other two platoon leaders reported as well as a maintenance warrant officer, so we had our full compliment. I wrote letters about every other day to Maribeth, and maybe once a week to my parents. Monday night was set aside for a telephone call to Maribeth, since it was the one night of the week she guaranteed she'd be home. Usually Friday and Saturday nights were out to bars with other guys, usually from the BOQ group. The other lieutenants in the company were Lt. Bodnar who was married and who I never saw in off hours and Lt. Mosier who apparently was not living in the BOQ, but never had much to say and also didn't run in my social circle. Sunday's were usually watching the Redskins play on the TV at the officer's club. The trips off post were few and far between. I had gotten paid four times since I'd left Dayton, and with few expenses my net worth had grown to almost $1,000.

Actually my closest friend in that timeframe was a warrant officer in a helicopter unit who lived down the hall in the BOQ. Bill Rigney hailed from Joseph, Alabama and was a crusty red neck. He was 40 and stood over six feet and weighed in at around 240, and was twice divorced. He had served in the Korean War and was nearing retirement at the ripe old age of 40. We obviously made an odd pair, but we seemed to enjoy each other's company.

Our routine was usually Rusty's Bar & Grill on Fridays and Sledgehammer on Saturdays, both establishments were just off post in the little town of Odenton which snuggled up to the south gate of Ft. Meade. We talked to plenty of people, including quite a few women who were on the prowl. A few got familiar enough that it was obvious they were fishing for a date, but while they were attractive enough, I was still caught up about Maribeth. No one else seemed to fit me quite as well as she did. Bill was less picky and several times he disappeared for the evening only to pop up the next day, usually with a story about how the previous night had played out and the great taste of the ladies who invited him into their beds.

On October 15th we finally received our orders. We would be deploying to Oakland Army Base to meet up with our equipment and would ship out by sea for Vietnam on or about December 10th. When I called Maribeth with the news, I listened to her sob away most of the six minutes I had enough change to cover. I hung up with a heavy heart and a promise to call her right away if anything changed.

Well, nothing changed, but something was added. Apparently it was going to be customary to grant a week's leave to all personnel prior to deployment. When I called and told Maribeth about this latest development, and the possibility that we might be able to see one another one more time, she was super excited. She had started the fall semester at Wright State and it wasn't immediately clear how that fit with any plans we might make, but at least there was a glimmer of hope that we could work something out.

The fly in my ointment was that for some reason invisible to me, it was decided that the company couldn't all just take leave at one time, it needed to be phased. Why this was necessary was way beyond my pay grade, but it put in limbo the exact time I would be granted this leave. The call to Maribeth explaining this latest situation was a downer. Neither of us could move forward with any concrete plan until I got more information. It would have had to get a lot better before it rose to the level of normal frustration.

Finally the word came down that the first platoon of the 566th would have the week of December 2nd. This was the absolute last week before deployment. I didn't know if that was good or bad for Maribeth, but I knew it was going to be a problem for me.

In addition to company duties, the various officers of units at Ft. Meade also pull what's known as special duty. These are tasks that need to be done once in awhile but aren't anyone's full time responsibility. In my case I was scheduled to sit as one of the judges in Special Court Martials, and that was my week. As far as the Army was concerned I would be there unless I myself worked something out. The process was to find someone to switch assignment days. Unfortunately, I was only partially successful. I found enough people that I cleared out all the days except one, and no matter how hard I looked it appeared that I would have to make an appearance that one day. The bottom line was a trip to Dayton and back was out of the question.

When I informed Maribeth, I was expecting more tears, but I was surprised when the news was met with relative calm. She wrote down the exact days I would be free and the one day I wouldn't and asked me to call again in two days. I wondered what she was thinking, but she wouldn't explain any further.

Two days later I feed the appropriate amount of coins into the phone and called her back. She answered immediately and was as excited as I had ever heard her.

She was going to come to me!

I know I fumbled for words in trying to understand how she'd pulled this off, and she ran all over her own words in trying to explain. Apparently, her final exams at Wright State straddled the week I was off as well as the previous week, but in any event Maribeth had persuaded her professors to let her take exams early. Her mother was the other problem, which I understood to have been taken care of by Maribeth strongly stating she was going and her mother better not try stopping her. Apparently that concluded the discussion. Her Greyhound bus was scheduled to arrive in Washington D.C. the evening of December 1st. Which at that point was two weeks away

Friday, December 1, 1966

It was 5 p.m. and Maribeth's bus was scheduled to arrive a little after 7 at the Metro Bus Station in downtown Washington. I had just gotten off duty and was busy tidying up my room. There wasn't a lot to do since I had "tidy" drilled into me since childhood and it was pretty much a daily habit by now. I took a quick shower and shaved for the second time that day, and by 6 p.m. I was on the road to Washington.

My civilian wardrobe was still modest, so it was khaki pants, a black t-shirt with a greenish-blue knit sweater, loafers (no socks) and a heavy green Army aviator jacket that Bill Rigney had given me that he had apparently outgrown. It was pretty cold with temperatures in the 30's and there was a forecast of light snow later in the evening. 'Charlie's' heater had been acting up, but today it seemed fine. I was keeping my fingers crossed.

The Washington Metro Bus Station was located on New Jersey Ave. Not far from the Union Train Station. I had been there once before when I drove a BOQ friend who was being transferred, so I was confident about getting there on time. In December, we're on daylight savings time so it was already dark as I drove through the main gate. MP's don't monitor outbound traffic, so no snappy salute.

MARIBETH:

I don't remember for what stupid reason I chose a bus instead of an airliner. It probably had something to do with money. Well, for a few dollars more, OK about $50, I could have avoided this pit of humanity!

I wanted so very much to look rested, smiling, and to smell clean, when I met Gary. Now, I feared that I would smell like the backroom at Petkowicz's Cigar Bar and Authentic Smoked Sausages.

Ten hours of this crowded cattle car. I let my thoughts jump into imagining that it was the late 1930's, in Hungary. I and all my neighbors were beibg taken away by the Nazi soldiers. The ovens awaited us, but we were unaware-----back to the relevant part of my daydream: all of a hundred people crowded into about this much space? There were 4 unoccupied seats visible when I stood up. None were adjacent to each other. One looked sort of crooked--at an angle-- and was at the extreme back of the bus. I would guess the odd shape was due to the luggage compartment under the bus taking its share of needed space.

I gathered my luggage and possessions, as quickly as I could. I rudely (I try to be nice, but when competing for what looks to be the only comfortable seat on a ten hour trip...well.....) tromp over lots of feet, bump into fat bellies, and even goose one pilgrim. Of course, I got the big seat; no one else has even noticed that it is two seats with the metal railing bars taken out. It is in an 'L" shape and will fit me soooo much better that the seat to which my ticket assigned me.

I have a friend, a neighbor, who since we were little kids,always used to say that he intended to become rich so that he wouldn't have to mingle with the vast unwashed stupid crowds of people in the world. point taken.

My spot actually looked promising. I put my luggage at the back, to both make a backrest and to make it impossible for anyone to access or steal it, should I fall asleep. There was room for me to put my legs up if I bent them at the knees and slightly rolled onto my left hip. That really was more comfortable than my feet dangling, I am so short that my feet don't touch the ground when I sit in chairs. This causes awful aches in my knees and low back. Usually, I try to cantilever the weight of my legs by sitting with my right leg wrapped under me.

After moving the luggage, the tote, and my purse, I found that I was actually comfortable. The bus driver was walking the aisle, offering blankets, but only 3 people had opted for one. When he came to me, all settled at the very back of the bus, he pleasantly said," Looks like you know how to set up a campsite." I grinned and asked if I could have two blankets, as almost no one had accepted one. He handed me all three and said, "You get yourself real warm, sometimes this back section gets cold." I thanked him and made a joke about being ready to curl up and nap.

The driver returned to his seat, made an announcement of destination, and began to move the bus out of the loading area.

I was not, definitely not, interested in being a tourist of Dayton, Ohio. I seldom introduced the topic of my dislike for Dayton, into conversations, as the reaction from other people was a sour one. It seems everyone liked Dayton. I wanted to finish college and then relocate. I had never traveled, nor did my family ever take vacations; I had, except for visiting Gary, never been out of greater Dayton! Another reason to keep this information undisclosed---I was embarrassed, very much, by being such a small town hick!

As the miles rolled along, and I ceased mulling about being a backwater hick, I began to focus on how much I wanted to be with Gary. The more I thought about seeing him, the more I molded the blankets into a cuddle array for myself. I rested my head, snuggled into a soft place, and began to daydream.

I had been so excited about this trip, that last night, I don't think I ever fell asleep, and now snuggled warm in my three blanket nest, I suddenly felt sleep coming just like an approaching tide.

Almost immediately.I was back in Gary's efficiency apartment on Maplelawn Drive. His strong arms were around me and I thought for the first time in my life that I truly felt safe and loved. I could taste his breath when we kissed and when his hand slipped beneath my blouse and under my bra, I did not even think about discouraging his advances. Like all dreams, they make no sense when it comes to a wakeful description, but I was in heaven.

I think my foot went to sleep which caused me to awaken. I felt disappointment wash over me as the remnants of the dream began to recede from consciousness, but I had to move and get blood flowing again.

The driver had been accurate; the back of the bus was chilly. Today was colder than usual for Ohio, and I found that, indeed, all three blankets were needed. It felt like the bus was making good time, and I knew it was scheduled to make a stop in another hour to give us a chance to move stiff legs, visit the restrooms, and take a lunch break,