The office inside the wooden ‘bank vault’ style door was more plush than Tom Thorkelson’s office in the Massachusetts Mutual Fashion Island location. The baby blue rug under my feet made it feel like I was standing in a couple of inches of mud while four towering lamps with subdued yellow light bouncing off a dull metallic ceiling cast a strangely warming atmosphere to the room itself.
A woman stood directly in front of me, straight across the fifteen feet of rug that covered the entire floor. She was leaning her butt into a wooden desk that looked like a replica of the ‘Resolute’ presidential desk. The original had been crafted from the timbers of a ship of that name and was a gift from Queen Victoria. I’d read about it in high school but never considered the size or the impressiveness of it until standing before the woman.
She held out her right hand toward me and after gently pointing with it toward the only chair in front of but slightly off to the side of the Resolute copy. I walked toward her to shake hands, surprised by the gesture.
“My name is Marcy,” she said with a very welcoming smile. “Some people call me Doctor Marcy but you don’t have to.”
I shook her hand, which was cool with a grip that surprised and impressed me. I wasn’t used to women who shook hands but appreciated it.
I nodded dumbly and headed for the single chair, deliberately keeping my eyes off her. She was wearing a mini skirt that ended at least six inches above her knees, with a simple white blouse and a short but perky hairstyle. Not only was she attractive but she was stunning in that I could never have expected nor failed to be shocked by her attire, and demeanor. Everything in Paul’s Straight Ahead office would cost less than one of the special bulbs installed in one of the special lamps close to my chair.
Marcy matter-of-factly walked around the desk. There was no overt sexual message in either her smile, her words, or the way she moved. It was all in the costume but the fact that it was there at all I found to be discomforting. Marcy sat down and tapped a two-inch thick folder in front of her, the only thing on the desk. No reading lamp, no file bin, or any of that. Not even a pen. Just the file sitting atop a thick glass square which was laid down atop some sort of thick leather pad.
“This is a set of your records from the military and medical staff you’ve encountered since coming out of college,” Marcy said.
I stared into her deep brown eyes without saying anything or changing expression, although inside I was growing angry as hell. I was on a movie set. There was no real thing in the room except my file and possibly myself. The Chief had built the set, taking painstaking effort to gauge things just right so that the only action I might take in expressing the expected anger I would feel would be a terminal mistake. Brown had nothing to use against me in the way of evidence and worse, I had just been awarded the medal, a medal no San Clemente police officer had ever been awarded before. He wanted me to make a mistake. I looked down at the file, a file that could never have made its way from investigation, assembly, collation, and then transport to the top of the Resolute desk with the kind of speed it seemed like it had. That meant the file was being prepared almost from the moment the new Chief had taken over. Marcy was waiting for me to say something, so I decided to oblige her, but without giving her any evidence to indicate how I was feeling. There was no way, however, I could or would call her doctor.
“What is it that you want me to do?” I asked.
“I have to interview you and then write up a conclusion about your ability to be a police officer,” she replied, meeting my eyes with a stare nearly as still and bright as my own.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked again, with the same lack of inflection in my tone.
Marcy sighed, and looked away, moving her left hand to press a button I couldn’t see. One of the drapes began to move, exposing a long picture window on the right side of the office. She stared out through the exposed glass at the busy city below while I waited for whatever was coming next.
“You’ve got a wife who’s been through a lot, two kids, and you’re a real war hero in and out of combat and police hero on top of that, yet you’re not even thirty years old.” Marcy said the words as if she was talking to herself instead of to me. “Did I leave anything out?”
It was impossible for me to try to figure out where she was going with the conversation. Paul was my only connection to the world of psychologists and therapy, but he was as far from being like her as a church mouse was to Godzilla.
“Bozo,” I finally said, after she made no attempt to ask or say anything further.
“What’s a bozo?” Marcy replied, perfectly manicured eyebrows going up.
“My cat,” I said.
“And, you’re a cat person also, just like me,” she said, the words coming out close to having been spoken more as a whisper than anything else.
“Have you read the file in front of you?” I asked, feeling immediately strange, as the file was so obviously in front of her.
“Yes,” she replied, bringing her hands together and placing them on the thick pile of copied documents. She said nothing further, although I waited for quite a few seconds.
“You’re not going to give me a passing report, are you?” I finally asked, beginning to be able to read her facial expressions better and paying close attention to where the conversation had to be headed.
“No, I can’t do that,” Marcy replied, verifying my opinion that I was inside a movie set and the script had already been written for our one-act play.
“What’s the reason for my failure,” I asked, not expecting her to answer, but she did immediately, surprising me by doing so and then by what she said.
“You have been through so much trauma that’s had such an impact upon your very existence that you will be a danger to any fellow officer you serve with because it’s unlikely, given the direst circumstance in the field that you’ll discharge your service weapon when called upon.”
When she was done, she stopped talking and waited expectantly, a very mild assortment of lines appeared up between her eyes. I guessed the lines to ones of concern and not worry.
“Do you believe that?” I asked, truly curious.
The professional conclusion she’d delivered was brilliant but made based on only the most analytical of circumstantial evidence.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I truly don’t know. I’ve never treated or interviewed anyone with your history. You are an oddity that any professional in my area of expertise would love to probe much deeper into, not that, given the completely controlled assembly of what you are makes it all likely you’d be forthcoming about your inner reality.”
I knew then that she wasn’t a phony. She was an educated and experienced pro, no matter her age, looks, or the trappings around her.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked again.
“There you go again, confirming my suspicions,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ve said less than a hundred words since walking in here and that’s the third time you’ve asked the only question that makes any sense in all of this. ‘What do you want to do?’”
“I feel I’m done with that line of work,” I answered.
“At least we’re on the same page,” she replied, the lines between her eyes smoothing out and her tone expressing relief. “Don’t ask me what I want you to do, again,” she said with a laugh, her first of our encounter.”
“Okay,” I said, laughing with her. “How do we do this?”
Marcy sat back in her chair for the first time, her hands pulling themselves from atop my thick file.
“You take the next thirty days and then resign sometime during those days,” Marcy said, making a Paul steeple with her fingers, almost identical to Paul’s reaction sometimes when he was in deep thought.
I wondered if it was common to all members of the psychiatric profession but didn’t interrupt her. “I’ll then submit my report that clears you for duty with no negative indications or recommendations so that no record will follow you once you leave. You must, however, promise me that you will not take back your resignation, go to work for another police agency, or seek out work that has violence as a part of it.”
I knew immediately that she was unaware of my entry into the CIA, and I was relieved. I looked out the window, just as she had moments earlier and I thought about what was going on. I wanted to ask her why she had to fail me if I wanted to stay, but what was the point, even if she answered truthfully, which didn’t appear likely? I wanted to ask her how she, or anyone else, had gotten hold of my medical and service records in such short order but what answer would satisfy me…if I got one.
I looked back into her eyes, reading only seemingly genuine concern for my welfare inside them. Instinctively, I knew that if I stayed much longer that she would very likely give me the same information Paul had about my heading right back into the valley I’d been so happy and relieved to get out of alive, no matter how grievously I was hurt. Paul hadn’t advised me against such a move, but she might. It was time to go. I wanted to spend no more time with a ‘plant,’ a professional who was willing to sell herself out for God knew what reward.
“Thank you,” I said as sincerely as I could, as I stood up from my chair to leave.
Marcy stood up too, then walked around the desk and stood close to me. She stuck out her hand again.
“It’s been my pleasure and I wish you well in whatever you choose to do from here.”
Tom Thorkelson and Chuck Bartok taught me about the ‘assumed close’ that the woman was using. If I agree with her verbally then a contract was made from her standpoint. If I declined then her threat to file the report about my ‘inability to commit violence on another officer’s behalf’ would be actualized, probably immediately.
“Thirty days,” I said, making sure my two words were not taken as a question. I was still smiling while shaking her hand until finally releasing it and stepping back. I’d been in Vietnam for 30 days, so the number felt appropriate to the circumstances. I was being fired upon again but not by bullets, artillery, or booby traps. My enemy was a little guy with a giant cowboy hat and as mean-spirited as they came, not to mention as smart as I was or smarter. If I was staying, instead of moving away into a new career that Marcy wouldn’t approve of, and indeed resigning under my own power, Chief Brown would have deserved a much deeper look into, and possible action following that examination. There was no point discussing anything further with the woman, although the shocking way things had been handled to get me out of the department and then her amazing revelation and deal drove me right back toward Paul.
Marcy said nothing further, so I turned, walked to the walnut vault door, and stepped through. I loved the feel and look of the door, just as I had the look of the woman and the feel of her firm dry hand, but I was relieved to be leaving her office, stage set, or whatever the place really might be. I waited at the elevator, wondering where all the money came from to create such an opulent office setting.
I drove straight back to Dana Point.
When I got there I knew that Paul was probably at the facility, given that his car was parked where it usually was. I pulled into the lot, once again placing the Volks right out front, as there was no need to attempt to cover my being there. The social disgrace of being treated for drug addiction was still possible, but it didn’t much matter as we were leaving the area.
I went inside, after peering into his window and noting that he was in his usual place behind his desk. There was nobody with him, so I walked in and said hello, leaning forward to pull a new Olympus micro recorder from my front pocket. Before coming in I’d rewound the one-hour capacity micro cassette it carried. The meeting with Marcy had taken twenty-two of those minutes.
The interview with Marcy began to play as I took my place in one of the chairs. Paul stared across the desk at me, his expression one of surprise more than anything else. He, no doubt, hadn’t expected to see me again just as I hadn’t expected to be sitting in his office again either.
I waited for the entire tape to play until the machine began making a nearly silent hiss. I moved forward, grabbed the impossibly small instrument, and hit the off button. Paul turned his chair back from staring at his window.
“Your thoughts?” I asked when he didn’t say anything.
“You taped this without her permission or knowledge, I presume,” he said, not phrasing the sentence as a question.
“California,” I replied. “You only need one party’s permission and that would be me.”
“Doctor Marcy,” he whispered to himself. “Professionals in psychology usually don’t use such an address when describing themselves.”
I waited, not caring about that issue.
“The whole thing’s amazing,” Paul concluded. The fact that she somehow has a big file from your past experiences, as I don’t see how I’d ever get that if I found where to request such records, her admission that you’re basically being fired, and then there’s the deal she offered you, not to mention her being quite impressed with everything you’ve so far done in life.”
“Why would she act the way she did?” I asked.
“Money, for one thing,” Paul said, laughing. “This profession doesn’t really pay that much per hour if you haven’t noticed. Her firm, and it has to be a firm, is probably billing thousands for each officer it makes decisions about, and whole departments have a lot of officers.”
“How should I react?”
“You’re already reacting. You brought the tape to me and you’d made the decision to resign before you went to see her. Do what you want for twenty-nine days and then resign, or earlier if you feel like it.”
“What kind of display of professional conduct was that?” I asked, still in wonder about the oddness of the whole interview.
“I work in a field where the word ‘professional’ deals mostly with trying to do the right thing for patients while making sure we get paid,” he replied, “it’s kind of a shifting ‘call it as you see it thing’. You got more truth, probably, than you were ready for and neither of you had to go through hours of testing to come to the same result. She took a risk in doing it that way.”
“What risk?” I asked, surprised.
Paul pointed at the Olympus. “She’d be fired and might ever lose her license were the material on that tape sent to almost any professional society or police board.”
“What should I do with it?”
Paul pulled a wastebasket from under his desk and pushed it over toward me.
I pulled the cassette out and plopped it into the empty basket, put the machine back in my pocket and stood up. I held out my right hand.
“You’ve been great to and for me and I can’t but wish you well in your new environment.”
He stood and took my hand with a smile on his face. “Despite everything,” he said.
I drove home and got dressed to work a beach patrol shift, Mary, Jules, and baby Michael were probably at the beach since her car was there and they weren’t. I was relieved to know I had a month to work through my leaving the department, as well as the police fraternity in general. The medal made it easier but still, I knew, like the aftermath of leaving the Corps (if I was truly out of the Corps) had been more difficult emotionally than I would have believed. There was something about the protection a uniform brought with it that was hard to describe but was certainly there.
Rick Steed was my partner, another reserve about to leave the beach patrol reserves to work full time on the street. He’d been a Marine NCO, like Gularte, and we had a good time beating up and down the beach. Mary, Jules, and Michael were on the beach below the cliff our house perched on. We stopped at their banket for quite a while as Mary wanted to know all about his life, wife, and his own experience in Vietnam.
When I got home from beach patrol there should have been only darkness lit by the small hooded lamp mounted high up between the garage doors, instead of the running lights of a big truck. It was the six-by, painted Army green but with no lettering that I could see in the dim light provided by the garage fixture and my headlights. I pulled in next to the rig. It was backed in toward the larger RV door which I hadn’t much used because we lived in Southern California where the days and nights were almost always ambient and the mild weather caused little damage or wear and tear on vehicles left outside.
I went inside and immediately called Matt. He answered on the first ring.
“There’s a truck in my driveway,” I said.
“Yes, for the transport to the train,” Matt replied.
“We’re not even close to leaving here,” I said, my tone one of exasperation.
“Take your time. Whatever you have is probably better off in the back of that thing, all tied up and down, than wherever it is now. Once you get ready to go, we take the truck to the train, load the package into a special container, and then ship both of them to New Mexico.”
“Okay, but the truck won’t fit in the driveway of the house we’re going to there,” I said, looking out the window to where the giant thing sat, like a strange beacon of strangeness as everyone in the neighborhood or even driving by would note.
“No, it won’t fit to store it there, that’s true,” Matt replied, “but it’ll fit in the lot next to your new office.”
I breathed in and out deeply, before saying anything further.
“You give the appearance of knowing very little, Matt, but you do know too much. Are you one of us?”
I waited for him to reply, which took several seconds.
“Yes,” he said but didn’t follow up with anything further.
There was a silence. I should have known that his eager and totally strange request at the aircraft, to be a part of whatever it was that I was doing, should have been a blinking red light of indication and connection, but I hadn’t caught it.
“I presume the six-by is ours for the duration,” I said, with a sigh. “Are the keys in it?”
“There are no keys, just a rubber button on the dash. You may want to drive it just for fun. Don’t. It’s bigger and more difficult to handle than you think. It’s insured by the military, so you don’t want to get involved in the nightmare of having an accident with it. The blackout lights were left on so you’d see it at night. There’s another switch on the dash for those.”
I hung up the phone. I knew Matt would be in touch, as he was with the agency and now a part of the mission to get us settled in New Mexico. I wouldn’t need Gularte, other than he and some of the burly lifeguards to help with the furniture and other stuff.
The phone rang just as I hung it up. It was Lieutenant Gates. The Chief wanted to see me right away up at the station, which I’d just left after the patrol.
I’d wanted to work for almost the whole thirty days before turning in my resignation but, after hanging up the phone again, I had the distinct feeling that I wasn’t going to make it that far. I had no idea about his contact with Doctor Marcy, or what paperwork might have been generated between them, but I felt that my time was probably very close to up, agreement or not. Staying on the force was important to me, as I also wanted to raise as much capital by selling a few life insurance policies as I could to get off the ground successfully in Albuquerque. I had no idea what the costs of starting an insurance agency, or even taking an already started one over might be. New Mexico was probably a bit cheaper than California, but I wasn’t sure about that either.
Since being awarded the medal I hadn’t been as popular as I’d been before but then I stayed away from most of the other officers because I wasn’t working the street anymore. I wasn’t ever scheduled for street work, nor did I make any complaint or attempt to get on that schedule. The beach patrol, where I was popular and enjoyed was fine with me, as well as my association with the guards who didn’t know about my medal nor would probably have cared if they did know.
I was in full uniform, and I wasn’t going to bother to change. Removing my Sam Brown belt, however, I changed out the clamshell holster for a conventional one so I could carry my Colt .45. I did not expect to draw or use it but it made me feel more secure to have it on my hip as I was about to step back into the lion’s den.
Jim,
A few thoughts before any comments – “In Dec 2000, “The National Moment of Remembrance Act” was passed and signed into law, to ensure those who sacrificed their lives for the country were not forgotten.”
“At 3 p.m. local time, Americans are asked to take part in the National Moment of Remembrance, a time to pause for a moment of silence to honor those who have died serving the U.S.”
Somewhere between 1.2 and 1.3 million Americans have died fighting or serving this Nation, since the 1700’s through today. Saw a figure that stated over 41 million have served throughout our history. On 5/27, at 3 p.m., I hope that more than 41 million pause for a moment to honor those who died serving that Nation – Our Nation. That about covers it.
Comments: I’ll try to be brief – Yeah, I know, you won’t hold your breath.
You talk about Brown being “mean spirited” and “smart”. What I see is an evil little copulate, concerned about no one or nothing else but himself. And as for him being “smart” – I find most of these folks ultimately realize they were really stupid, making deals with the Devil, realizing it only when the Devil comes to collect. And no, I don’t think he had any idea about your new job with the CIA. If he ever did find out, I hope it was at some fake, fancy swaraye – swarae – party, he arranged for himself. (Ok, spelling is not my strong suit. And for ‘Spell Checks” to work, you have to be at least close.) He would have crapped himself and for the rest of the evening, he’d notice folks screwing up their faces while he spoke with them, while they were wondering where the smell was coming from. And he would know that the folks would notice that the smell disappeared after they walked away from him. And I imagine he would become a lifetime member of the ‘Depend Monthly Auto-Delivery Club’. Will be interesting to see why he wanted to see you so soon.
As for the meeting with Dr. Marcy, Well, it seems you were somewhat befuddled by her – ummmm – appearance as well as the door, room, desk, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I seem to have a similar effect on people.
For example, when asked what folks thought of me, I usually would get – “Well … um … Simply Amazing!”. When gently pushed and prodded, ya’ know, getting in their face with my increasingly widening eye stare, for more ‘specifics’, they’d finally break down – “First off, let’s get back to the 3’PSSR (3 foot Physical Space Separation Rule) plus a breath mint. OK – Well, you’re kinda in the really late, late middle aged section of the library, could use a re-education seminar of the ‘Benefits of Regular Shaving’, occasionally smell a bit – umm – odd, which you obviously use copious amounts of Old Spice to rectify, and from time to time, emit strange noises of various duration and ‘Richter Scale’ impact, that, never the less, add to the world’s increase of climate changing methane. Oh yeah, you’re as dumb as a post. How you have survived this long without being institutionalized is – is – Simply Amazing!!.”
I don’t ask anymore. I mean, I haven’t changed, so why bother?
So, unless she was ‘hiding’ her relationship, the CIA is out. Then again … Assuming she had your real medical and military records, how she or Brown got them is quite a valid question. Not sure what the ‘rules’ were for getting them were back in the mid-70’s, but even recently, it takes some time and effort. So who knows who she really worked for/reported to. And you were no slouch during the rest of the ‘interview’ giving her very little to work with. Loved the part with Bozo. If I was her and when you mentioned Bozo, my thoughts would have gone to – ‘So, this guy is into clowns?’. (Maybe it’s just me.)
And then her opening up about the ‘sham’ interview and telling you the way to sidestep Brown’s train and come out ‘ok’, well, I don’t understand it but you certainly impressed her. She may not have been a “phony”, but unless working for the CIA, she’d certainly sold herself to Brown.
And then there’s Matt – “You give the appearance of knowing very little, Matt, but you do know too much. Are you one of us?”. It seems that the CIA uses a ‘compartmentalized’ system for missions, information, and so on. The TV/movie classic line about ‘having a need to know’ only enough to accomplish your part of a complicated mission. In this case the complicated mission of getting the “artifact” to NM had been planned some time before your ‘airplane ride’, hence Matt was on board, made contact, made it known to keep him in mind for any future ‘operations’ you might have as he would like working with you. (Wow – What a magnetic personality you have!) Yeah, maybe some “red flags”, especially when you needed to it to NM. ‘Just lucky’ you knew the right guy to call!
Why do I think the needs of your “new office” had been thought out pretty much as well. It just seems to be a continuation of your initial exposure to selling insurance in the first place. At some point it was decided to ‘base’ you at some place ‘out of the way’, far from DC. NM is out of the way – So there you go. You needed a ‘real’ job and I guess the wheel stopped at ‘Selling Insurance”. But since the majority of your missions would be outside the country (I think.), you wouldn’t be at the office that much – So how was that going to work out?
I guess they could assign you missions near military/NATO bases, you could sell some policies and complete the mission. Hang out for a while after the mission was completed, sell some more policies and then go home – The ‘stud’ salesman servicing our men and women serving throughout the entire freakin’ world. I’m sure there could be multiple solutions to this quandary, but I’m barely good for one solution at a time. And now I’m thinking that there’s a whole office of folks whose job it is to come up with various solutions.
Man, my head is beginning to hurt. And I did promise to try and be brief. Just sayin’.
Looking forward, like everyone else, to the next chapter.
As always, sincere regards my friend,
Doug
The idea of having a new office was misleading. I wasn’t being offered a position in an insurance agency. I was being offered the management of the agency in order to Bring other new agents aboard, train them and then have them sell politics. My presence would not be supposedly consistently required. Insurance companies also don’t like selling life policies to military members as there’s this mortality element that can come along at any time and drive claims through the roof…that’s called war of course.
Police and fire don’t have mortality problems there because their mortality is the same as the regular public, not that most in the public would believed that because of how television and the news handle those jobs.99 percent of all firemen are never injured in a fire. ninety-nine percent of all cops never fire their weapon in the line of duty, much less get shot or killed. Life insurance companies know all that. Thanks for the amazingly lengthy comment. I will have to take in the rest later as I reread and make some other response to what you’ve written. Nice work and thank you.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Interesting observations about the Insurance Business, Doug.
Jim was given a management position to “build an agency”.
And I observed when I traveled to Albuquerque to help “train and motivate” his agents, he did a damn good job.
Another sidebar about the “Insurance Business” is that it has been an excellent cover to travel within and outside the country to “conduct’ business.
No one ever seemed to bother with those of us non-descript, benign “representatives” ~~smile
Better reply than my own, Chuck. Indeed, the agency became the most successful agency in sales of all 88 in the country,
but part of the reason for that is in the next few chapters so I won’t reveal it here.
Thanks for the usual application of your high intellect and huge body of life experience, particularly the parts you played during these years…and still do in my life today.
Semper fi, my lifelong friend,
Jim
another great chapter in a continuing saga the captures the attentions of readers
I never knew you had PTSD
OK that’s a bit of a fabrication the cast of characters that you’ve come in contact with are completely unique to a person with your skill set
that Marcy was probably a actress doing community theater and picked up 1000 bucks for her pretending to be a psychologist it also shows how the crazy commander misread you he wanted nothing to do with you but was also very much afraid to pull the switch on you so he got somebody to negotiate a mediation/arbitration to focus on leaving
once again I’m just astounded not really because I know you by your character when you asked Paul what to do and he held out the garbage can and you flipped in the microcassette you definitely know the difference between right and wrong myself I think I would have kept it for Insurance just in case you did the right thing at the end of everything in this world I’m beginning to wonder if doing the right thing is the most important thing we can do we sure made our fair share of mistakes but it’s also critical that when the chips were down we did the right thing thanks for writing Jim I love reading it
The fight to not make other men appearing before me in life prey. The struggle to rein in what can be so effective in simple conquest
over others around, depending upon their inability to be equipped with the experience and tools but having no belief
that such things exist…as they generally don’t in their world…until you may appear before them. Of course, they don’t know\what you
are or have become, and hopefully never will. If they do then anyone with real combative PTSD has failed. Becoming aware of that almost immediately upon being released upon the public from one of my last hospital stays
introduced me to the fact that, having such ‘talents’ and thinking such thoughts meant there was something ‘wrong’ with me. The letters PTSD came later.
Today I consider myself a success in handling the PTSD but it was not alway so, as you are about to read.
Thanks for the usual great article.
Your friend and
Semper fi,
Jim
JIm,
Thoroughly enjoyed reading this chapter!
And I am always very enlightened and intrigued by the comment sections between you and your other readers.
Dr. Marcy…I thought the young, good-looking gal was going to try to “compromise” you.
Your hidden tape recorder? Fabulous. Did not see that coming.
Seems like in the game where you are the key piece, everyone else seems to have the “playbook” involving all the info about the ‘game’, except you–who have to figure this out as you travel along and play the game.
You sure have led a most interesting and unusual (and despite the very bad things that happened in the Valley, charmed life). Interesting that despite you good arsenal of personal attributes and good thinking skills, ability to read others, other admirable skill sets, etc., it seems extremely odd that in a lot of ways you were never really in control of your life and what transpired. Maybe the Man Upstairs had the original play book of the game of life you were engaged with. It does make one pause to consider.
Wishing you good health, happy days, and pleasant and enjoyable happenings in the days, weeks, months, years to come.
The Walter Duke. As usual, spot on with everything you comment on. Marcy was a shock, as was the opulence of her office and all
the stuff that went with it. Her hair, attire, heels…all of it, was set to make her male clients at the very least uncomfortable,
and therefore vulnerable. I do believe to this day that she was struck by my background and decided that she could accomplish the
mission without keeping up the act. That she was correct is just another credit to how good she really was.
Thanks for the great comment of considerable depth.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Prior to your writing the Cowardly Lion, curious to know when (if ever) you told your children about your CIA involvement.
My wife always knew…everything I could tell her, which was most of what went on. My greatest councilor, map-reader from afar, long-distance telephone therapist,
medical savior and more…not to mention having a better objective idea of what missions I should turn down even if it caused my termination (three times).
My children figured it out in high school and had to be partially brought in. You can’t have a family at all if you don’t tell them most of what’s going on
in field work, Maybe that works in analysis but not in field services. Not if you want to have a family and a life back here.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
LT, Doctor Marcy must be CIA also to have access to your entire history if in fact she actually has what she indicates she has. Since you didn’t actually look at the file who knows. Paul points out he couldn’t get your file no matter what. Also the cowboy chief has to be more than meets the eye since he set this whole thing up. Interesting how the CIA works in moving you along thru life like a pinball. Never knowing who is what or next. Good chapter and always an interesting read.
Did the CIA, the only operation that could truly gather all my records without quesstion to arrange for the
departure, and not only that but prepare Marcy to cut me a deal like I had, and still have, a hard time
Believing. Interesting thoughts here.
Thanks for the and the compliment, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
A deuce & 1/2 to hall the artifact?
“What a long strange trip it’s been” lyrics from Trucking by the Dead come to mind. It’s been a great ride so far & from all indications it’s far from over. The up coming trip should be interesting.
I did not say no to the truck as I was trying to give nothing away to a source I knew knew something but
not likely much. More than anything, I was afraid of being seen as a crazy person because I would not
under almost any circumstance, demonstrate the object’s characteristics. Fine. A Six by. Overkill but so
what? As long as I could get the money out of the CIA to pay the railroad and ancillary people, like drivers.
“Lately, it occurs to me…” about everything!
Semper fi, and thanks for the great comment
Jim
Another great chapter in the books. I am out of superlatives to describe your writing James. On to New Mexico!
Thanks Charles, although thanks is also one of those ‘superlatives’ you mention that just doesn’t seem to properly describe
a significant reaction. My morning begins with your encouraging words….thank you for that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Mr. Strauss, Sir,
Gaaaaaa !!! I read about that situation, and I just want to holler. Of course that darn file in Dr. Marcy’s office was prepared long before you were informed of this meeting. I wonder if the other officers in the department were in fact sent to this woman (or her firm) for evaluation, or if it was all just a ruse to get at you.
I found it refreshing the way she seemed so open about telling you what her evaluation was going to be, and making that deal with you – especially with all of the secrecy going on with all of the other stuff you have been part of. But then, when I read that you have been summoned back to the department after your shift was over, I wonder if maybe her deal with you was some kind of test that the chief had come up with.
I know life isn’t fair, but stuff like this just makes me want to holler.
ps. I think that your writing continues to get better and better (not that I’m qualified to make that determination)
Thank you
Keith, sometimes comments like yours surprise the hell out of me because it’s hard for me to imagine that
others are so deeply penetrating the story to its very depth (like what Brown might be planning and thinking). Back then I feared such schemes might be in the offing but didn’t give it nearly as much thought as I would today with all my life experience. Yes, Brown surfaced as one of the worst nefarious and downright nasty enemies I’d ever encountered. In combat its right in your face not all oily crummy moves manipulating others to play out plans that really do take a lot of time and energy to formulate…and why would a chief of police bother. he’s already chief, where is he planning to move up to at my expense…ans so on.
Thanks for the great comment, also revealing a bit about yourself and the compliment too…
Semper fi,
Jim
James: I have been following your story with fascination and keep thinking how strange it was that they were trusting such an amazing artifact that could have far reaching scientific value with a person new to the agency and far down on the chain of command! No disrespect to you, James, but it makes me wonder about the intelligence of the people who were in control at that time! Fortunately, you were a trustworthy and responsible individual!
I look forward to future chapters! Thank you for sharing your fascinating story!
Fear, Bill, fear. Fear of the unknown is probably the greatest motivating factor in the human condition.
They didn’t know and didn’t want to know. After Einstein published his relativity paper he still worked a long
time in a patent office of peanuts. Fear. Politicians, I learned, live in fear all the time and when things crop up
that they can’t understand or deal with then they try to get rid of those right away and their feeling about the future
of mankind, science, education and more go right tout the window. It’s a hard system and we go backwards so many times from where we could be going. Gheck out the space program. We still have not come back from the sixties nightmare of space
abandonment. We left space out of fear and we’re having a hard time going back. The artifact is the same. I couldn’t understand that part back then and I myself was internally afraid that the attention I was receiving form just about everywhere would build up and then destroy me. I understand so much better today. I’m also happy that God did not see fit to elevate me to a level of fame over that or other things so I could have a real family and real friends. I’m blessed…and blessed by seemingly happening on to this form of writing and publishing in order t have people like you in my life. Every day I am motivated to continue and that’s a really big deal. Thank you so much.
Semper fi,
Jim
Brown is a tiny,tiny snake of a man with massive insecurity. Avoid the folks who promoted the likes of him! There’s a lot to be shocked by in the Cowardly Lion, but aside from the artifact, the biggest shock for me was the lack of cohesion, planning and communication in the CIA! Great job James!
Jack, the loosely held together formation and operation of the agency at that time served some
very valuable purposes. Secrecy was easier when not much was provable in physics but had to be
accepted verbally. The Internet hadn’t been invented and cell phones were still years away.
There was no cable news or twenty-four hour stuff. The loose organization allowed for
‘accidental’ agents, totally unlike what Fleming or La Carre wrote about. Was there opportunity’ for
theft and fraud? Of course, but the punishments for such things were huge and the rather new
surveillance tools quickly learned by all agents suppressed a lot of that.
Thanks for the great comment and the compliment at the end of it.
Semper fi my friend,
Jim
I think I understand that Jim. The lack of structure made it easier to deny responsibility in the of a failed mission. Brilliant!
That was part of it Jack. Some of the rest was selection. They were looking for people who could run a mission
not just be a member of it. They needed men and women who could make decisions on their own but for the good of
the cause. I understood, after a while. It was the valley all over again but with a good battalion commander and on
up the chain. Thanks for the great come back.
Semper fi,
Jim
Is the 6X6 for everything you will be moving or just the artifact?
The encounter with Dr. Marcy was interesting and it mirrors what I feel about your dealing with the chief. You said he was or more intelligent than you. People with similar gifts are like magnets, either attracting or repelling the other. That seems to be the case with the chief, obviously an egomaniac (the cowboy hat is the give way, )not unlike a recent president who is intimidated by intelligence, education, or general competency. These often win the stare down because of their position or power. With this trial and before we see the kowtowing of people who were reasonable enough to condemn the attempted coup, crawfishing in the presence of polls,they are convinced to latch on to like remora and sharks following for the tidbits cast aside/
Looking forward to how it all played out.
Kemp
Now that’s a comment-and-a-half! Wow, H.Kemp, but you have outdone yourself. I read and then reread. There were a lot of strange
characters who came and went, or stayed, in this continuing saga and Chief Brown was one of them, as much one way as Cliff, the former chief had been the other.
Intellect is hard to measure in others, simply because survival calls for many different presentations…sometimes encouraging the appearance of high intellect
and at others the opposite. It’s also easy to judge others, when it comes to such things, based on circumstance or action, both of which can be resultant rather than
causal. How does the observe figure that out and then judge? Tough stuff, really. Thanks for a terrific and complex comment on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
I laughed out loud a couple time while reading this chapter. Your current psychologist, and your new one, both seem to know a lot about you before you even enter their doorway.
Having the micro recorder with you while in the interview with Dr Marcy seems like a classic CIA move. However, I hope that you didn’t get rid of your protection too soon, before you really needed it. Proper protection will become critical in your new line of work.
I hope that life is treating you well. Summer time should be fun time.
Actually, I didn’t take the tape machine to catch her or prove something. It wasn’t a spy move at all. I’d assumed that the meeting would
be one of many and that there would be tests. I didn’t go in thinking it was done deal. I was recording in order to prepare myself for the expected future meetings.
I wasn’t spying stop much as preparing myself to cheat as much as I could and stay semi-straight about it. Dr. Marcy was wrong, when it came to my own safety. It’s true that I’d come
to find that I would not kill or maim using violence as a knee-jerk reaction. I’d take the little bit of time prior to such action to think and evaluate.
Would I kill again? Yes. Did I kill again? Yes. Was I as agonized over that as I was in the valley? No. Regret? Sometimes. Memory? Always.
Thans for the complex but meaningful comment on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
There is something very odd about that interview with Marcy. Was it common to be able get all your military and medical information like that? Or was it a file full of blank paper and all she really knew was what the Chief told her? You didn’t look so you wouldn’t know. Regardless, it was an obvious set up and quite probably illegal not to mention unethical. I would loved to have seen the look on her face had you told her of your new employer.
In the end I suppose it didn’t matter since you were moving on anyway.
I would grow more guarded in my communications and revelations once i was trained and more jaded in intelligence work.
I never told Marcy, of course and I don’t know if Brown knew. I would have more to do with him and it wasn’t good but that
all comes later. I wasn’t sure whether Dr. Marcy was afraid of me or not. With everything she had in front of her, and I presumed she’d poured over
the stuff before she saw me, she might well have been although covering brilliantly. Maybe the deal was her deal alone, and she gave it to me
as a sign that she understood that she was potential prey and that she had fallen in with a real live, although unassuming or demonstrative, predator.
I didn’t and don’t know. Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn. Maybe double damm. Sitting here reading this I looked to where my new clamshell holster is sitting at with a stainless Colt is in it. Its a cross draw leather open top,chosen for no interference with a seat belt.The last chapter I read had me leaning back looking at the ceiling for a long time. It was like opening a window and looking at myself for the last fifty years. I actually saw myself and who I was .The one thing that stood out was my kindness to my fellow man .Its scary how much you write that mirrors my life.
Carroll, that’s one helluva long compliment and I’m still absorbing it. I am so happy that you were able to reach into the writing
and also into yourself…and then draw those two seemingly so different things together. Although I loved my .45, as you’ve read all the way
back, I also love my clamshell holster with the Smith .44 magnum shot-loated rising inside it. The four inch barrel meant that any discharge created
a fireball at the tip of the barrel that blossomed out four feet in diameter. I loved the flash, the impossible explosion, the recoil, the return to battery
and finally the smell of ‘cordite’ in the air. I was not built for combat, aggressive macho confrontations or Sun Tzu plotting. I simply was here, there, and then damn
near everywhere gaining experience in all three areas until it was just a part of me. I’m now much older, wiser, calmer, quieter and much more
pleasingly peaceful to those around me, and most have no clue how I came to be this way.
Thanks for being one of my unknown, quiet, but true brothers out there in the world. Affinity twins, if you will.
Semper fi,
Jim
There is a lot defined in this chapter! The Chief’s charade with March is rather juvenile and easily controlled, you ensured that with the recording; while disposed; witnessed! I find it possible that you didn’t leave without ensuring he understood his exposure and might revisit!
Matt exposed himself by enabling the move. Makes one wonder about our present supposed reliance on high tech intell and the supposed decimated Agency HUMINT resources
Colonel, I was not the only gifted and experienced player to come aboard in the agency. My control once threatened to send somebody
exactly like me to come after me if I attempted to go rogue…which I never did nor seriously thought about. His that did go
right into my core though. I would not want someone like me coming after me…or even thinking about doing such a thing.
I would be at such a huge disadvantage…since it wouldn’t be likely that I’d know he was coming. The next chapter does indeed
deal with exactly what you’re writing about here.
Semper fi, my great friend,
Jim
Is anything ever simple in your world? It seems that any action taken by you or those around you leads to more trials than conclusions. As much as I have enjoyed the adventure so far it just seems to be ever expanding and all encompassing. Looking forward as usual to your continuing saga!
These were times of great tumult for myself, my family and the entire nation. I was thrown in with
all manner of assorted wild and powerful characters and I made vvery attempt to wend my way around and through them.
Except for making many of them buy life insurance policies (many of which have paid off) I did’t manipulate almost
any of them for gain. I wasn’t investing in my future so much a living on into it. Hope you enjoy the continuing story,
or really stories, and thank you for wanting more.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, you made my day by just the appearance of this new chapter in my “in box” this morning, and reading this was the icing on the case.
Dr. Marcy. She appeared to be operating on instruction, but from whom? Your esteemed Police Chief? The Company? An as-yet unidentified entity?
And now said Chief summoning you to a post-shift meeting? I wonder that the hackles on the back of your neck aren’t standing up like a mini-forest of sharp daggers!
Couple or so edits; I’ll leave those to Dan C.
Truly loving the almost diary-like telling of this important portion of your life.
Conditioning from combat and the making of real surviving veteran doesn’t encourage the development of rising hackles.
No, it causes a calm smooth slightly rolling sea of comforting emotion to lay down a path straight toward and through it.
I don’t seek violence out, but to this day might oblige any who ask me to commit it…on them, not be order on others.
We never overcome our built in fear generating emotions but they do become waves passing beneath us, as, like a surfer out
after the dawn, riding up and down those waves waiting for just the right one to dive into, paddle like hell, and then stand up to ride.
Part of PTSD is avoidance. Its also constant preparation and paranoia…but it’s application has plenty of built up power supply in order
to encourage entry into the fight, if there’s to be one, and like with the tape recorder and Marcy, to cheat like hell if at all possible and then lie about that later.
Thanks for the great comment, as usual and for sounding healthy.
Your friend, and semper fi,
Jim
Seems like you don’t have any control of what direction you are headed!! It looks like it is all planned out without any input from you, it would rattle my cage that’s for sure. Keep them a coming sir and Semper fi!!
I portray myself, I notice in rereading, as a bit of a steadier hand at the helm than I really was.
I spent a lot of time in fearful contemplation and trying to figure out the why of things that simply
had no answers at the time…or some, even now. Thanks for the comment and your opinion and the compliment
at the end.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, Interesting that you could have a direct conversation with Marcy. Professional to be honest in answering your questions. Not professional in submitting predetermined evaluations.
Can the six-by fit in the motorhome bay of the garage – or is it too wide and/or too tall?
Looking forward to the continuing adventures.
Some minor editing suggestions follow:
Resolute desk: https://www.whitehousehistory.org/photos/treasures-of-the-white-house-resolute-desk
Maybe reword
her butt into a wooden desk that looked like a replica of the ‘Resolute’ presidential desk. The original had been crafted from the timbers of a ship of that name and was a gift from Queen Victoria.
She held out her right hand toward and after gently pointing
Add “me” after “toward”
She held out her right hand toward me and after gently pointing
having been spoken as a whisper than anything else
Maybe add “more” after “spoken”
having been spoken more as a whisper than anything else
given the completer controlled assembly of what you really are
Maybe “completely” instead of “completer”
given the completely controlled assembly of what you really are
only question that makes any sense in all of this. What do you want to do?”
Maybe single quote the ‘What do you want to do?’ inside the full quotes.
only question that makes any sense in all of this. ‘What do you want to do?’”
“How do we do this”
Add question mark
“How do we do this?”
I wondered if it was a comment to all members of the psychiatric profession
Maybe change “a comment” to “common”
I wondered if it was common to all members of the psychiatric profession
another police agency or seek out work out that has violence
Two “out”s Drop “out” after “work”
another police agency or seek out work that has violence
Chuck Bartok taught me the ‘assumed close’
Maybe add “about” after “me”
Chuck Bartok taught me about the ‘assumed close’
that you’re basically being fired,, and then
Two commas. Drop one.
that you’re basically being fired, and then
Mary and Jules were probably at the beach since her car was there
Add baby Matthew
Mary, Jules and Matthew were probably at the beach since her car was there
Mary and Jules were down from the cliff we live back from the top of.
/ What I don’t know is if accessing the beach from your new home places one on a portion of the beach covered by the Beach Patrol. If so, this fits. If not, then Mary has to use the car to reach the main beach. We also are missing the baby, Matthew./
Reword sentence
Mary, Jules and Matthew were on the beach below the cliff our house perched on.
Are you one of us?”.I waited
Seems extra period before “I” Drop
Are you one of us?” I waited
another switch on the dash for those.
Close quotes
another switch on the dash for those.”
Since winning the medal
“winning” implies chance. Maybe “being awarded”
Since being awarded the medal
my medal nor would probably not have cared if they did know.
Two negatives “nor” and “not” Drop “not”
my medal nor would probably have cared if they did know.
Blessings & Be Well
Thanks to the max, my friend, for the help on this one. Also the comment, of course. I was never to encounter Dr. Marcy, or even know her last name as I never got her final report to the department. She was different, just as Paul was different and I think I profited by both of them being that way. I really do think that she went totally in reverse when she’d done her homework about me. She’d been told some pretty harsh things, I believe, but the hard data in her hands didn’t support those things and that probably shocked her. Then I appeared in front of her, and my appearance and personality were anything but what I was probably described to be. Mr Peepers, kind of thing. Maybe the Audie Murphy effect. I was not a macho tough guy ready to commit violence nor afraid to if required. I also think she didn’t want to play the game she was assigned to play so she went the other way, in her way. I’m complimented to this day in believing that she found me immediately, and through study, an acceptable human being. Those of us with PTSD find ourselves, generally, a long way from acceptable.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Great chapter, Jim. Your comments to Craig Wilcox got my attention. Thirty or so years ago, the VA sent me to a psychiatrist. He tested me with fifty questions. Answer with your first impulse…or impression. Don’t think, he said. Speak. He asked as fast as he could. Took about five minutes. I couldn’t answer some questions. He was too quick. You’re fine, he said. My Impulse, at that point, involved violence.
For myself, your description of PTSD fits a condition I found descriptively elusive. It was, at times, like riding a rolling ocean of emotions and fears and vigilance and recollections so vivid they seem, at best, near at hand…at worst, immediately horrific. Now that I’m genuinely old, that last part sleeps. But how do I explain to my wife why I drive and still watch the surroundings and approaches; as well as the road. She thinks I’m not paying attention. Perhaps it’s just an old habit, by now.
My PC’s nurse still asks me those probing questions about mental health. I tell her I’m not considering suicide and I’m generally a contented husband and grandpa. She pats my hand, smiles and says “and that’s just the way it is. Right?” I reckon so.
Thanks again.
I reckon so…straight from the Outlaw Josey Wales where it was used by a southern screenwriter to such great effect.
I live in he country with farm fields around. My neighbor was out working on his plot when I saw him so walked over.
He commented on how bad it smelled that day. I indicated that they’d just used the liquid fertilizer on the field just to the east of us and that the wind was blowing gently from that direction. He laughed and said he thought it was from the bodies buried on my property. I laughed too but then asked a question. “How many bodies do you think I have buried there?” He looked at my land, and then me before saying “seven.’ I laughed that off too and then went my way. In thinking, that exchange was due to PTSD. Mine. That such a thing would come to his mind at all is because of certain signals I was likely transmitting without being aware. I know he didn’t really think that, he was just reacting to something about me. It was funny…but it also wasn’t. Thanks for that terrific comment and your own life wedged into it.
Semper fi, brother,
Jim