The ride on the freeway down toward and then through San Clemente was made in silence. I said nothing and neither of the women did either. I refused to look over at the Staff Sergeant as I felt that if I made the slightest wrong move the whole scene of which I had been forced to become a part might shatter like a very thin piece of glass.
Once the limo reached the Chistianitos overpass the Staff Sergeant deftly steered the vehicle toward Presidio, which once he turned south it would lead directly into the eastern corner of the compound where the Marine guard gate was located.
“Take this thing to the hotel parking lot for a few minutes,” Mrs. Hunt said, her voice barely audible.
“Yes, ma’am,” the Staff Sergeant replied, acting like everything was just as it was supposed to be.
The hotel was where the gathering would be in very short order, what with my visit from the Chief of Protocol, and now a detour to the place where the disguised birthday ball was going to be held, I wondered about linkage. I was the beach patrol. I was supposedly along to give the Staff Sergeant company, as well as the passengers, but nobody, including me, had been in a talkative mood since departing from El Toro. Why was I there? Why had the sergeant included me in such a seemingly innocent yet sly way?
The Staff Sergeant stopped the car right in front of the portico that extended out over a part of the parking lot, offering visitors and guests a good measure of protection against the elements, not that there were any elements other than sunshine and easy dry heat to deal with.
“Get out and go inside,” Mrs. Hunt instructed, obviously talking to the Staff Sergeant.
I didn’t move. I wanted to go with him in the worst way but felt deep in my core that the woman would say ‘not you,’ or something like that. I was there, accompanying all three of them on purpose. I took in a deep breath and tried not to sigh out loud as the Staff Sergeant exited the Lincoln and stepped through the front door of the hotel. There was nobody around at all, I realized, but then the hotel hadn’t been making it at all before the Nixon’s decided to take over the neighborhood. Now, the hotel would fill up beyond capacity for a few days and then be empty for a week or more. Since the Russians were coming, the hotel would do quite well I was certain, depending upon how long they were staying. There was no chance that any of the staff or security could stay in the compound, and certainly not the residence. They all drank copious amounts of raw alcohol and Pat Nixon was not a fan of drinking or drinkers, much less the kind of people who drank in amounts that seemed to be beyond the realm of possibly surviving.
“Let’s have a little talk,” June Cobb said, speaking her first words to me ever.
I slowly turned my head and twisted my upper body so I could face both of the women. Their gazes were penetrating, and they seemed to be surrounded by an aura of intellect. No wonder the Staff Sergeant was afraid to be alone with them, I thought, feeling as, or more, intimidated than he must have. I waited, since I hadn’t been asked a question.
“You know us,” Mrs. Hunt said, strangely pointing first at her own upper chest and then that of the woman next to her.
“Actually,” I don’t,” I replied, wondering what kind of a test I was experiencing while not wanting to be tested at all.
“We know you,” Mrs. Hunt went on. I was mildly pleased by the fact that she didn’t feel it necessary to point at me when saying the words.
Again, I made no reply.
“You rescued my yacht,” June Cobb said, and then went through it to make sure nobody found anything, so I want to thank you.”
I was astounded, not that she knew I’d been aboard for both events but that fact that I’d had much of anything to do with either. I was just there. Bob rescued her yacht, with Richard’s help while I was simply there. Out on San Clemente Island there was nothing except a government pen to be found.
“And I paid you cash for your services,” Mrs. Hunt said, nodding very seriously before smiling openly.
That didn’t make me feel good either, as I’d hoped nobody would know about the money or even what I did.
“I’m the commander of the beach patrol and that’s it,” I finally said, not having any idea of where these women were going or why they’d wanted to talk to me.
“Did you come in from Mexico?” I asked, blurting the question out simply because I wanted to say something, anything, that might make sense out of the strange meeting.
At least with the Ambassador I’d been given an assignment along with the mystery of why I was being entrusted to do anything at all with foreign dignitaries. I spoke no Russian. My college degree in ethnology hadn’t included any study about the Russian culture or the linguistics involved.
“No, I came in from Cuba,” June replied, delivering the words as if she assumed I would already know that.
“Cuba?” I said, in a bit of shock. “There’s only the Panama Canal to get your yacht from Cuba to here,” I pointed out, trying to place the enormity of such a trip in my mind.
“The yacht was transported by train to Mexico, and I flew,” June said, this time letting me know that I was being a bit of an idiot. “I wasn’t on the boat, that was somebody else, and it shouldn’t have happened that way.”
I didn’t care about the yacht or even who might have been on it.
“Why are you talking to me?” I finally got out. “I’m nobody and you both are connected in ways that I can’t even imagine.
“You need to know some things,” Mrs. Hunt said.
“Why do I need to know anything?” I came back, shaking my head.
“You need to know for posterity,” Cobb added with no delay at all, as if the two of them had practiced before meeting me.
“There’s nobody else. One day soon all this is going to pass into history and nobody’s going to remember things they never knew in the first place,” Mrs. Hunt said.
There was a silence in the car, and although both women looked at me expectantly, like I had some reply, I really had nothing. I didn’t understand either of them, but I was coming to realize that there was more to be afraid of in what I was doing just poking around on my own than I’d fully realized. I was associating with people who were, for all intents and purposes, in control of running the world, not just around me and San Clemente, but literally the world.
I knew I had to say something.
“Alright, thank you for trusting me,” I began. “I’m getting the idea that what I’m looking into isn’t for publication but that I’m still to pursue looking into it. What’s happening in Washington is going to affect everything from the news shows I’m watching, and soon. Is any of this about that?”
“Those are separate issues, although you’re right,” Mrs. Hunt replied. “June is with the other side of this and not involved, but I’ve got to do as much avoidance work as I can.”
I wanted to ask both of them why they were telling me what they were telling me but couldn’t think of any way to do that. I sensed they were both in some sort of trouble, a lot more trouble than I conceived of me being in, but what kind of trouble?
“The separate issues,” I began, faltering slightly, before going on. “What’s your issue Ms. Cobb?”
Cobb stared into my eyes without blinking. I then realized that Dorothy Hunt was not a high threat person but Ms. Cobb certainly was. I felt like I was watching her mind work toward a decision.
“Kennedy,” she replied, finally, the coldness of her stare not warming whatsoever. “The president is right to be committed to solving that and I’m here now because of that.”
“Were you involved,” I asked, in great surprise, and then immediate regret, as her expression became even more threatening.
“I live in regret,” was all she said, before turning to look out her window toward the hotel entrance.
“Were the three Marines somehow because of that?” I continued on, wanting to stop, get back to the compound and rejoin regular humanity, but I couldn’t.
“What three Marines?” Mrs. Hunt asked.
“Yes,” Cobb followed up, her words seeming to run touching the last word in Mrs. Hunt’s sentence.
Both women looked at one another.
“Damn it,” Mrs. Hunt said.
“All of that,” replied Cobb, neither of them speaking to me.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, getting back to something I was fast coming to understand in working with the people in any way affiliated with the Western White House.
Government people always wanted things done or to know things and there was almost no denying them. I wanted out of the car and out of their presence. I needed to hear what they wanted and then I might be let go.
“For you to know,” Cobb said, turning her head to once again face my own.
My torso hurt from my position in the car and the pressures it placed on my wounds. The Marine Corps “T” shirt would have been a better choice of attire, as it was red, and I knew I had to be bleeding or starting to bleed again soon. My wife used cold milk to soak my shirts in, and that seemed to get rid of the blood stains after a good hot wash, and my jacket would hide most of anything that came through until I could get home.
“Will I see you again?” I asked, not having understood her answer or Mrs. Hunt’s silence but knowing I probably never might. I asked the question because I was in fear that one or both of them would attend either the gathering or the coming meeting with Mr. Brezhnev and his security team.
“I’ll be aboard my yacht, which I thank you for bringing back to me in such good condition. Call Richard and I’ll receive you over the next few days. You may bring Pat Bowman and officer Gularte with you if you so choose.”
I was stunned and remained silent. How could the woman have any clue as to what condition the yacht was in or how it got to be returned? Even worse, I understood that Pat Bowman, that wonderful woman, was somehow connected to the Western White House and the ‘friendly’ mole. But Gularte? Where did his name come from? The only connector to everything was Richard, and Richard was not giving her true renditions of almost anything that had happened. I felt a shiver. I was being made to be some sort of hero when, in fact, I wasn’t. That had also happened following my service in country. Nothing good had so far come from being that fake hero and my misgivings were beginning to rise to the level of real fear in once more becoming something I was not. Being. Hero was to be a target but denying any of things that were described as others as heroic behavior didn’t help, it just made things worse. A hero who denied being a hero was considered to be more valid and a bigger hero than before. There was no sense to it but I was living it so I shut up.
“Are we done here?” Mrs. Hunt asked, looking at Cobb, not me.
I twisted back around in my seat and spear of pain when through me that was not tolerable, and I groaned aloud, trying to hold it back but unsuccessful in doing so.
“Your wounds?” Cobb asked, from over my shoulder.
I couldn’t get a word out to reply, afraid that I’d lose it or pass out. I knew the pain would pass in a few minutes if I didn’t move just as I recognized the fact that the woman, or women, behind me knew a whole lot more about me and my background than I would ever have guessed without hearing Cobb’s comment.
“I’ll get the driver,” Mrs. Hunt said, getting out of the Lincoln and heading through the door into the hotel lobby.
It only took seconds for her to find the waiting sergeant and return.
Once back in the Lincoln we headed for the compound, only minutes away.
“Drop us at the compound and then you might consider getting him home or to the ER on the other end of town,” June Cobb instructed.
“Yes, ma’am,” the Staff Sergeant said, glancing over at me.
I remained straight and erect in my posture, holding myself all together, feeling the warmth of blood running gently down the center of my body. I gauged the volume and knew I could make it home if I didn’t move.
The Lincoln moved slowly but deliberately toward the compound, the sergeant looking at me occasionally. Our arrival was without incident. The two women got out, Mrs. Hunt saying that she’d enjoyed putting a face to my name, and Cobb indicating that she’d see me again soon.
“Home,” I got out, without groaning or crying.
“What in hell did they do to you?”
“Just home,” I repeated, having no interest in talking further, my full attention on simply surviving and enduring the pain until it passed.
The rest of the day was spent with my wife taking care of me, going back to having four by fours taped up and down the front of my body and having her keep asking me how I’d gotten in such bad condition.
The night was fitful, but Julie came into the bed after midnight, tucked herself carefully between us, along with Mrs. Beasley, and everything suddenly got better. The next day was going to be a big day, the day of the gathering, and I had to be up for that, or my wife would never forgive me.
Anxiety and nervousness were the order of the later morning hours, and it ate its way through me as well as through my wife. I could not shake the meeting I’d had with Cobb and Hunt from my mind, as I’d come to tune in late at night to the network news on all three major stations. E. Howard Hunt was up to his elbows in the developing scandal being called Watergate. Dorothy Hunt was never mentioned but there were rumors at the compound that she was the democratic party’s ‘paymaster,’ although nobody ever went into detail about what that title really meant. It meant that she’d paid me with funds from the party and not the government, as I’d always assumed, and the thought of that money being attributed to something of a contact with Watergate bothered me. The gathering was scheduled to be at two in the afternoon, so I wanted to leave at one to be sure to park properly, get inside early as instructed and also be available to security for whatever they might want from me, although the beach was a good quarter mile and down a vertical cliff from the location of the hotel.
We arrived at the hotel a half hour early, as I’d been instructed. Only security was around, with Secret Service, U.S. Marshals and some of the local cops I knew milling around or talking in small groups with cigarettes burning everywhere.
My wife and I waited in the foyer, where chairs were placed against both walls. Ten minutes before the affair was supposed to get underway, a young woman I’d never seen before came to stand in front of us. She held out her hand to my wife, a big smile on her face.
“Come with me,” she said, the tone of her voice so welcoming that it would never have occurred to either my wife or I to not follow her lead.
The doors to the hotel’s conference room swung open from the inside, as if on command, and we stepped through. To our right was a receiving line. Haldeman and Ehrlichman were both standing near the end of it, with Pat Nixon and the President at the very end. A dozen people I’d seen before but never really come to know formed most of the line. The young lady ushered us to the head of the line and both of us began smiling and shaking hands as we made our way down the line from one person to another. Pat Nixon was the only one who said my name, as we had no name tags. I’d seen the name tags of the formally invited set on a table right next to where the conference room double doors opened but we had nothing.
“Beach Boy’s wife,” Pat Nixon smiled warmly, in shaking my wife’s hand before my own. I shook her hand in turn, before stepping in front of the president.
Nixon didn’t smile, simply and weakly shaking hands.
My wife and I headed to the back of the room, to one of the stand up and tall, little tables where filled wine glasses dotted the top. White wine and red were the choices with no indication of what the wine was or its make or origin.
My wife stood at the back of one table, selecting a red.
“Beach Boy’s wife?” she whispered. “I presume you’re going to tell me at some point that that name’s some sort of name of great respect.”
A young couple came through the line and headed to the only occupied table we were standing at.
“Hi,” the woman said, her expression friendly.
I shook hands with the man I presumed was her husband. I didn’t even get a chance to read either of their name tags. The woman was wearing one of those long dresses with a big bow located at the center front of the thing just under her rather large breasts.
“Oh, hello,” my wife said, almost toasting the woman’s arrival with her wine glass. “When are you due?” she went on.
It was like time stopped as a short silence descended. I somehow knew what the woman was going to reply before she said the words.
“I’m not pregnant.”
My wife’s face turned to stone as she slowly put her wine glass on the table. I looked around me, but there was nothing to be done or any help anywhere.
My wife started physically backing up until she reached the wall. I went along, wondering what she was doing. The wall had one of those push bar openers running horizontally across its center. My wife pushed her back into it and stepped through the opening as the door gaped open. I followed her, looking up and down the empty alley just outside, as the door closed behind me with a loud click.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Why did I say that?’ my wife replied, the stress in her tone one I’d never heard before.
I grabbed the door handle and tried to turn it.
“Come on,” I said, as I tried to take her arm and guide her. “We’ll have to walk around and go in the front.”
“I’m never going back inside there, not now, not ever,” she replied. “We’re going home. Go get the car, right now.”
I did as I was told, wondering how the classiest woman I’d ever met and just about the most intelligent, could ever have made such a monumental mistake.
We drove in silence.
Once I got my wife settled back in at home there was no point in staying there. Her level of distress wasn’t something that any counseling from me was going to lessen or mitigate. Only time would help, and maybe the company of Julie since, even at her very young age, Julie had a capability to dismiss those things she encountered in life that didn’t matter to her. My argument that the gathering, and all the people we really didn’t have relationships within the Nixon administration, had no meaning in our lives so why be distressed about one possibly embarrassing moment in time with them went nowhere during our short drive back to the apartment.
The afternoon lay ahead of me, and I had a lot on my mind. My unimportant position with the Western White House coupled with my seemingly very important meaning to some of them was difficult to accommodate. I was a second lieutenant, the lowest officer of the low, but once more I was, as in the valley, commanding nearly half a battalion, or so I felt. I wanted to take a run on the beach, but I didn’t want to come back home and take the time to get cleaned up and then change in order to make the beach patrol shift at six p.m. with Richard.
I wasn’t looking forward to the shift, as being around the talented, financed and obviously successful man wasn’t comfortable. I had to be alert and ‘on’ all the time, totally unlike the times I spent combing the beaches with Gularte, or even Herberich or Steed. My wife’s faux paux at the gathering was going to have reverberations for some time in my household and there was nothing I could do about it except practice avoidance.
I laid out my uniform across our bed, threw on my OP shorts, Marine Corps “T” shirt and New Balance running shoes.
“I’m never going to another one of your parties again,” my wife said, as I eased as quietly down the stairs as I could, having hoped to get through the front door before she encountered me.
“Okay,” I replied, giving her a supporting smile.
“Who were those people?” she asked, placing herself between the bottom of the stairs where I stood and the front door.
“What people?” I replied, knowing full well that she meant the couple she’d made the vital mistake with.
She turned and headed for the kitchen, her departing expression one of complete disgust.
The only place I could think to go, once I got through the front door, was Galloways. A nexus of peace and quiet in my life of wildly different disorders, all seemingly centered on me. For the first time in my life, I wanted to be less important and sought after, or at least have some understanding about why such attention was being paid to me without me understanding the reason why.
The afternoon crowd was gone by the time I got to restaurant. I left the Volks at home because I wanted the walk out in the fresh air. The mild wind blowing in off the ocean from only a few blocks away was refreshing as well as a reminder that the whole beach extending miles in each direction was under my control and it didn’t give a damn about my importance or lack thereof.
There was nobody at the restaurant except Tom and Lorraine. The dinner trade hadn’t started pouring in. Tom’s informal, simple but inexpensive and tasty dinners were becoming a legend around the small town. How he could turn a paddy of ground beef, served on white bread with gravy into a Salisbury Steak delight was beyond me. Chief Murray had Galloways provide meals when prisoners were in San Clemente’s holding cells awaiting transport up to county. The Chief swore that some of the town drunk regulars deliberately got arrested to enjoy eating the Salisbury Steak from Galloways.
I went inside to sit at my usual table. I wasn’t there for more than a minute before Lorraine came out with a cup of coffee and a comment.
“Your new friends are coming,” she said, as Mike Manning and Jim Gularte approached from the sidewalk, both talking to one another in a very animated way.
I wanted to hold my head in both hands. The mysteries and seeming coincidences were coming too fast. My body was still sore so I sat straight up however, and I was wearing my red shirt so not telltale rivulets of blood would embarrass me.
“You can do it,” I whispered to myself, talking a sip of coffee and waiting.
After some wonderful help, only this one left (on my list):
‘paddy’ = ‘patty’ (rice-paddy vs beef-patty)
Love your wife’s faux pas – usually men come up with that one – not sharp, analytical women! haha
Thanks for the ongoing saga!
My wife had not read that chapter and will probably not like it, although it has become passed on down by everyone as family lore. Mary is so accurate and brilliant…and to have made that kind of mistake, so unlike her and then the exit out through the door into the alley. Wow.
It was something. I was sworn to secrecy which I never could keep. I’m usually the one to commit such a mistake like that, not here.
Semper fi
Jim
Funny the associations certain things trigger. Every time is see San Onofre written, Surfin’ USA springs to mind. When the song came out, there was no google to easily look up lyrics. Being a Canadian boy, I was unfamiliar with small California towns, except as lyrics, like Anaheim, Azusa, Cucamonga (“sewing circle, book review and timing association.)
Once again, great story. Thank you.
So happy that you can identify Tim…it means a lot to me that I can bring the reality of those times and places
to your very doorstep of comprehension. Thanks for the great compliment, although you didn’t really write what you wrote with
that kind of intent!
Semper fi,
Jim
Mr. Strauss, Sir,
“I’m nobody and you both are connected in ways that I can’t even imagine.” I understand why you’re telling the ladies this – and somehow it makes me wonder who it was that first decided that you ARE somebody and sent you in the direction of the people in the Western White House. I seem to remember some lousy treatment in your hospitals and some lousy treatment from Marines after you got out of the hospitals. Who would have been to one or ones to treat you right and offer a recommendation to the powers that be?
I have come through life to this point by being recognized, underground, by important people. Even to this day.
I’m not sure how it works when you get inside, like a made man with the Mafia.
Here I am writing all that I know of that time, mostly because everyone involved has passed away.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hero ? Damned straight you were a hero then and now . The people you were dealing with could never touch you when it came to the sacrifice that you made for another country while serving in the United States Marine Corps . They disgraced this country and you didn’t . These people that you write about who are involved with the Nixon Administration do not deserve to be remembered for anything but what they were , criminals .
Chuck. I love you brother. I smile at your conclusions, sometimes. These people are fucking new guys, FNGs.
They didn’t haves a clue about what they were doing and I cam to understand that. They were brilliant in many ways,
and I think they knew that I was in possession of a comprehension they could not grasp…and gave me allowances because of
that. I’ll never really know. You are a class act all on your own and I much enjoy your friendship on this site.
Semper fi,
Jim
Do you suppose all these shenanigans occurred during the first administrations – Washington, Jefferson, etc…?
You were getting stuff much worse than what the NVA had been tossing your way.
And I thought you’d been promoted to 1LT by this time.
Keep writing, Jim – faster!
I was a real first lieutenant upon Expiration of Active Service. I have a DD214 to prove that. But then along came the Western White House crew and all of a sudden I was a 1st Lieutenant all over again and I have that old indefinite I.D. card to prove that. At the top levels of government the rules are not the rules at all…it’s what is in their best interest and everyone below them makes that work. I was not being shot at or seemingly hunted by my own men, so life was much better and I’d also exchanged the Gunny for my wife as chief advisor of some special merit.
Thanks for the usual interesting comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I always enjoy your chapters
Thanks Don, means a lot to me to read that this morning…as the beat goes on into XXXV.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, I served under a very few LTs that were outstanding Marines, but they always got transferred for so called fratenization. The rest were suck ass pos. I would have gladly served with you! Keep up the good work! I always stop what I’m doing when a new chapter pops up!
Thanks for your support, Johnny
Much appreciated and helpful too…
Semper fi,
Jim
All I can say is “WOW” James!
A pretty significant compliment in one word Harold, and much appreciated and enjoyed.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
Wow – Is the only thing I can say for the moment. Nor will I make any attempt at ‘edits’ as you have folks who are much more qualified than I. As always, thank you for your writings.
Regards,
Doug
Thanks for the understanding and the support on here Doug, and the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Stunned yet again.
Thanks a lot of the short compliment…still hits hard and drives deep. I shall endeavor to persevere.
Semper fi,
Jim
Good grief it’s hard to believe the coincidences lining up !!!
The wives knew of you & others too, wonder what else they knew ??
Great read James,
Semper Fi
The subterranean underground of stuff that goes on around ‘palaces of power’ like the Western White House of the time
was and remains beyond belief. I was a part of that subterranean group, while not understanding that I was or my own
illogical importance. Those people of great power have a craven need for people they can count on and who won’t talk.
I was one of those chosen to be in that role.
Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn LT it’s almost like spiritual warfare against demonic entities
Thanks for the interesting comment, Tony. Yes, it was a lot like that with so very much unknown.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, Well, some answers, more questions. The meeting at the Dana Point Marina should be interesting.
The line “but Julie came into the bed after midnight, tucked herself carefully between us, along with Mrs. Beasley, and everything suddenly got better.” are the special touches that make the story so compelling.
Some minor editing suggestions follow:
Chistianitos
Should be
Christianitos
which once he turned south it would lead directly into the eastern
“it” is extra
which once he turned south would lead directly into the eastern
Nixon’s
No apostrophe
Nixons
both events but that fact that I’d had much of anything
Maybe change “that” after “but” to “the”
both events but the fact that I’d had much of anything
The yacht was transported by train to Mexico
?? If the yacht was initially in Cuba then maybe by train across Mexico?
The yacht was transported by train across Mexico
both are connected in ways that I can’t even imagine.
Close quote at end of sentence
both are connected in ways that I can’t even imagine.”
Being. Hero was to be a target but denying any of things that were described as others as heroic
Maybe change a bit
Drop period. Substitute “a”
Capitalized “Hero” seems appropriate to context
Maybe “anything” or “events” instead of “any of things”
Substitute “by” for “as” after “described”
Being a Hero was to be a target but denying anything that was described by others as heroic
OR
Being a Hero was to be a target but denying events that were described by others as heroic
I twisted back around in my seat and spear of pain when through me
Add “a” before “spear”
I twisted back around in my seat and a spear of pain when through me
she was the democratic party’s ‘paymaster,’
Maybe Republican ??
she was the Rupublican party’s ‘paymaster,’
waited in the foyer, where chairs
Drop comma
waited in the foyer where chairs
to either my wife or I to not follow her lead
“me” instead of “I”
to either my wife or me to not follow her lead
we really didn’t have relationships within the Nixon administration
Instead of “within” maybe “with inside”
we really didn’t have relationships with inside the Nixon administration
I was a second lieutenant, the lowest officer of the low
I thought you had been promoted to First Lieutenant
Maybe change “was” to “had been”
I had been a second lieutenant, the lowest officer of the low
crowd was gone by the time I got to restaurant
Add “the” before “restaurant”
crowd was gone by the time I got to the restaurant
cells awaiting transport up to county
Maybe add “the” before “county”
cells awaiting transport up to the county
I was wearing my red shirt so not telltale rivulets of blood would embarrass me.
“no” instead of “not”
I was wearing my red shirt so no telltale rivulets of blood would embarrass me.
Blessings & Be Well
Thanks Dan, for the truly significant help. I don’t always have as much time to edit properly, not that I ever can compared to the
application of your talent. Don’t know what I’d do without you. Thanks so very much for this help.
Semper fi,
Jim
You are falling further and further down that rabbit hole, Hope you have a life line to get back out. What a set up with Ms. Cobb and Mrs. Hunt! And Mrs. Nixon knowing you and your “code” name…..WOW!!! Thanks for the chapter and keep em coming Lt Semper Fi
Cobb and Hunt were a shock to my system and the Staff Sergeant’s sort of humorous expression of fear lost all
of its humor for me. There were truly dangerous people surrounding the president and I came to believe that its
always that way. Thanks for the great compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Curiouser and curiouser!
Mrs. Hunt was paymaster for the republican party, not the democratic party.
You are most correct in stating this Richard and I thank you.
Semper fi,
Jim
First paragraph: “…made of some very thing formations…” I believe you meant to write, “…made of some very thin formations…”
Correcting Tim, and thanks for the help along the way here.
Semper fi,
Jim
You have me so confused, I’m wondering about this story, sounds so real but yet seems like fiction blended with reality , which is it? It’s really enjoyable though.
Saying something is real has become useless today, given what’s happened in politics and the mass media caving in
to entertainment instead of the old fashioned news. This all happened as I describe and the characters bear their correct
names because I just don’t care anymore. I only have so long left and I want to have this stuff known…as well as enjoyed.
It’ll never hit mainstream media because that would place too much attention on it. Kennedy’s memory, for example, deserves better attention than this country was allowed to give it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
“I only have so long left”? So now I wonder – ‘Normal long’ or otherwise? Hoping for you & yours it’s ‘normal’.
Regards from ‘Normal’ for now. Well, mostly ‘normal’.
Doug
Thanks Doug, really. You are reading carefully and with analytical intent. I cannot thank you enough.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
You’re very welcome. But your writings have a little to do with it – Not that much – Just a little. (Still hope it’s ‘normal’, at least as much as possible.) Sometimes “carefully & with anal intent”. Sometimes – um – Just a due fuss. To be expected from an European version M60A1 tanker – Where in an instant, you could go from a Warsaw Pact pain-in-the-ass tripwire, to a thrown track Maginot Line pillbox. Such was life at a repurposed Luftwaffe air base . Also continue to look forward to “Island in the Sand, V2) & “The First Cat (V2?)”. Just thinking out loud. (Yeah, I know – ‘What a dick.’)
As always, Regards from The Long Black Line.
Doug
Holy Cannoli Batman
well this is too interesting to wait the totured time betwee delivery of chapters
Kennedy?
Patience, my good friend. I can only plunk away at a certain speed, now most regular because of a guy named Jim Flynn who
I simply cannot and will not disappoint…not to mention a flotilla of loyalist readers and friends like you.
Semper fi, and thanks for the left hand upside down compliment.
Jim
Paymaster not playmate.
Darn you auto correct, got me again.
Thanks Steve for the much needed help.
Semper fi,
Jim
James
Should it read Republican party playmates instead of democratic party playmates? Or did I just misread what you wrote.
You are most correct and change being made. Thanks to you and others of ‘the brethren.’
Semper fi,
Jim
[Suggestion: “We drove down the freeway toward Sana Clemente in silence. Neither I nor the two women said anything as we passed through the town.”] instead of “The ride on the freeway down toward and then through San Clemente was made in silence. I said nothing and neither of the women did either. ”
I refused to look over at the Staff Sergeant as I felt that if I made the slightest wrong move the whole scene [that] I’d been forced to become a part of might shatter like [delete ‘it was made of’] some [delete ‘very thing formations’] [insert ‘sort of’] glass.
Once the limo reached the [ChRistianitos] overpass the Staff Sergeant deftly steered the vehicle toward Presidio[. Period] [delete: ‘, which’] [O]nce he turned south [delete ‘on it’], insert “the road” would lead directly into the eastern corner of the compound where the Marine guard gate was located.
I didn’t move. I wanted to go with him in the worst way but felt deep in my core that the woman would say ‘not you,’ or something like that. I was there, accompanying all three of them on purpose. I took [delete ‘in’] a deep breath and tried not to sigh out loud as the Staff Sergeant exited the Lincoln and stepped through the front door of the hotel.
“Let’s have a little talk,” June Cobb said, speaking her first words to me [delete ‘ever’].
I slowly turned my head and twisted my upper body so I could face both [delete ‘of the’] women. Their gazes were penetrating and they seemed to be surrounded by an aura of intellect [Suggestion: Their penetrating gazes seemed intelligent]. No wonder the Staff Sergeant was afraid to be alone with them, I thought, feeling [Suggestion: ‘at least as intimidated as’; delete: “he as, or more, intimidated than”] he must have. I waited, since I hadn’t been asked a question.
At least with the Ambassador I’d been given an assignment along with the mystery of why I was being entrusted to do anything at all with foreign dignitaries. [Suggestion: I’d been assigned to accompany the Ambassador but why I was being entrusted to do anything at all with foreign dignitaries remained a mystery.]
“Alright, thank you for trusting me,” I began. “I’m getting the idea that what I’m looking into isn’t for publication but that I’m still to [delete ‘pursue’] [replace looking with look] into it. [Suggestion: According to the news shows I watch, what’s happening in Washington now will soon affect everything else.] What’s happening in Washington is going to affect everything from the news shows I’m watching, and soon. Is any of this about that?”
“For you to know,” Cobb said, turning her head to once again [insert “to”] face my own.
My torso hurt from [the pressure] my position in the car [delete “and the pressures it”] placed on my wounds. The Marine Corps “T” shirt would have been a better choice of attire, as it was red, and I knew I had to be bleeding or starting to bleed again soon. My wife used cold milk to soak my shirts in, and that seemed to get rid of the blood stains after a good hot wash, and my jacket would hide most of anything that came through until I could get home.
I was stunned and remained silent. How could the woman have any clue as to what condition the yacht was in or how it got to be returned? Even worse, I understood that Pat Bowman, that wonderful woman, was somehow connected to the Western White House and the ‘friendly’ mole. But Gularte? Where did his name come from? The only [replace ‘connector’ with connection] to everything was Richard, and Richard was not giving her true renditions of [replace “almost anything that’ with “most of what”] had happened. I felt a shiver. I was being made to be some sort of hero when, in fact, I wasn’t. That had also happened following my service in country. Nothing good had so far come from being that fake hero and my misgivings were beginning to rise to the level of real fear [delete: “in once more” replace with “of”] becoming something I was not. Being [suggestion “a hero”] Hero was to be a target but denying any of things [suggestion: replace ‘that were described as others as heroic behavior’ with ‘usually described as heroic’] didn’t help, it just made things worse. A hero who denied being a hero was [suggestion: replace ‘considered to be more valid and a bigger hero than before’ with “admired as a greater hero”]. [Suggestion: Replace “There was no sense to it but I was living it” with “I couldn’t make sense of it,”] so I shut up.
“Are we done here?” Mrs. Hunt asked, looking at Cobb, not me.
I twisted back around in my seat and spear of pain [“went” not when] through me. [Suggestion: delete “ that was not tolerable, and I groaned aloud, trying to hold it back but unsuccessful in doing so” and replace with “And I failed to stifle a groan.”]
[Unclear who asked “What in hell did they do to you?” but I would guess it was his wife].
“Just home,” I repeated, having no interest in talking further, my full attention on simply surviving and enduring the pain until it passed.
The rest of the day was spent with my wife taking care of me, [suggestion: replace “of my going back to having four by fours taped up and down the front of my body” with “taping four by fours up and down my front”] and [delete having] her [delete keep] asking me how I’d gotten in such bad condition.
The night was fitful, but Julie came into [delete ‘the’] bed after midnight, tucked herself carefully between us, along with Mrs. Beasley, and everything suddenly got better. The next day was going to be a big day, the day of the gathering, and I had to be up for that, or my wife would never forgive me.
Anxiety and nervousness were the order of the later morning hours, and it ate its way through me as well as through my wife. [Suggestion: “Anxiety and nervousness ate its way through me and my wife during the later morning hours]. I could not shake the meeting I’d had with Cobb and Hunt from my mind, as I’d come to tune in late at night to the network news on all three major stations. E. Howard Hunt was up to his elbows in the developing scandal [now? rather than ‘being’] called Watergate. Dorothy Hunt was never mentioned but there were rumors at the compound that she was the [Democratic rather than democratic] party’s ‘paymaster,’ although nobody ever went into detail about what that title really meant [delete “in any detail”]. It meant that she’d paid me with funds from the party and not the government, as I’d always assumed [insert period.]. and [Suggestion: “The thought of that money connecting me to” in place of “being attributed to something of a contact with” Watergate bothered me.
“Beach Boy’s wife,” Pat Nixon smiled warmly, [delete “in”] shaking my wife’s hand before my own. I shook her hand in turn, before stepping in front of the president.
Nixon didn’t smile, [suggestion: “just shook hands simply but weakly”] and weakly shaking hands.
My wife and I headed to the back of the rook, to one of the [delete “stand up and”] tall, little tables [suggestion: ‘with full wine glasses dotting the top’]. where filled wine glasses dotted the top. White wine and red were the choices with no indication of what the wine was or its make or origin.
I shook hands with the man I presumed was her husband. I didn’t even get a chance to read either of their name tags. The woman was wearing one of those long dresses with a big bow [suggestion: delete “located at the center front of the thing] just under her rather large breasts.
Once I got my wife settled back in at home there was no point in staying there. Her level of distress wasn’t something that any counseling from me was going to lessen or mitigate. Only time would help, and maybe the company of Julie since, even at her very young age, Julie had a capability [replace “to dismiss” with ‘of dismissing’] those things she encountered in life that didn’t matter to her. My argument that the gathering, and all the [Nixon administration] people we really didn’t have relationships with [delete: “in the Nixon administration”], had no meaning in our lives so why be distressed about one [delete: possibly] embarrassing moment [delete: “in time] with [replace “them” with “her”] went nowhere during our short drive back to the apartment.
The afternoon lay ahead of me, and I had a lot on my mind. [Suggestion: “I found it difficult to reconcile my officially unimportant position with the Western White House with my apparent importance to some of the senior staff”]. seemingly very important meaning to some of them was difficult to accommodate. I was a second lieutenant, the lowest officer of the low, but once more I was, as in the valley, commanding nearly half a battalion, or so I felt. I wanted to take a run on the beach, but I didn’t want to come back home and take the time to get cleaned up and then change in order to make the beach patrol shift at six p.m. with Richard.
I wasn’t looking forward to the shift, [suggestion: “as I was uncomfortable around the talented, financed and obviously successful man”]. as being around the talented, financed and obviously successful man wasn’t comfortable. I had to be alert and ‘on’ all the time, totally unlike the times I spent combing the beaches with Gularte, or even Herberich or Steed. My wife’s faux [pas not paux] at the gathering was going to have reverberations for some time in my household and there was nothing I could do about it except practice avoidance.
“What people?” I replied, knowing full well that she meant the couple she’d made the [suggestion: critical rather than “vital”] mistake with.
She turned and headed for the kitchen, [suggestion: “looking completely disgusted”] her departing expression one of complete disgust.
The only place I could think to go, [delete: “once I got through the front door,”] was Galloways. A nexus of peace and quiet in my life of wildly different disorders, all seemingly centered on me. For the first time in my life, I wanted to be less important and sought after, or at least have some understanding about why such attention was being paid to me without [suggestion: “having to think too hard about it”] me understanding the reason why.
The afternoon [crowd rather than ‘crowed’] was gone by the time I got to restaurant. I left the Volks at home because I wanted [to rather than ‘the’] walk out in the fresh air. The mild wind blowing in off the ocean from only a few blocks away was refreshing [suggestion: “reminding me I had control of the whole beach, extending miles in each direction, even if no one appeared to give a damn about my importance”] the as well as a reminder that the whole beach extending miles in each direction was under my control and it didn’t give a damn about my importance or lack thereof.
I wanted to hold my head in both hands. The mysteries and seeming coincidences were coming too fast. My body was still sore so I sat straight up however, and I was wearing my red shirt so [“no” rather than “not”] telltale rivulets of blood would embarrass me.
“You can do it,” I whispered to myself, [taking not “talking”] a sip of coffee and waiting.
Can’t thanks you enough for the help. Terrific and changes will be made.
Semper fi,
Jim
Good stuff. I felt like I was having an anxiety attack when you got to the part where you entered the receiving line.
Here are a few suggestions….
I refused to look over at the Staff Sergeant as I felt that if I made the slightest wrong move the whole scene, I’d been forced to become a part of might shatter like it was made of some very thing formations of glass. Maybe tweak this a bit….wrong move the whole scene of which I had been forced to become a part might shatter like a very thin piece of glass
which once he turned south on it would lead directly into the eastern corner of the compound where the Marine guard gate was located.leave out the word IT
Why was I there? Why had the sergeant included me in such a seemingly innocent way but also so slyly? In such a seemingly innocent yet sly way
but what kind of trouble. Add a question mark?
Being. Hero should this be being a hero
went into detail about what that title really meant in any detail. The word detail used twice
My wife and I headed to the back of the rook room
A young couple came through the line and headed to the only occupied table we were standing at. Suggest rephrasing this
The afternoon crowed was crowd
, simple but very cheap and tasty dinners replace cheap with inexpensive?
Thanks for the great compliment and also the depth of study it takes to go the kind of editing you’ve done here.
I so need it. I have a few others like you that have kept my ‘ship afloat’ so to speak. Much appreciate the attention and
also the hard work on my behalf.
Semper fi,
Jim
This constant debate about what is “heroic” or not is meaningless! Fighting through monumental and truely unique situations, with the trust and confidence of unchosen disciples, has won you the expectations of trust & accomplishment. The fact that you remember the detail of all this does proved e a certain peril…
Wow, Colonel, now that was a truly well-written comment and compliment, and I accept it as both.
Appreciate the fact that you were over there with me and act like it. Thanks so much.
Semper fi, my great friend,
Jim
Holy Crap!
Just when you think things can’t get any wilder…they DO!
And 5 more mysteries to put into the mystery box holder.
Thanks for another chapter (and cursed cliff hanger) 🙂 (smiley face)
Ah Walter, another great comment, as I work to continue to astound you and some others reading this as it goes along.
Some people write to say that I should stop putting it all up here for free but I’m addicted now, to the work going out
the way and also to the comments here that give me support and keep me going, not to mention a couple of truly astounding
benefactors like Jim Flynn. Thanks for what you do in the reading, what you mean in the support and the completely candid
opinions you share here.
Semper fi,
Jim