The Sheraton Hotel was located a little more than half a mile from the airport. It was a huge building about twenty stories tall with a great, although empty lobby at our late hour of arrival. Before departure while still near the gate awaiting the call for economy boarding, Herbert showed up, wearing a big smile and holding out a folder of paperwork.
“Here’s all you need, the ticket to Seoul, for Monday afternoon, the identity stuff you need to check into your new office with Banker’s Life of Iowa, the car stuff, and a few dollars for expenses.”
“I have my passport,” I said, accepting the file but looking around. “What name, though, will I be traveling under?”
“You think this is a movie set or something?” Herbert asked with a funny look on his face, “Oh, you haven’t been to be training yet, where you’d learn all that stuff. You are a businessman, which you really are. This is the electronic age, so we try to keep you yourself whenever possible. Only special circumstances will require a change of identity. It’s hard to establish and maintain artificial circumstance and identity in these times.”
Herbert reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stack of cards and handed them to me. I took them with my free hand, looking at the writing in beautiful scripted and embossed black letters. I was now the General Manager of the Albuquerque office of the Banker’s Life of Iowa located in Des Moines, Iowa.
“I haven’t ever been to Des Moines,” I said, trying to figure out where in my memory banks I might place the city somewhere in the middle of that midwestern state.
“No matter, they’ll be at the office on Monday morning to greet you and get you going,”
My wife walked over to us, carrying Michael with Julie close behind her.
“What kind of room do we have when we get there?” she asked.
“Two rooms adjoining. The Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta is going on starting tomorrow, so all the suites were already taken,” Herbert replied, his expression showing some discomfort at having to give her any details at all.
Mary’s opinion of Herbert was high on looks and background but not at all when it came to high intellect.
“Godspeed,” Herbert said, holding out his right hand.
I shook the hand with a firm grip and a sincere smile. I knew this out-of-the-blue mission was part of a test and also partly important to someone back at Langley. I also knew it was none of Herbert’s doing. I read it in his eyes. There had to be a danger to going out in the world with no training, no tools, and no partner, much less intelligence reports and even satellite stuff. I felt that he knew that. He eased out a package he’d kept folded up inside his overcoat and handed the soft, thick thing to me. Whatever was in had been placed in a grocery bag and folded up. I took it with a question in my expression.
“From Matt, and I have no idea,” Herbert said before turning and walking back down the long hall and back toward the escalators.
“What’s that?” Mary asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied, unwrapping whatever it was in wonder.
What could Matt be giving me that he might see as helping me, which I knew intrinsically that he meant to do?
I unfolded the material and set the bag on the floor and stared at what was in my hands. The object was Matt’s Banana Republic vest. I had to smile. I did love the vest I’d made fun of and now it was mine. I wondered if anyone else would think it was a fisherman’s vest if I wore it, which I was certainly going to do. My only carry-on was a worn briefcase, which needed replacing as it didn’t even have a lock. The vest wouldn’t fit inside. I removed my sport coat I’d chosen to wear, to appear a bit upscale to the crew and fit in as an insurance businessman. I put the vest on in its place. I’d fold the coat up and put it in the overhead. I might look out of place on the flight, but the vest made me feel like I wasn’t alone and also that I shouldn’t lose my sense of humor.
The flight and arrival in Albuquerque went down without incident, and nobody asked whether I was going fishing or not. The twin rooms at the Sheraton were perfect, better than a suite would have been and there was a free shuttle from the airport. Only waking up in the morning was different, very different.
It was still dark when I awakened, having heard a powerful whooshing noise that penetrated right through the closed glass doors leading to the small balcony just beyond. Our room was on the north-facing side of the 14th floor. I couldn’t imagine such a sound penetrating up from ground level. I moved to the drapes covering the windows and threw them open, recoiling backward as I did.
A huge lit orb floated just beyond the railing of the balcony, the fire shooting up into it making a strange, near-overwhelming sound.
“You’ve got to see this,” I yelled to my wife, just getting out of bed.
I stared, as she came up to stand beside me. It was a balloon. A hot air balloon and the basket wasn’t more than twenty feet from the side of the hotel as
It slowly made its way upward. The gas was shut off and the huge and brilliant light bulb of its envelope went dark. It was early dawn, so it was still light enough to see about twenty other balloons not that far off in the distance. We both stood transfixed for minutes.
“The balloon fiesta Tony Herbert told us about,” Mary breathed out.
“Good God,” I whispered back. “I had no idea. I’ve heard of these but never seen anything like them, except maybe at a great distance. They’re magnificent. I’ve got to go up in one, or even get one.”
We got ready to go out. I went down to the lobby to see if I could convince the hotel to deliver us in the hotel van but then had a thought. I didn’t want to call for a taxi so I had the front desk look up the number and dealership and called the people there. It was too early, so I left a message about who we were and where we were, and that we needed a ride from the Sheraton to the dealership. I asked the answering machine to call us back at the hotel and, with Mary and the kids coming out of the elevator, went to breakfast at the restaurant.
After breakfast, all of us were excited to see more balloons flying over and around the hotel in full daylight, Mary was excited to get to the new house and I was excited to drive the Mercedes, we went back to the room to wait. When we got there Mary and the kids immediately went out on the balcony, the best place of all to view the wide expanse of floating balloons while I went to the room phone because the message light was blinking.
“We will arrive with your new Mercedes Benz at nine a.m. If you are not there to receive it then the papers and keys will be trusted to the hotel front desk personnel until it’s convenient for you to accept delivery.” The line went dead.
I went out to the balcony to fill my wife in about the car.
“New Mexico is different, not just in having balloons but at having a pretty classy Mercedes dealership,” I said, sitting in a deck chair to take in the balloons.
I didn’t have to check my watch a bit later as I was able to see the bright green and shiny Mercedes pull into the driveway leading to the lobby canopy.
The car was a delight as we headed home. Solid as a bank vault and, except for the diesel clatter on acceleration, quiet as a church, although reaching a top speed on Tramway Boulevard, which was pretty level, it would only reach eighty-eight miles per hour, and it took a good deal of time to get there. I felt like it was ‘given’ to me to keep me out of trouble, which it probably would, at least on the roads of high-altitude New Mexico. With an average elevation of 5700 feet and the nation’s highest capital city, it was high enough to pull eggs boiled in water from that water with a bare hand and not get burned. It also, unfortunately, meant that reciprocating engines without turbochargers or superchargers had about thirty to forty percent less power than at sea level where all car performance specifications were measured. Turning on the glow plugs and waiting, even for a few seconds, was also a bit of a bother. I just hoped that the payments required, in the folder on the floor in front of the passenger seat, were low enough to justify the downsides. Finally, however,
Mary and the kids loved the thing at first sight even more than they had the Caprice, so it was a keeper.
The house was wide open with neither of the two doors locked, which meant to me that my ‘realtor’ had been there and prepared the place for our arrival and then split for whatever strange reasons that he and Matt and even Herbert conducted so much of what they did in secret. It was like a habit, instead of in any way required.
Two days flew by, running around to see where everything of any interest or importance was in the area, visiting restaurants, and even driving by the office structure, which wasn’t impressive at all, but then it didn’t have to be. The car payment was three hundred a month with a ninety-day grace period, which was more than generous, even if it was for four years. On Monday morning I drove Mary, Julie, and Michael to the airport and then went to the office, which was located on Juan Tabo. The Spanish names seemed a bit much but after a while, I knew I’d get used to them.
My secretary and the two agents left working out of the office, were hired by the last manager. They were very accommodating. My office was small and, in the back, while the rest of the huge space was taken up mostly by two big rooms filled with desks for agents and clerks who were nowhere to be seen. I knew I was expected to do whatever it took to build an agency there, although I’d never done something before, and it was daunting to think about the amount of work it would have to take. Meanwhile, I was supposed to start and probably build and run a couple of other companies invented overseas but grounded in the U.S.
I met with all three of my employees and they were polite and nice. At the end of the meeting, I informed them that I would be gone for a week and then return to go to work. They did have some uncomfortable questions that I steered clear of answering directly.
“Who hired you?” Pat asked, out of the blue.
I looked back at her quizzically and asked, “Banker’s Life of Iowa.”
I knew that didn’t go over but I wasn’t ready yet to go into verbal combat with anyone there.
Bill asked about the money, as none of them were making almost anything in compensation.
I said I’d look into it.
“By the way Bill, I need you to follow me home so I can leave the garage in my house and then take me to the airport.”
“Pat will do that sort of thing, I’ve got a call I’ve got to make,” he replied and then walked out of our little meeting. “Nice vest,” he said, over his shoulder, making me sorry I’d worn it for the first visit to the office.
I’d already decided that I’d wear a suit for appointments, formal meetings, and whatever other functions might require it but I would remain informal while working at the office and traveling to and from it.
I sighed. I sure as hell wasn’t back in the Marine Corps, but I wasn’t ready to call anybody out on anything, especially one of my only two agents until I was able to find out more after getting my mind off of and back from Korea.
I waved the other two out of the office, closed the door, and called Herbert.
“I’m here in my office and I need two favors,” I said, no longer being the quiet and compliant manager I’d been with my Bankers people.
“Shoot,” Herbert said.
“What’s happening to the deuce and a half?” I asked, not yet making a demand.
“Well, it was written off government inventory so it’s probably sitting in the forest outside of tech area fifty-five where it’ll be left to rust down to nothing.”
“What if it was mine?” I asked.
“First of all, where would you keep it?”
“Hell, I’d find a place if it’s possible,” I replied.
I’d gone to bed for the last two nights thinking about hot air ballooning. I knew that the balloons, tanks, fans, baskets, and all the other junk had to be heavy, so a truck was needed. The truck could also be the ideal chase vehicle since it was six-wheel drive and could carry a balloon crew or whatever the helpers in ballooning were called.
“To register it in New Mexico you’d have to take it to a junkyard and get it deemed to be salvage. For a price the people there, if you want to call them that, would likely give you a salvage title, and then you’re off and running. Probably never be able to sell the thing with one of those titles though and you’d also have to make sure the thing conforms to New Mexico vehicular law.”
“Then I’ll go back and get it when I get back,” I said, before going on. “I want you to pay Banker’s Life of Iowa six thousand dollars and have them send two thousand dollar bonus checks to all three of my rather cold and taciturn employees. Make sure the company lets them know the bonuses are from the new manager as an incentive. I expect my welcome on coming back from Korea will be a lot warmer than this introduction was.”
“I’m not comfortable with that, really,” Herbert replied.
“Do you think I’m comfortable with trekking off to Korea while our stuff is being moved next week and my wife has to be there without me with two kids and a jumbled mess to make sense of?”
“Don’t be difficult,” Herbert replied, but I read a certain softness in his tone.
I decided to use the Thorkelson/Bartok training and say nothing until he talked again.
Minutes seemed to pass until he finally spoke.
“This silent treatment isn’t going to work on me,” Herbert said.
I still said nothing.
“Okay, but this has to be a one-off or there sure as hell will be trouble for both of us,” Herbert finally relented. “I don’t even know who to call over there or where I’m supposed to go for the funding.”
I smiled broadly to myself.
“Thanks, Tony,” was all I replied and hung up. Tony might not be the brightest bulb in the pack, but I knew he’d figure it out.
Pat followed me to 4416 Magnolia where I left the Benz in the garage and locked up the place, leaving the keys to the house under an obvious large stone near the front gates that stood out, Spanish style, from the front doors.
The short trip down the Tramway and then onto the freeway heading north took no time at all, Pat driving silently but with surprising acumen and high-speed control. I decided that she might be okay, after all. She dropped me in front of the main airport lobby and then took off without saying anything. At the house, I’d changed out of the vest and wore one of my old Western White House blue suits. The trip aboard first a 737 to L.A. then a 747 to Tokyo’s Narita and finally changing planes to I didn’t know what for the last leg into Seoul was going to take almost twenty hours. Surprisingly, I was nervous. I was going a long way out of my comfort area. I didn’t speak one word of Korean and knew nothing of the culture at all. I’d learned about automobile drivers in Seoul, so I’d packed my Marine Corps cotton white gloves as I wanted to have a rental vehicle and learn my way around the city. I also knew nothing about Korean foods and my digestive system still hadn’t fully returned to normal following all the surgeries.
The 737 was right on time, as was the United 747 in getting out of L.A. Good fortune had smiled on me since my economy seat was halfway back in the plane but once airborne with the seat belt sign off I went to the very back of the aisle and found five open seats with nobody in them in the last row at the center of the widebody aircraft. I grabbed two blankets and lay down. Normally, I couldn’t sleep on airplanes but after laying down and sucking in supposedly filtered air that was filled with thick tobacco smoke, I covered up and fell nearly instantly to sleep.
I arrived in Japan and got off the plane somewhat revitalized, only to quickly discover that the layover period between flights would not be held in a regular airport assembly area as I’d been used to in all airports I’d been in before. One big concrete room with no amenities held all passengers from all flights awaiting transfers. Four hours without any amenities except restrooms was more difficult to endure than the entire flight from Los Angeles. When that was over and my new flight to Seoul was loaded airline life returned to normal like the ‘imprisoned’ period had never taken place.
The arrival in Seoul was without incident, except for timing. Local time was six-fifteen in the morning and, according to my calculations, it was the day before I’d left. Even at that hour, the airport was busy. I cleared customs and immigration without incident, although having my new passport examined did cause me some concern since I’d not received it through normal channels, and in fact, had no idea how all the data had been assembled to put it together. The photo was an adjusted clone of my California driver’s license picture, as I’d not yet changed those privileges to New Mexico.
When I got into the airport proper with my bag, which hadn’t even been examined in customs, I was greeted by about forty people standing in a semi-circle with a hole in its center, sort of like a strange gauntlet. All the people held up similar signs as if there was some production facility that produced such seemingly identical products. The signs contained hand-written names. I searched for my name and finally found it. Only my last name was printed using some sort of felt tip pen. A boy held the sign.
“Follow me,” the boy said, discarding the sign into a nearby bin, obviously placed there for such use.
I followed him through a surrounding crowd and then out the main entrance to the surprisingly huge airport. I was surprised. I knew that Seoul’s metro area was about the same size, population-wise, as Los Angeles but for some reason had been expecting something more indigenously backward. Once outside I was confronted by wind-blown rain and a temperature that had to be under forty degrees.
“I need to rent a car,” I said to the kid, who I realized now that I was closer, that he was no kid at all, just a rather diminutive young-looking man. I pulled my white gloves from my breast pocket where I’d stored them.
“What are those for?” the young man asked me.
“I want to drive my car and I read that drivers in Korea wear white gloves.”
The young man laughed out loud and once again appeared to be little more than a boy.
“Hired drivers wear white gloves, not people of substance who hire them. You’ll have a car while you’re here but you’ll also have a driver for that car. They tell me you haven’t been to Korea before so you have to know that the road signs are not in English and the rules are really strange compared to what you’re used to back in the States. Here it is.”
I felt like an utter fool, quickly sticking my gloves back into my coat pocket.
A maroon car pulled to the curb and a local driver wearing white gloves stepped out, walked over, and bowed before me.
“Yoboseo,” he said.
I nodded my head, not understanding the word he spoke at all, but assuming it had something to do with saying hello.
The rain was coming down harder, enough to stain the leather of my briefcase which I hadn’t thought to apply shoe polish to. I was tired, and a bit off-kilter being in such a strange place. The car was a little four-door sedan, model I’d never seen before. I walked around the rear of it and checked the trunk lid to see what it was. Small chrome letters told me it was a Pony, which seemed about as odd as everything else I had experienced since landing in Tokyo and then arriving in Seoul.
“I’ll accompany you to the hotel where you’ll be contacted by the parties, my young man said.
Once inside the small car, the driver looked back at us with a big smile and took off. The car had a manual transmission. For whatever reason, he shifted the gears upon the engine reaching a thousand RPM, or so. We drove in short abrupt jerks.
“Why does he shift so often,” I whispered to the young man.
“So he won’t wear out the engine and transmission,” he replied, looking over at me like that made perfect sense.
After a long drive to get a short distance, the traffic was almost uncontrolled, ignoring traffic control devices and numerous backups due to that fact, we pulled into another world.
A cobbled drive stood ahead of the car, with a giant fountain at its center. Beyond that was a giant canopy extending out from what appeared to be a glass wall. The front of the hotel lobby was made of great slabs of unbroken thick glass, I realized. It was a stunning sight to stay in.
“Who are you?” I asked the young man, absently.
“I’m Roger Starbuck, attaché to the U.S. embassy, sent to help guide you through.”
“Like the Navy quarterback?” I asked, not thinking, while taking in the magnificence of the hotel lobby we’d pulled up to the front of.
“No, not the football player, the character from the movie,” Roger answered.
“I didn’t expect to stay in such a great hotel,” I uttered, as one of the doormen opened my door.
“No, this isn’t your hotel. It’s the ambassador’s hotel for the meeting.”
“What’s an attache?” I asked, getting out of the car, glad to be under the portico and out of the rain.
“You know,” Roger answered as if I should know, although I didn’t,
“And, if I’m not staying here then why are they taking my suitcase into the lobby?
“That’s undetermined at this time,” Roger replied walking up to the doorman standing before a thick handle screwed into one of the giant glass slabs.
“You sound like a fortune ball,” I whispered, finally beginning to realize just how far I was from home or anything I might be able to grasp that was at all familiar.
My mission was going to be a lot more complex and difficult than I’d figured, and I wondered why whoever sent me on it might fail to understand that.
“I’ll wait expectantly for your commands,” the driver said, before getting into the car and driving it only a few yards away.
He didn’t get back out. How long would he wait was anybody’s guess, but even that thought worried me.
I went to the front entrance doorman. The uncommonly tall and skinny Korrean leaned forward slightly and smiled a deadly smile.
“Welcome home, sir,” he said, sending an A Shau Valley shiver up and down my back.
For the six weeks I was in Mumbai, I had a driver every day. A boon, because, as the saying went, ” good thing there was only one coat of paint on the cars, otherwise there would be twice as many accidents.”
At one point there was a terrorist bombing at a Diwali market. After that, every trip back to the hotel compound, security used mirrors to check under the car for IEDs.
The pace is picking up. Thank you aagain for a great read Jim.
Tim
It’s not at all like the USA once you get indigenous out there in the rest of the world.
Thanks for your own experience here and thoughts about it.
Semper fi
Jim
Mr. Strauss, Sir,
“Welcome home, sir,” he said, sending an A Shau Valley shiver up and down my back.
OH CRAP.
I know I’m about a week behind, but oh my goodness, I sure hope that the uncommonly tall , skinny Korean is referring to his hotel as being a home away from home, and not someone from Nam. (Unless he was the one silent guy that seemed to always be right where you needed him to be and doing exactly what you needed him to be doing (With apologies to you and to him, I can’t remember his name))
PS sometimes distinguished editors don’t have their finger on the pulse of the situation. A) Perhaps he doesn’t understand your audience. B) Perhaps he is in error. C) Perhaps he is really saying that your “30 Days” work was so outstanding that it set the bar too high to be reached again. I’m going with choice C.
Thank you
Thanks for the extensive conjecture and the concern. I will not let any editor change the style of my writing nor the content. I am ultimately in charge of that ]
and I’m surrendering it to no one. Memories like my own are extraordinarily uncommon out here. In fact, that memory in being able to call nine digit grid codes
set along our ways of travel saved my life not only with the artillery rounds but in giving my Marines a most excellent reason to keep me alive. Nguyen was
another extraordinary man but in a different way, as was the Gunny. We shall hear more from both of them. Yes, the man at the door really was him, as shocking as
that seeming impossibility seemed until you read the next chapter.
Thanks for caring and paying enough attention and taking the time to write your thoughts on here. I cannot thank you enough.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your first solo mission strangely reminds me of your first days in the valley when through attrition you are suddenly made in charge !! Strange place, strange people, yet here you are again with unknown expectations of your abilities in a mission as yet unknown to you while others are tuned in on and aware of it. Just another test?? Maybe….
I can’t help but think back to your days at the WWHouse where a “certain someone” high up in “the dept” met and measured you for future employment without you being aware of it at the time !?!? Hmmm… Just a recurring thought I have as I read on 😉
Funny thing about being startled by that hot air balloon, when I lived in S. Miami where the Zoo is now located, was once an old Army base where the local balloons would use and fly 50 feet right over our house with a loud whoosh and wake you up on the weekends !! Good times as the kids really loved waving at the riders 🙂
Waiting on the next chapter James, keep ’em coming !
Thanks SgtBob, you observations are as cogent and applicable as ever.
I believe my ‘fortunes’ changed when I got to Camp Pendleton and was
somehow selected to work for the WWH. I didn’t know who or why but it
made things sometimes downright haunting and uncertain. I had immense power
or I could have none in any situation…and the choice of that, or even
followup discovering information was impossible to get or arrive at.
Thanks for another great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Oooh boy James, I came home from Nam to Ft Lewis Washington only to be sent to Pusan,Korea. You brought me back to those memories. I ended up with a staff car a WAC colonel and 1 Star sending me from DMZ and points in between. It was a great tour.
Mike, I am happy for you. Having a one star be the ‘ice cutter’ in that situation must have been wonderful,
not to mention the WAC Colonel. Life’s fortunes and misfortunes can be so strange and hard to predict.
Semper fi, and thanks for the great associative comment.
jim
3rd Comment: I think I know who the Door Man is!
Once again, another combat veteran leans in to offer his analysis
and once again I am surprised as I think most of the stuff coming
is surprising but not to many cut from the same weathered and
tattered cloth.
Thanks Colonel, your this.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
I’ve been noting your time/event management, multitasking abilities, etc too many times, from ’30 Days’ thru the present. And the strength & abilities of Mary as well, so I’ll try to cut back on them.
Your comment about “from a very distinguished editor and reader that my work since 30 Days has been very interesting but not compelling like that work” — Umm, depends on your definition/perception of “compelling” – Completely different unknown ‘rabbit holes’. Lessons learned, knowledge, experience, etc from the first ‘RH’ of being thrown in to combat where folks are trying to kill you (And everyone else.) on a daily basis, would hold you in good stead for the beginning of this new ‘RH’. And, I imagine, multiple ‘RHs’ to come.
And Herbert’s shown “discomfort at having to give her any details at all” shows he has some ‘learning’ about how he’s going to deal with Mary in the future, as Mary seems to ‘understand’ him much better than he does her. Objectively, what a wonderful asset for you.
And finally, the fact your “mission was going to be a lot more complex and difficult than I’d figured, and I wondered why whoever sent me on it might fail to understand that.” – Why do I feel that whoever sent you, did understand it & had a whole lot of confidence in you getting the job done. Kinda like some football scout finding this Div III player who had the abilities of playing in Div I, following him. Then again, you mentioned this mission was indeed some kind of “test”, a “test” to determine if their opinion of you was correct & you were ‘worth’ their ‘fast tracking’ you in the Agency? Also wonder if you’ll find out whoever this ‘someone’ is.
Sometime hard to keep up with as a ‘reader’, let alone living it.
Enough for now my friend,
Doug
Danko comes through, as usual, with a vitally deep and meaningful comment. For some reason I’m unaware of this chapter has
created a number of complex comments that I have spent more time than usual reading, re-reading and then responding to in
kind. Danko, like some others on here, has the unique ability to truly penetrate the meaning of much of what is written
to the point where he, and a few others, figure out stuff that i don’t ar first get myself…as the rendition is more
presentation and it is self reflection.
Thanks so very much, my friend, Doug Danko.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jumping out of the frying pan into the fire again!!
Yes, that short comment does sort of describe it all.
Thanks Tommy.
Semper fi,
Jim
It seems you’ve already met at least one person from the company.
Indeed, Bob, and there would be more who did not announce themselves and seemed to know
a whole lot more about me…which Was sometimes the only giveaway. Thanks for the accurate
and interesting comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
H Kemp Jones
The “Welcome home.” sounded kind of “Hotel California”ish.
Thanks H.Kemp, a man of letters not known for such short comments about almost anything. Then this short but
so accurate tome rolls in. Yes!!!! Thank you.
Semper fi,
Jim
James: I too am addicted to reading your “fiction” I was envious of your Hawaii boyhood, very terrified for you in the Ah Shau Valley and now, you are on your first assignment with the CIA. I can barely wait to read more. I think I should read the first chapters all over again because every chapter brings up questions about the past. Are you really going to get a hot air balloon?
As you are well aware, with your big brain Smith, I cannot tell the story ahead in comments here or it ruins the
revelations as they appear in the story so I can’t answer that question about the balloon. You will have to wait,
but I think it will be worth it…my opinion only. Thanks for your unalduturated support and the interesting way
you framed that in your comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
It must have been a 240D Mercedes . Bought a used one in 1974. Back then diesel cost less than gas but had to fuel up at truck stops. Had about the same acceleration as my first car, 1956 VW
Why did I love that 2 4 0 D? Why is that series among the most popular Mercedes
to get hold of all these years later? Funny how cars can be so very strange at working their
way under your skin. My dad was that way with his TR3. He complained all the time but loved
the thing and kept it until it totally rusted out. Sold it and then regretted selling it.
Thanks for the heartfelt and interesting comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I don’t even feel qualified enough to comment 🙂
I will read as long as you write…
cb
If you are reading along here, and you obviously are, then this is indeed a place for your to comment and your only
‘qualification’ needs to be a sincere interest… and it doesn’t even have to be a positive interest. This stuff is all, for the most part,
hard to believe and that part isn’t going to get much better. Depending upon your perspective, of course.
Welcome aboard and thanks for the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
your storytelling is addictive, One of the unique things about this riveting tail is the way you weave together every day experiences
have some might think that joining the CIA is hardly and every day experience but what you’re really describing is a man moving from one city with his two small children and his wife to another with very uncertain and tenuous circumstances
neither you nor Mary know the area and there’s a strange way the house was presented you’ve got a green Mercedes diesel which should stand out like a sore thumb and you’re in charge of an office that you absolutely know nothing about
what is so captivating about your storytelling is that the stuff when you stand back and look at it it transfixes one because it’s very unusual yet one must get engrossed in the tail because you’re writing pulls one in
i’m not sure what this hypnotic spell that you cast is doing to my psyche but it certainly makes a lot of sense that I can’t wait for the next chapter because what you really described is going off on a business trip for what you are very ill prepared and landing in a country that you are even far more prepared for that’s mesmerizing
I am quite anxious to hear how the first assignment works I’ve got a feeling that there’s going to be a lot more than you’ve revealed
As usual Rich, you are correct in every respect. It was an interesting time indeed and the world was changing around me.
LBJ was in and I though that the departure of Nixon and his entire team would mean that, aside from not being sent to prison
myself or being accused of anything, I could not have been more wrong. Instead of being involved with the direction of
America from that small town on the coast of Southern California I was plunged out into involved with the direction of
America out in the world. thanks for the many compliments as I can use the right now.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Saw your comment to Craig…it strikes me at first impression that the reviewer might think it is fiction! Much more compelling when one realizes it is true
S/F
Interesting response Colonel. I hadn’t thought of that. For self-defensive purposes I write the books and volumes as novels
but I can understand that, even though they are in the first person I could well understand his orientation.
Thanks for that. Bothered by that short phrase or I wouldn’t be discussing it on here. My wife, the great advisor in life named Mary,
said I should suck it up. As usual I violate her very valid and properly better thought out advice.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
The last paragraph was the most interesting.
Thanks Warren, as I shall endeavor to write more like that, as things go on….
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, almost daily I hope for another chapter, even though I know writing such an autobiography is not an easy thing.
I’ve followed you since reading the first chapter or two of “30Days”.
It seems that, having served there myself in 1966, although aboard a carrier in the Gulf, I have witnessed the “other half” through your words.
I also feel a kinship with you- you’ve established a close relationship with many of your readers, including me.
It is a compelling, very honest, retelling of your life, one that I feel very close to.
I know I continually encourage you to “write faster, dammit!” – can’t wait to read every word. Keeps me interested in what each new day brings.
Craig, it’s like you are a mind-reader here. You write this comment just after I read as review, not on this site, from a very distinguished editor and reader
that my work since 30 Days has been very interesting but not compelling like that work. That was a bit to me, as I don’t see it that way as you might imagine.
However, it’s hard, as a writer writing about his own life experience to take such a criticism and not consider it accurate…and therefore a bit deflating and demotivational.
But, there you are, as well as so many of the vets on here that I don’t think see the rendition of everything, and the rather detailed admissions and even rather strange and hunting revelations as ‘compelling.” I know the reviewer was being as honest as he could from his perspective and I’m not angry with him. My solution is to read more of what you and the other ‘reviewers’ write, as you not not professionals and therefore your criticism are much more valid to me.
I cannot thank you enough.
Semper fi,
Jim
“Welcome home sir”. You set the hook solidly with that ending. Can’t get the next chapter out quick enough! This is a a great read. Never know where it will go next.
Thanks for that compliment Phil. Means a lot to me. I am working on the next chapter right this minute with
only a break to answer a few very valuable comments like your own.
Semper fi,
Jim
I can’t help but think of the Eagles and “Hotel California” as an appropriate tune for this new step of faith. Validated by the doorman. Holy molee, LT…what now…
I love that song and the drug induced lyrics all the way through. Of course id doesn’t hurt the effect to
have about the greatest guitar rift of all time within it. Thanks for the comparison and the compliment of your
own ‘lyrics,’ so to speak, or write.
Semmper fi,
Jim
Wowser, LT! Out of the frying pan, into the fire! Welcome to The Company – here is your new employee’s handbook, which reveals 50 blank pages…
And you have eluded most of the jet lag by sleeping most of the trip. It seems that Koreans are about as welcoming as the Japanese. Always a good thing.
I really appreciate you taking us along on the trip. Been to a lot of the places, but never Seoul. Anxious to see your reaction to the local food.
BTW, all my race cars were BRG, with lettering in bright yellow.
Things are going a bit better here, although I have a distinct lack of energy. And following up with the VA on some assistance.
Semper Fi, good friend.
More like unknown but so well known great friend, Craig. I am sorry about your lack of energy. I know that’s a real bitch.
Even at my age now I don’t have that issue but well recall trying so hard to recover my energy after the surgeries. I think it took
about a full year. I had a former nurse write me that most of the post medical stuff wouldn’t really have happened because, at any time,
I could just have gone into an ER and gotten by bloody or debris-ridden bandages replaced. Not my world back then at all and they probably
would never have wrapped me in Saran Wrap at all. Sincerely pray and hope for your recovery from this latest affliction.
Your great friend.
Jim
Another great “story”….Thank you for sharing. They always remind me of some of my travels. Your fishing vest part of the story reminded me of when I was detached to the OIG. It was very formal and the standard was to wear suit and tie every day in Washington, DC. I agreed with that except for the days where I had no meetings outside of my office.
When I would travel I always bought a polo from the Marine Corps detachment with their emblem at the embassy. They were very nice usually. So I started wearing those on those days of no meetings. At first there was all kinds of comments, but I also kept a shirt, tie and coat in my office. That seemed to help those of differing minds to accept I was going to do this.
It seems your Herbert was of the same cut that our HR was. HR was a unique inbred group. They were all ladies from the same church. At one point they locked the door to their office and would not return anyones calls. While in a meeting with the Inspector General I mentioned this. Harry had no idea this was happening. All of a sudden they started answering phone calls and you could at least get in the front door that was more of a “man trap” with another door leading into HR and a secretary at the window.
Wow three flights to Seoul? To me that would be a logistical nightmare. With any one of those flights being late. The times I was in Seoul, United had a direct flight to LAX. Meeting your “attache” at the airport is always a bonus. He probably worked for your company though. Having a driver is also a bonus though that limits your ability to travel to places you don’t want anyone to know about.
One time I arrived in Seoul on a holiday and the streets were empty. It was very eerie. There was only one restaurant open and it was a Kimchi restaurant. Your stomach would not have survived that…lol.
It is funny what some drivers will do to help their cars last longer like shifting too soon. One country they decided headlights ruined the car so they drove around at night with no lights on.
Again thank you for a very realistic story…
Michael
Like Colonel Homan on here. The colonel became a world traveling mercenary following this military service. He, you and I, and a very rarified air group of others, all share the same kinds of stories about what it’s really like out there…although except for my work and the work of very few others, does not really see much of the light of day…and get believed, anyway. Robert Ludlum never went out there. John LaCarre was an analyst as was Ian Fleming. The real players don’t often tell their stories and then they are not usually accepted as being true or as interesting. I beg to differ here, and part of the credibility of this work is the commentary of others who’ve really been out there.
thanks for being one of those guys and writing about it here. Your comments could not be appreciated more and I know the other readers have to be thinking the same thing.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Another great chapter James. Hope you get the truck and the hot air balloon. About 40 years ago I got my wonderful wife Sue and hot air balloon ride for her birthday. She loved it.
Keep on reading Charles. I’ve been pretty effective at accomplishing some of those things that satisfied me most. There’s almost nothing like being in a fairly rapidly hot air ballon skiing a few hundred feet across the ground/water/desert or whatever, not knowing where the hell you are really going or truly caring. What magical, generally silent, freedom and release. Thanks for the great comment…and keep on reading to know much much more.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
Thanks for another dose!
Captivating as always.
Three big moments when I read this chapter.
First, “The flight and arrival in Albuquerque went down without incident.” I became crestfallen when I read the first part of this sentence because I thought the plane crashed. Maybe use “went off” instead of “went down”. The flight “went down” is sorta like at an airport hollering to a friend 50 feet away “Hi, Jack!”. Words you do NOT want to say at an airport.
Secondly, when you pulled back the drapes in the hotel room, I surprising read: [should be ‘A’, not ‘I’ By the way] “huge lit orb floated just beyond the railing of the balcony,…” I immediately mentally pictured a large UFO…coming to get YOU.
Your accepting the vest before getting on a flight…funny that airport security today asks you do you have any items that you personally did not pack, etc. You are more trusting of Matt than I. I would have figured there was an electronic “bug” of some sort somewhere within the vest, or some other item that might get you in trouble with airport security–maybe another part of ‘this test.”
Thirdly, when I read “The uncommonly tall and skinny Korean leaned forward slightly and smiled a deadly smile.
“Welcome home, sir,”
…for some reason I pictured it was your native guide that served you well in the A Shau Valley.
Please learn to write with both hands so you can write more, faster.
God Bless.
Walt
THE WALTER DUKE. Sometimes I have to be reminded, by you, about why your name and the form of title is as I write it on here. You have a talent you are more than
likely unaware of to assemble those things of the past, reflect upon them in the present and then state about future events with a clarity and accuracy that can be downright scary to the rest of us more ‘normal’ humans. I am not normal, of course, as most of the readers would agree and you too, I’m sure. The Ufo was a balloon, of course, as you read, but the alien thing, whether in Hawaii (as portrayed in Down in the Valley), the artifact and it’s so very ‘out there’ origins undetermined and more is predictive on your part. We are not done here with this story. I have the vest in my closet. I presumed the vest to be a gift from Matt. I never asked, only commented later on about how much I’d admired it and how Banana Republic no longer produced it as I’d checked. Three days later a package arrived with a new vest in it from Matt, this time with a card saying he’d found one form me. I now have both vests in my closet and still war them never to know where in hell the first one Herbert handed me came from since I’d never asked. And then there’s that other thing which you will read as you move into he next chapter…the kind of thing that raises small hairs not he backs of necks….
Thanks for what it is you are and do and write on here….and the feelings you obviously have and demonstrate toward me and the story.
Your friend,
and Semper fi,
Jim
Hello James. Thanks for more excellent storytelling.
Minor note..
“The uncommonly tall and skinny Korrean leaned forward slightly and smiled a deadly smile.” Extra R in Korean.
Got the correction and thanking you for it. Much appreciate the compliment as well.
Semper fi,
Jim
That “deadly smile” seems to be a bit of foreshadowing – as it takes you back to the valley.
Besides a Commercial ticket in airplanes, I also hold a CFI in Gliders, but have only observed balloons. Looks and sounds like fun.
Thanks for the predictive part of your comment, as we shall see in the coming chapter. Also, I too first flew in gliders when I was a Civil Air Patrol certified pilot back in high school at Bellows Field on Oahu. Ballooning is close to that silent form of ‘cloud biting’ experience of mostly silent dancing with the winds.
Thanks for the associative comment. We have a lot in common.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, you’re back in the shit obviously. Will be interesting to see where this leads you. Looking forward to following chapters.
Thanks JT. I never really understand the interest or support for a chapter is at until I read these comments, and
then, every time, I am raring to go at it again. I’m writing the next chapter right now and it starts with
an emotional bang.
Semper fi,
Jim
low key but interesting beginning!!
Low key, indeed, using a rather substantial comparative index I might add….but I fully get your meaning and appreciate the
compliment that comes with it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Albuquerque went down without incident., nobody asked whether
* ., period unnecessary
I huge lit orb floated just
* A huge
Thanks, Don, for the editing help. Since my most prolific editor decided to retire, I much appreciate your help
in making this story better.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your suggestions have been corrected. Thanks for the help.
My first trip to Korea was similar. A strange place and a complicated culture. But they are a complicated people
Lots of seemingly small stuff that can get really big really fast.
Thanks for the support and credibility addition.
Semper fi,
Jim
Doorman someone from your past??? This is getting interesting and can’t wait for more. Keep them coming.
Thanks Peter for that predictive comment. I am amazed at the ability of readers like you who are able to
almost see into the future of the story because you hold the material so far written at the very forefront of your mind.
Thanks for another exhibition of that.
Semper fi,
Jim
The first time I was in China, I was not met and took the first car I saw rather than approved line. He delivered me to the hotel but only in back so he wouldn’t lose his taxi. First time in India, they scared the hell out of me because they only
turned their lights on at night when approaching other cars! trying to do the same thing!
Colonel, I have heard of that proctice but was never in the environment where it was actually done. Being abroad can
be so satisfying, interesting and at times awful and terrifying. Thanks for the great additive to my story, and he
credibility it also provides.
Your friend,
and Semper fi,
Jim