The sun’s early light emerged from behind me as I faced out toward the large rolling Pacific swells that came in so innocently and inexorably to rise, form curls with white frothy water, and then smash themselves down on the sand as they approached the beach a quarter mile distant. It wasn’t quite six-thirty and Shawna wouldn’t show up to open the small restaurant located at the very end of the San Clemente pier until the appointed hour exactly. I looked behind me, all the way down toward the base of the pier so far away. At just over a quarter of a mile in length, it was second only to the Oceanside pier for being the longest wooden pier in the entire state of California.
That I was depressed hadn’t occurred to me and if to describe my current state I would have said only that I was a bit lost. Gary Brown, the supposed hero police chief from Chowchilla had come in to replace Chief Murray, one of my biggest supporters ever. The new police chief, (Mel Portner was standing in for him until his appointment could be confirmed but that was merely a formality. He was rumored to have no use at all for Vietnam veterans, and certainly not vets like myself who had so many decorations for valor. I hadn’t yet met him, since his pre-appointment, and the passing of Chief Murray into retirement history had only been announced the morning before. There’d been enough time however for the new not-yet-chief to write me a short note on Murray’s stationery in which he stated laconically that I was no longer to wear the ‘commander’ tag on my uniform, however, I’d remain the ‘tacit’ commander of that part of the force due to my service time and record. Whatever that assembly of words meant.
I stared out across the tops of the never-ending swells before looking back toward the shore to see Shawna making her way against the wind as she approached. I waved but she didn’t wave back, probably not able to see me over the hand she held up to ward off spray and foam thrown up from under the bridge supports by passing swells striking the underside of the pier. I turned back to wait.
Coffee would be good. I’d gotten out of the apartment so I could avoid trying to explain my current mood to my wife, or worse to a very perceptive and bright six-year-old daughter named Julie. How Gary Brown’s note had come to be placed in the same envelope that H.R. Haldeman’s acceptance of my resignation was folded and placed in would probably never be known. Reading the acceptance letter had taken all of three seconds. I’d resigned from nothing as there was no indication about whom I’d worked for, and the letter was typed on plain white paper instead of the ornately beautiful White House stuff.
The unsealed envelope had been dropped at the police department front window without comment or ceremony. I felt the hand of the CIA touching my life but there was no evidence to support that feeling. It just seemed logical that the agency, depending upon what and where they had me do anything, might want my track record with the U.S. government at the highest level to be kept from my discoverable history. So far, however, the only person that connected me with the CIA at all was Richard, and, from the very first time I’d met him, he made me uncomfortable, and that was still the case. There was no one I was going to counsel with about my frustration of being discharged from the Western White House, getting a crummy note from the new ‘make-believe’ police chief, and then having absolutely no contact, contract, or any other paperwork to support my new situation.
I had twenty-two thousand in new hundred-dollar bills inside my shoeshine box. Was the money an advance? Was it a signing bonus, even though I’d signed nothing? Was it even legal currency since taking that much cash with continuous serial numbers could only lead to the same kind of trouble the agency should be trying to avoid? I didn’t really believe the money was from them, however. In my heart of hearts, I felt it was my ‘reward’ for doing all the bidding I’d done, much of which had been illegal or at least unethical…as well, as being stuff I could tell no one about, not even my wife.
Shawna went straight to the door, unlocked it, and went inside, not even pausing in the slightest to recognize me standing nearby. She was no doubt as cold and wet as I was, although my physical discomfort was nothing compared to my mental state.
“You’re up early,” she said, after getting the place in order, starting a pot of coffee, and then sitting at the table I’d taken in the corner of the empty place.
I nodded but said nothing, merely waiting because Shawna seldom had only a few words to say.
“There’s a new chief of police coming, the White House is shutting down Casa Romantica so where does that leave the Dwarfs?”
“Straight to the point,” I replied, with a smile while she got up and went to get two cups of coffee. She poured them black, stepped back, opened one door of the fridge, and grabbed a tiny bottle of Elsie the Cow creamer made by a company called Bordens. Even though the restaurant served only Maxwell House Coffee, unlike the better stuff (or so Lorraine claimed) at Galloways, I preferred the cups Shawna served with the Elsie milk nobody else seemed to have. Julie had one of the little bottles at home, although Shawna made me pay a dollar for it months earlier.
I poured the whole bottle of milk into my cup, didn’t bother asking for sugar, and took a long satisfying sip. The cheap Bunn rig used to make the coffee kept it plenty hot but not without adding a burned aftertaste if kept in the pot too long, which was almost always. Shawna was right, having guessed that I wouldn’t be staying in the area and therefore the Dwarfs would lose Snow White all heart would go out of its mission. The Marines would move on into history along with the story that they’d drowned while swimming alone on a stormy beach. There was no other story to replace it. That they’d died, very likely, at the hands of hard-bitten holders of national security, which I more than believed, particularly after standing inside the chamber-like room they died in. But there was no one I could tell, not without endangering myself, further, and the person or persons I might tell.
“I’ll be fired by this new chief when he fully takes over,” I replied, as he doesn’t like the cut of my jib, and that’ll leave me only with the insurance business that I really can’t make much of a living at without being fed business from the other stuff I’ve been doing.
“You’re a war hero, and you built the beach patrol from almost nothing at all, not to mention working for the President of the United States personally, so he can’t fire you, not without a whole lot of trouble,” Shawna said without drinking any of her own coffee.
Shawna was hurt and I was complimented by her feelings of pain for me. She had a glorified idea of who and what I was, which had been added to over time with my taking over the beach patrol, creating the Dwarfs, and working for the Western White House, but, in reality, I was just a guy, messed up from a horrid war, coming home and trying to make it back to a place I could no longer find or identify. People in San Clemente had come to put a whole lot of faith in me and I knew at my core, without getting any of that from Paul, that I needed to move on before the weight of everyone’s expectations crushed me down into nothing.
I knew a good bit more about higher-ranking officers and those who’ve achieved or inherited positions of power. For the most part, they soon lost all thought about the subjects they controlled or governed. It was either the common good, for the best of them, or about their glorification for the worst of them. I hadn’t met Chief Brown yet but it wasn’t hard to come to an early conclusion about what kind of leader he was going to be. Just another reason, if it panned out, to move on in life.
“I have no idea what’s going to happen yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything,” I said, finishing my coffee and getting up to go.
I was lying to her and she no doubt knew it. For a teenager, she was extraordinarily sharp and very prescient, but she accepted my excuse and barely held together explanation.
Beach Patrol was scheduled to start at noon, as the weather had turned. The sun would be bright in the sky all day, the weather dry as a bone, or too dry according to forecasters, as the brush densely packed in the many arroyos surrounding the town were filled with many years of tinder that was merely ‘lying in wait’ if one was to believe the early morning news. I walked the length of the pier and climbed into my Volks. I drove home wondering whether my stint with Gularte would be my last beach patrol shift, as well as the end of my being whatever kind of police officer I was supposed to be.
When I drove up to the apartment’s driveway there was a Chevy Caprice, one of the rather rare two-door versions of the big Classic automobile. It was cream in color and had temporary license plates. I knew right away the car wasn’t from the compound, not that there were governmental vehicles there anymore. I hadn‘t gone back, as there was no point.
As I got out of the Volks to check the strange vehicle out Richard stepped forth from the Caprice.
“Nice car,” I said, only staring at the sparkling new Caprice.
“I don’t have any time,” Richard said, throwing a set of keys across the street toward me. “It’s yours. You can’t drive a red Volkswagen and be with us. It’s not fitting. This thing has only 348 cubic inches but makes the same horsepower as Gates’ Marauder, only it weighs eight hundred pounds less. You do the math.
Dual exhausts, no catalytic converters, no restrictions at all. Now take me to the station where you are headed anyway, as I think you’re on today’s shift.”
All I wanted to do was get in the Caprice and take it for a spin, but I turned back toward the apartment.
“Paperwork’s all in the glove box, license plates in the trunk. I didn’t have any bolts and Chevy leaves that to the new owner.”
I was full of questions about the car but contained myself. There was no reason on earth for the CIA to purchase a new full-size automobile for me that I could see. I hadn’t even been through training, had no interviews, wasn’t reporting to anyone. Was I about to go to work for the biggest confederacy of dunces in the country?
I dressed quickly, putting on the uniform, no longer having a single thought about it possibly being for the last time. I wanted to drive the Classic, specially prepared to outrun Gates’ beast of Marauder, and it was to be all mine. The Volks had been my first new car and I hadn’t had any thoughts about buying another but there was the Caprice, sitting out at the curb. I walked over as I removed the “Commander” badge from my uniform shirt. The car was there.
The badge didn’t matter. The car was real while the badge never had been.
I was in a hurry because Richard was downstairs with my wife, and they were talking away. I didn’t want either of them learning any more about one another or me than they already did, not from each other anyway.
In minutes I was ready. I rushed downstairs and made it to the kitchen before I remembered that I’d forgotten the keys to the new Caprice. I ran back up the steps and was pleased and smiling to see the keys on the bed, waiting, as if in accusation. I rushed back down.
“We have a new car,” Mary said, as I approached the bar area adjacent to the kitchen. “I hear it’s a real car and not one of those little things like the Volkswagen.”
I realized that she was speaking to Richard. I knew she loved the Volks, particularly since it’d replaced the GTO which she’d hated all through our possession of it.
“Richard tells me that you’re going to take a position with his company,” Mary laughed out loud, doing something with the dishes in the sink. “Now that you’ve lost the last job maybe that’s a piece of real good news.”
I kept a smile pasted to my face but my mind was running at high speed. She knew all about my interest in the CIA, their offer, and more. She was letting Richard know she knew nothing, and he appeared to be buying that load of baloney all the way. She was perfectly brilliant at playing the role of a dutiful housewife supporting her husband. I realized at that moment that Mary might be the best candidate for the agency and not me.
“Let’s go, Richard,” I said, turning toward the door. I was no longer the least concerned that Mary would give anything away, instead, I wondered what she might have learned from Richard in that brief time. All that would have to wait.
Richard and I climbed into the Caprice, the doors both slamming, making a solid metallic sound. Not the bank vault closing like one experienced when closing one of the doors in Richard’s Mercedes, but quality, nevertheless.
I stared down through the steering wheel. It had a leaping stag in its very center. I noticed that there was no tachometer and the long flat speedometer pegged at 120 miles per hour.
“No tach?” I asked as the Marauder had a big round one right in the center of its instrument console.
“Three-speed built transmission, not a Hydramatic or any of that stuff. You don’t need a tach, so one wasn’t installed at the factory, as the red line fuel shut-off is set at 6000 rpm, which is extremely high for a V8. Solid lifters, 275 cam, and more. No twenty-five miles to a gallon though. Sorry. Oh, that little instrument on the stalk under the window washer lever is an after-market tach just so you can see what’s going on at any time,” Richard explained.
I drove the Caprice up to South Ola Vista and headed toward the compound. We had about half an hour before Gularte would be expecting us in the police lot.
I didn’t turn toward the compound or residence, however, instead pulling on the onramp and accelerating. I was pleased that the deep beat of the unrestricted and oversized exhaust pipes wasn’t too loud. Mary hated the sound of the GTO more than anything else. I pushed the accelerator to the floor. The car downshifted and took off, forcing me back into the seat. Gone was the quiet burble and filling the cabin was the sound of a monster roaring. The Caprice shifted automatically to second gear and I held the pedal to the floor. The car’s hood jumped up a good six inches and then settled back, the speedometer showing 100. I was astounded. The car was almost as fast as the GTO but had a much higher top end. I eased up on the pedal.
“Careful on high-speed corners, like off ramps and such. That jump we both felt was the torque bringing the front tires nearly off the road. Much less traction when you might be deep into a tight corner.”
I noticed that Richard was holding tight to a bar mounted above the passenger window. We made it to where the Border Patrol had its checkpoint before I dived into the illegal U-Turn slot built there, but only for police use. I waved at the agents who stood by doing nothing except watching us. I took off for San Clemente but kept the speed down. The Caprice had shown me all I needed to know about it and I could explore the outer edges of its driving envelope later at my leisure, without scaring Richard, or anybody else, to death.
As we approached the police lot I looked up to see a distant cloud that seemed to be rolling up from the south. I watched the cloud moving toward us as I phrased a question I’d been thinking about since Richard told me the car was mine.
“Richard, I was once given a special handgun and told that I’d need it sometime in the future. I never needed to use it and that future never came. Is this the same sort of thing? I’m given this specially prepared and quite wonderful car with that same thing in somebody’s mind?”
“Yet,” Richard answered as I shut the smaller but ungodly powerful motor down. “You were told you would need it sometime in the future. There’s plenty of future left.”
“Oh,” was all I could think to say. Richard walked away and disappeared into the back entrance of the station. Gularte stood next to the Bronco, waiting for me. I had a lot to tell him, since he was one of the very few I’d already entrusted with too much.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” I breathed out, making sure to lock the Caprice and put the keys in my pocket.
Richard had said that the license plates were in the trunk. I wondered what else might be in the trunk but I wasn’t going to open it in front of anyone else. The surprises were still coming at me at full speed and it was either duck and cover or charge into the breach. Ducking and covering seemed a better way to go until I could figure out what was going on. Either way, as I’d inhaled the wonderful new car smell of the Caprice. I’d made a simple decision. I wasn’t giving it back. Maybe that decision is the one the agency wanted as a closing presentation. If it was, then they’d succeeded.
I walked to where Gularte stood facing me. I noticed now that there was a constant wind blowing in my face, and the air seemed to be hotter than it usually was.
“What the hell is that?” I asked Gularte, pointing a bit upward over his left shoulder.
“Brush fire,” Gularte concluded, “but that’s one hell of a huge one. We better get over to it. I don’t hear any fire engines going code three yet so call it in while we’re on the way.”
We both jumped into the Bronco and took off. I grabbed the department microphone, not even bothering to fasten my seat belt in my haste. I didn’t call the fire department, which was only doors from where we’d stood, instead reaching out to Bobby Scruggs to get hold of them right away. I told him we were headed up Presidio onto Salvador and then along the utility access and to stand by for more reports as we encountered the fire.
Smoke was the biggest problem. Gularte drove uncharacteristically slow because there were so many cars coming out of the smoke clouds filled with residents running from whatever conflagration had to be frightening them.
“Hit the utility access road right there,” I yelled, pointing. “Salvador runs parallel to this thing so the homes on both sides are probably all ablaze by now, by the size of these clouds. Let’s see if we can do anything further east. I can’t remember the name of that street, but it runs perpendicular to the fire’s line of travel.”
Smoke, ash, and cinders flew as Gularte bounced the Bronco along the rough rutted road until we hit pavement again. We drove north, homes, only built on the east side of the street, were burning intensely. We both closed our windows.
“Up ahead, there’s got to be a point the fires haven’t reached yet,’ I yelled, as needless in the small confines of the closed-in Bronco as the pointing I was doing. We had no other direction to go as there’d be no going back through or into the heart of the inferno we were trying to leave behind.
“Never seen anything like this,” Gularte yelled back.
“You don’t get to see anything like this or be inside it, and live I guess,” I replied, scared but not terrified by what was going on all around us. The A Shau was right with me, the canyon walls replaced by fire ‘cliffs’ to my right and smoke ‘cliffs’ to my left.
Suddenly we were out of the smoke and fire, as if we’d been flying through a thick cloud and then breaking through to clear air.
“Pull over,” I ordered.
Gularte pulled into the front yard of the home I was pointing at. There was a ladder leaning against the north wall of the house extending up past the roof’s gutter. A garden hose lay coiled near the bottom of it.
I jumped out of the Bronco and ran to the base of the ladder, Gularte quickly joining me.
“What are you thinking?’ he asked, as I stopped to survey the situation.
“I’m going up to the top of the roof, right near its apex, with the hose on full. You feed it up to me as I climb. From there I can spray the side of the house and the house next door if the pressure’s strong enough. I can stop the fire in its tracks since it’s going from house to house like dominos falling.”
“You’re an idiot, let the fire department handle this. We’re cops, not firemen.” Gularte yelled over the sound of the approaching fire with sirens in the distance and Bobby Scruggs trying to make himself heard over the radio. I’d hit the switch to put his transmission through the vehicle’s outside speaker but whatever he was saying was unintelligible.
“We’re here and they’re not,” I replied, climbing slowly up the ladder holding the hose nozzle thanking God that the ladder was made of wood.
At least I wasn’t likely to be electrocuted. The smoke, although not impenetrable, made everything hazy and hard to make out beyond a distance of more than a few feet.
“Turn on the pressure and feed the hose up to me now. Turn it on full.” I shouted
I got to the top edge of the roof and stepped onto its slope, which wasn’t too steep. I leaned down and in, working my way to the top, the hose beginning to squirt out the tip of its nozzle.
The house next door wasn’t burning, not that I could see. I began spraying up and down the roof of the house I was on. The water pressure was excellent. I shot a stream across the distance to the home beyond and was able to put some water onto it as well. My plan was working.
“I’m getting it,” I yelled back to Gularte, wishing I’d grabbed and pinned on one of our miniature body radio units.
There was no way he was going to hear me so I stopped trying. I continued to shower the top of the roof, glad it was made of composite tiles rather than wooden shake roof shingles. I looked down as the smoke cleared a bit from my spraying, just as a tongue of white yellow, and red fire shot through the side of the garage window, blowing it out. I was amazed as there seemed to be no fire inside the house since I’d begun my firefighting efforts. I directed my hose down to spray the window when I saw it. The fire had engulfed an overly large propane tank set next to the side of the garage wall.
I lay looking up at the smoky sky before trying to move. What had happened? One second I was working on the roof and the next I was somewhere else. I craned my head around. I was lying trapped, back down atop and partially inside a big bush.
“I’m coming lieutenant,” Guarte screamed from below and to the side of where I lay.
I tried to move and quickly realized that my arms and legs were okay. I touched my face, which seemed okay except I couldn’t feel any hair where my eyebrows had been. I was smooth-faced and the fact that I was thinking about that bothered me. There was more important stuff to consider but I couldn’t seem to concentrate enough to figure out what those things might be. I was having some difficulty breathing but not too bad. Hands began pulling at me from what seemed like all directions.
“Something in the house next door blew up,” Gularte was saying from very close by, to someone I couldn’t see, as my head didn’t seem to want to turn to either side. “The fire’s out. The explosion blew both houses up but put out the fire. He saved the day.”
I was on a gurney, just like the one I’d been on when the chopper had landed at First Medical in Da Nang. I was being rushed into the back of a truck. Needles were being plunged into me along the way until everything grew hazy, lazy, and soft.
“You’re going to be okay,” a voice said, the person’s face no more than three inches from my own.
I closed my eyes, trying to understand what had happened, but the explanation wouldn’t come.
“Get him to San Clemente General right the hell now or you’re going to be handing him over to the coroner.”
I tried to open my eyes. It was like being in the chopper flying from the Go Noi Island to the aid station. I tried to open my eyes to let everyone on the chopper know I was still alive and not to toss me out to gain altitude.
As a big fan of the G.T.O. (I had a brand shiny new ’69) Or as my wife called it Gas Tires and Oil. My humor took a real dampening when the fire and explosion occurred. Glad you lived to tell about it and hope your not to severely injured.
Survivor’s body. That’s what the doctors in Yokosuka said about my
survival rolling the wounds I received coming out of the A Shau.
You only get to find out if you have one the hard way. In my case, time
after time. I have as load of scars but I’m still vertical and navigable
as long as you don’t look at me real close.
Thanks for the comment and the caring chuck.
Your friend,
and Semper fi,
Jim
Damn you’re the luckiest guy on the planet. How many times can you get away from a bad ending? Don’t think 348 is correct for Impala motor as they stopped using them early 60’s.
Didn’t get a chance to comment on last chapter but was shocked about the house owned by Jack Elam. One of the best if not the best character actor in Hollywood. Love this guys films. Also a very interesting life history. Just watched him in the lead in on “Once Upon A Time In The West”. He was fantastic, great music too.
Thanks, JT. About the house. I never met Jack Elam as everything was done by his personal representative and realtors.
I went back to San Clemente a few years ago and the house was finally torn down and rebuilt to resemble the house that was torn down!
Presumably without the families of termites who inhabited the place with us when we lived there. Loved the house though and the gian
garage of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
Amazing life you’ve been granted, and survived! Semper Fi LT!!
Thanks Junior, much appreciate the appreciation and the encouragement.
Semper fi,
Jim
So we will never know how the marines met their demise? Collateral damage?
Is there more than just plates in the trunk in the trunk of the car? Why not just toss them in the back seat?
The fate of the artifact is still unknown along with what’s on the last tape. Great read & keep them coming.
The Marines drowned in the small containment chamber leading into the the nuclear containment pod. Whether they were drowned on purpose because of what they found in the main chamber before retreating or whether it wa accidentally due to a confluence of things that were never predicted to be able to occur is what is unknown.
The license plates in the trunk and not on the car are explained in the next chapter. The true also contained the original carb, intake manifold, plugs, wires and distributor. Thanks for paying such close attention.
Semper fi,
Jim
Please take care of a personal problem to me and email at the address you have on here. Thanks!
Semper fi
Alan, took care of that problem for you. Let me know if you have anything else I can help with.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
Why was I not surprised by your thought process & actions during the wild fire? As soon as I read “The A Shau was right with me, the canyon walls replaced by fire ‘cliffs’ to my right and smoke ‘cliffs’ to my left.”, it confirmed what I was thinking ref the fire, smoke, heat, the unknowns, the potential danger to others, the need for immediate action, the automatic switching of gears in the Hamster Wheel & others.
(Ref the Hamster Wheel, I’m coming to the conclusion that we in fact have multiple Hamsters in our brains. This is based on the fact that most of us only use about 10% of our brains, so there’s plenty of room left over to hold a herd of these little guys. Just sayin’. Short version: We all have a PH (Primary Hamster) that is growing with us from our very start until it comes time for us to “move” on. As we go through the chapters of our life, additional SHs (Secondary Hamsters) are born to help the PH to spin at the needed speed to accomplish the goal. Once “accomplished”, these SHs get off the wheel & take a nap. If needed in a future chapter, even if in a very short chapter, they wake up, stretch & get on the wheel. Some don’t need to stretch – They’re already jumping on the wheel, fully awake as soon as they’re nudged. The “wheel” itself can expand its girth … (Yes, like loosening one’s belt when sitting down in preparation of “girth expansion” while dining at the Christmas day dinner. Some refer to this as the “BLPXD” (Belt Loosening Pre Xmas Dinner). Ok – Maybe it’s only me. Regardless.) ) … Girth to accommodate multiple SHs simultaneously. As before, once the goal is “accomplished”, the SHs get off & go back to their naps. Most of their naps are “restful” on our brains, others are “restless” (Usually the ones that don’t need to “stretch” – The ones that just “do”.) The simple “dues/fees” of our lives.)
(Long version: Umm, See above.)
Taking secondary roads (trails), getting ahead of the house engulfing fire (The enemy), hosing down the roofs of multiple homes in its path to stop it (Setting perimeter to stop the enemy). Then the unexpected explosion (The unexpected shit sandwich). But mission accomplished & back to a hospital (Win, Lose or draw/Medics). Another world, but similar actions & results.
I think the new Chief would have had a bit of a PR problem if he quickly fired you. Then again, he could have just said that your ‘long recovery time required me to back fill his position.’ Of course everyone else would know that he was just being a “Richard”.
As always, Sincere regards my friend,
Doug
Doug Danko lays it all out, intensely using metaphor and analogy to make things less murky and clear,
about how the mind works in reality…since how that really works none of us truly know. Thanks for ‘running on’ like that here. I’m certain others much enjoy your thought process and your presentation of it.
The Chief. Yes, there was a lot more coming and the next chapter will deal with exactly that subject, which you should have in your hands by early next week or a few days later. Thanks for being not only brilliant but prescient.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Jim,
Dang! “not only brilliant but prescient.”!! Thanks! But ya know how when you’re drinking something, then suddenly laugh so hard, some of it comes squirting out your nose? Now where are those paper towels & laptop cleaners?
As always my friend,
Doug
I wold like to say that you paid me for saying that but, sadly, you don’t even have my address to send the check. Nah, much enjoy the stuff you write on here and the support it helps give me.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Jim, I try. In truth, you & your writings have helped me to create some of my replies. I’ll admit that some of them are all me; ie: I don’t remember you ever saying anything about hamsters. But they wouldn’t have occurred without your words. And if some of them bring enjoyment & support – Well – Win/Win. Now, ahem, what’s that address again my friend? :))))
Regards,
Doug
Thanks for the compliment Doug, and no, I haven’t written of hamsters but much enjoyed your use of the little creatures in your own
writing on here. Thanks for the tremendous support and your commentary.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
James, Kudos to Chuck Bartok for performing his magic getting this new volume up on your website. The adventure continues.
We will have to wait, but my guess is Mary will use the Volks while you will drive the Caprice.
Obviously you survived this latest injury. Sheet time is no fun.
Some minor editing suggestions follow:
quarter of a mile in length, it was the second only
Drop “the” after “was”
quarter of a mile in length, it was second only
There’d been enough time however for the new not-yet-chief to write me a short note on Murray’s stationery, however, in which he stated
Two instances of “however” I suggest dropping the second
There’d been enough time however for the new not-yet-chief to write me a short note on Murray’s stationery in which he stated
Reading the resignation letter had taken all of three seconds
Maybe “acceptance” instead of “resignation”
Reading the acceptance letter had taken all of three seconds
There was no one I was going to counsel with me about
Maybe drop “me” after “with”
There was no one I was going to counsel with about
I really can’t make much a living at
Maybe add “of” after “much”
I really can’t make much of a living at
she accepted my excuse and barely held together an explanation
Maybe drop “an” before “explanation”
she accepted my excuse and barely held together explanation
I hadn‘t gone back, as there was no point. 0
Delete extra “0” at end of sentence
I hadn‘t gone back, as there was no point.
I wanted to drive the Classic
Some research finds there was the Chevy Caprice Classic – so using “Caprice” or “Classic” interchangeably works.
Mary laughed out, doing something with the dishes
Maybe add “loud” after “out”
OR could just drop “out”
Mary laughed out loud, doing something with the dishes
It car’s hood jumped up a good six inches
Maybe “The” instead of “It”
The car’s hood jumped up a good six inches
lot to tell him, since he was of the very few I’d already entrusted
Add “one” after “was”
lot to tell him, since he was one of the very few I’d already entrusted
either duck and cover or charge into the breech
“breach” rather than “breech”
either duck and cover or charge into the breach
If it was then they’d succeeded
Reads a bit smoother if comma after “was”
If it was, then they’d succeeded
I yelled, pointing. Salvador runs parallel to
Open quotes before “Salvador”
I yelled, pointing. “Salvador runs parallel to
I yelled, as needlessly in the small confines
“needless” rather than “needlessly”
I yelled, as needless in the small confines
made of composite tiles rather than wooden shake roof things
Maybe “shingles” instead of “roof things”
made of composite tiles rather than wooden shake shingles
Blessings & Be Well
Interesting guess, DanC, and the answer to that guess will be made in the coming chapter.
A definitive chapter for several reasons. Thanks for the usual attention to detail that seems
to escape me when I am doing my own editing, which you prove, time after time, is totally inadequate!
Thanks so much for making it better work!
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Mr. Strauss, Sir.
Your young body sure did take much more than its share of punishment. I’m thinking you might be in your early twenty’s at that point, and already had enough physical stress to that body for 10 men. Yes the idea of a cat with nine lives almost seems appropriate. And to refer to an earlier comment reply that you made, yes, Mr. Strauss, it is my opinion that you are very much alive. You surface in peoples lives as you have, here, surfaced in mine. At some point in time, I expect that you will no longer be in my life every week, but I assure you that you and your story will be alive in me and my memory. Thank you for that, and please keep it up.
Keith. Compliment to you in that I put your compliment to me up on Facebook, as not many authors get such accolades, not in this day and age. Can’t thank you enough.
Semper fi,
Jim
Keith…compliment to you in that I put your compliment to me up on Facebook, as not many authors get such accolades, not in this day and age. Can’t thank you enough. It does seem that I have come so very close on so many occasions. God and his punishment or good graces I expect…
Semper fi,
Jim
I keep answering your comment but the machine keeps putting your own comment back up.
Stange the these ‘pre-A.I.” machines do with us today.
Semper fi,
Jim
As we lived just East of Riverside, Ca., in the early 60s those fires were not uncommon. My Dad put me on the roof with a garden hose more than once and I always felt it was a futile effort against the monster of flame !!
Well now you have a real car with power and I can’t help but to wonder why as that particular agency has no authority on US soil !! Getting shipped to Europe perhaps ??
Hmmm…
Great start to the new book 🙂
SgBob, the public remains either woefully ignorant or simply not caring that the CIA is not forbidden to function on American soil.
That’s an old myth, not a law or even a Presidential directive. In fact, its the CIA that’s officially responsible for the pursuit of
all counter intelligent actions or persons in the Untied States. The CIA has offices in almost every city in the U.S. over ten thousand in population. For years the agency
had a secret office at O’Hare. Albuquerque’s was in the City Admniistratio building not the Federal building. I know that one to be absolute truth, at least back in that
time, because I reported there several times. The car had a purpose, as you will discover, although once again, like with the artifact, you’re probably not going to like
what the usage is gong to be when I write it up.
Thanks, as usual, for a great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Pulling us in once again Jim! But you are underway in the CIA.
You have no idea where you are headed, or what to do when you get there, but you are moving!
Been in similar fires as a volunteer firefighter during my college days (didn’t start college until I was 29). Fortunately, the Navy teaches you to be pretty good at that.
Still wondering about the mysterious, almost magical ball of unknown material. And what you will do about your insurance job. And whatever you will be doing for the Company, especially since you were gifted with a brand-new hot rod!
Keep writing, Jim – you are leaving us all hanging in the breeze!
Semper Fi, my friend!
Wilcox, my friend, you are fighting your way back and I could not be happier every time you come on here and make comments.
I know you are okay and doing better. I certainly proved that I was no firefighter!
If you care, I’m working on a new poem (yes, I do that strictly for fun and because it makes handling the language more of an art form
rather than just putting stuff down on paper), and I’ve been thinking of you while I write. Remember in reading those first stanzas aren’t
about fact so much as those things that run through us much deeper than facts. Here’s to you Craig Wilcox, a salute for your hearty
courage in carrying on.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
JUST BELOW FRIGHT
By James Strauss
I fought in only two wars,
Medals for valor all over,
But here’s what they say when they’re sober,
Snuffies, Jarheads and male whores.
Fought with honor’s distinction,
Back home they said I was brave,
But the brave went on to extinction,
While I think I was truly a knave.
Into the mouth of the Dragon and got spit out.
Yes, Carroll, I did have kind of knack for that…the getting spit out sort of worried me time after time.
But here I am…
Semper fi,
Jim
Walking the jungle, fighting the surf, now battling the blazes. You find the most dangerous and unusual places to play in Lt. The future looms ahead , but for how long and where will it take you !. I’m dyeing here Sir ???
The funny thing, Don, was that I didn’t find almost anything…it all found me, and then it became what I did with it. Like the artifact,
that will continue to plague me as we move on because I wouldn’t just toss it and get it out of my life.
Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Glad you survived, again!
Small detail-you remarked to Richard there was no tach, then while trying the car out you say the tach was nearing 6,000.
Thanks, Chris. The little after-market tach was mounted on the steering wheel stalk. I meant to add Richard saying that one wasn’t stock from the
factory because the Caprice was an automatic. Thanks a lot for the help here. The Caprice never reached 6000 though. Even with solids and special work it red-lined
out at 5400, which was plenty fast in all gears. Top end wasn’t tach related. It was wind resistance related.
Semper fi,
Jim
Marines run towards danger, not from it. Semper Fi..
Met David Morrell down in Santa Fe and then saw him again at Thrillerfest in New York when I was bigger. He was introduced to me
there and nervous, since he’d heard about me, stood five five, or so and uncomfortable. I set him at ease and told him I wasn’t reall
any more the combat deal than John Rambo was in his book. David hadn’t gone to war, certainly not into combat. I simply enjoyed that he was
alive and finding me more real than him…when in fact, I’m not real.David Morrell wrote First Blood, which I presume you know since you have that
name. In Third Days, if you’ve read the series, I ran in combat three times, and I was the company commander. When I came home and recovered
I read Sun Tzu, the great ancient Chinese general’s work, and then made sure I ran a few more times in life. You can’t fight and win if you are
dead, so you run not to be a coward but to prepare for your return.
Thanks for the laconic comment, in depth of course.
Semper fi
Jim
Oh, by the way, John, when Morrell later spoke at a writer’s conference gathering of new writers he remarked that if people met me that it was unlikely that anyone with my background in combat would have turned out to be the way I was…and remain now, of course.
I wonder what the other people who meet me, and know that part of my background, think and if they might think the same way.
If they do, then I’ve been presenting myself well.
Semper fi, John Rambo
Jim
Another excellent chapter.! I’m waiting for the next chapter! Amazing! How are you still alive?!
God bless you!
Steve
Am I really alive? I surface in people’s lives and then I’m gone, to surface in other people’s lives.
I live on, not knowing I’m alive, just here, a place that changes with people who change, but am I
the foundational definition of alive? Can we really know that while being what we conceive of as living?
Thanks for the comment and I’m happy that you’re apparently happy that I am indeed ‘alive.’
Semper fi,
Jim
Holy Crap!
And just like that we are off and running down the road of the brand new TCL book. Nothing like starting with lots of excitement and unexpected twists.
Your wife is going to throttle you and give you a big tongue lashing for what you did and for ending up in the hospital with a face looking like Mr. Clean. Are you part cat and have 9 lives to tease death’s hounding of you?
Big thanks for this new chapter.
THE WALTER DUKE. Mary was, and remains, an amiable quiet person of elegance, beauty and a lot of knowledge backed by a very able intellect. She has, in moments of weakness, usually induced by aa Manhattan or Old Fashioned or two, admitted that what I added to her life from day one was adventure.
Adventure she’d never have sought out or gone along with if she didn’t had to, but in so doing come she’d come to know so much more about the world…some of which she didn’t want to know.
Yes, she was once again devastated, especially when the doctor came out to ask her if I was having any dental problems.
She told him no.
He looked at her and said that I was bleeding from my mouth which likely meant the fire had burned my lungs. Not good.
But she’s here with me this night, and I can’t ask God for more than that.
Oh, and few friends like you and some others who come on here because they not only like the writing but truly care.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Jim,
Even with what small amount we learn from your writings about your Mary as you ricochet from one “situation’ to another, I am convinced your greatest blessing in your life has been–and is–your wife Mary. Stands by you, offers wise counsel, is a calm in the storm of your life’s escapades. She is indeed a treasure. (just as my greatest blessing is my wife–also a Mary!).
God had, and has, a purpose for your life. But I am sure when your 9 lives eventually run out and the last sand drops from your hourglass of life–many years from now, hopefully–you will have a LOT of questions you want to ask God.
My blessings to you, and your Mary.
THE WALTER DUKE. My Mary doesn’t read these chapters or the comments, thank God. Her eyesight went away a couple of years ago, but I tel her a lot (lying where required!). Yes, you are exactly correct. I would not be here replying to your or writing these chapters without her. After getting home and wanting to so badly I would not have stayed unless I had solid reasons to stay. Thanks for the kind words, as usual. Cowardly has proven to be a whole lot more revealing about so many things in my life, and I wasn’t really prepared for that, or taking note of effects while writing and publishing. Thanks for the unending support and in depth analysis of all of this.
Semper fi, my friend
Jim
You are an astute man, Walter.
I have known Mary since Jim and I teamed up in San Clemente. I consider myself blessed to have known this “Irish Saint”.
She has surely endured a lot over the years married to you know who ~~smile
The other day i got to wondering how long i have been following this saga. So i looked it up and its been since 2016. (1st 30 days chapter 3) Almost 8 years now. What a ride its been and I’m very much looking forward to seeing where the next part takes us!
On another note, I’m a retired firefighter from Northern California that’s seen events like you went through. You got lucky. Very lucky. Propane tanks can be tricky to deal with. Look up B.L.E.V.E.
Thank you Monty, for the compliment and the data. Yes, I got very lucky. I believe the explosion was the rapid expansion of the gas, not the ignition fit in retrospect.
That’s why I’m alive. The blast of fire, although extremely hot, wasn’t hitting the side of the tank for very long. When the tank blew, in examining it later, it was
the side closest to me that was blown out not the part that would have had the propane blow directly into the blazing tongue of fire. Thank my lucky stars. I have never lived
in a residence since that has had a gas storage tank of any kind. Only my air compressor and it’s pretty tiny.
Thanks so much for filling in the gaps in my story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great opening chapter to Book Four. I had to go back and refresh my memory on the events that happened all those years ago in Chowchilla . Whatever the new Chiefs connection was with Chowchilla was I can’t find any reference to him being involved with the investigation into the infamous mass kidnapping that occurred there . One question though ? Will the deaths of the Marines ever go away ?
Thanks for the neat short compliment on opening up the fourth volume. I had to go to volumes instead of books because none of the Cowardly series are stand alone books. I feel like Dumas or Dickens without the fame or plaudits…although it is because of Dumas publishing his first works serially in a newspaper that I got the idea to do the same on here chapter by chapter…and you are right about Gary not doing a damned thing in the Chowchilla incident except take full credit for solving the whole thing. He was good at that.
Semper fi,
Jim
From the frying pan into the fire! Your nickname should be ‘nine lives’!
Nine lives would have been preferable to some I enjoyed.
Thanks for thinking of that, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jeeze talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire! Breathless waiting to see where things going LT.
Thanks so much for waiting with such expectation. There’s a lot more left to write here
as we ease on into the fourth volume of this rendering of my life back in those days.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was in that fire that Jim’s describing in this opening chapter. I didn’t expect to read that or be reminded of my time inside the inferno, which was everything it is described as being. Discussion of that Fire brought back vivid memories of helping a family out of its home and turning around when I had the couple safely on the street and watching their home explode into flames, as the intense heat rose up over the scene. Had I been a few minutes later they would have never known what hit them.
These volumes have brought back so many good and not-so-good memories of times gone by. Jim’s role in stopping some of the effects of that conflagration are minimized by him in this writing. The local television stations of that time followed his progress in the hospital as he recovered…it was that big.
Thanks Chuck. I do recall it was the Filter family you brought out of that place and then gave them a home to stay in when their’s was destroyed. Your role in all that was never followed by the media or anyone else that I recall. Maybe here is the best place now to say ‘thank you,’ from that family and from us all on here. You were and remain a class act.
Your friend,
Jim
Oh, sorry Chuck, it was the Filger family. Word correction changed it! As I recall the brother in law of the guy in the couple ran a machine shop that provided so much metal work for the Apollo program for NASA.
Semper fi,
Jim
WOW!
Aah Junior, you went and stepped in it again. They say you can take the man out of the Marines but you can’t take the Marine out of the Man. They teach you the only way is straight ahead and the consequences be damned. Life teaches you no good deed goes unpunished. Oh the CIA will neither confirm nor deny you work for them. The Plot thickens.
Yes, there are a lot of mysteries that will be cleared up but some that will remain shrouded for all time.
In telling what happened, even fictionalizing parts where the details have been forgotten, is netlike writing a work of pure fiction. All the endings can’t just be invented or the reality becomes invented as well.
Thanks for the neat comment on here and the support it gives me.
Semper fi,
Jim
I look forward to reading your books. Your writing show that none of us know the future or what each day brings or how events are connected. The only thing given is that you lived thru it all.
Thanks David, and I have, indeed, lived through it to this point in time. There is no telling just how much of what happens in our lives can be divorced from circumstance causing it, either partially or entirely. Interesting thought process here.
Semper fi
Jim
The threads of the story begin to weave a definitive pattern but not a tapestry. Does the pattern repeat itself or is it just an accent to something bigger?
Very interesting way to write about this issue. Tapestry/definitive weave. More like mosaic, really. One little part, or an assembly of them but short of allowing for the whole picture kind of a thing. Given that the universe is eternal then all patterns must repeat by the requirements as portrayed in probability theory. The manner and way that all atoms are currently set at a point of time today, or tomorrow for that matter, must exactly repeat at some very distant time in the future…or maybe next week! Thanks for the depth you allowed me to pursue about this subject.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow……. What a way to start your last day at your old job, and have it merge into your new one. That was one of the most intense chapters to date!!!!! Your life is never dull is it? Will reread this chapter many times before grasping it all. Keep up the great writing LT and Semper fi sir!!!
Wonderful series of compliments inside that comment Bob. Much appreciated, as well, and as usual from you.
Thanks for being such a veteran on this site and providing me much needed support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hi, LT,
I am a ‘Nam Army vet, 1967/68. I was a truck driver, so I was fortunate to not find myself in total combat situations. Your biographical descriptions of the war and your recovery have kept my attention, and I thank you for doing so. I found the description of the Caprice a little odd with the 348ci (already mentioned) and the catalytic converters being deleted. If I am not mistaken, cats were not required until the 1990s. That being said, I really enjoy your work! OOHRAHH!
Thanks for your comment, Kimball. Catalytic converters were on California cars in the mid 1970s.
Cannons to the right; cannons to the left; into the valley of death rode the 600!
Always run toward the sound of gunfire….It strikes me that when it is all quiet boredom is instant!
Great start….
Thanks for the ‘great start’ Colonel. Yes, indeed, you would certainly know about the boredom thing when terror is not loose all around. There are no cannons, incidentally. The plural of cannon is cannon. “Cannon to the right of them. Cannon to the left of them. Cannon in front of them. Volleyed and thundered.” Not to be a stickler or anything. Besides, you are about the only one on this site I feel perfectly comfortable in insulting. As your combat Marine friend, I mean. What are you going to do?
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Jim you didn’t learn to stop being a hero.
What a wonderful laconic compliment, Ken. Thank you. Being a hero is such a burden over time though.
Not to include the simple fact that most of us who’ve gone heroic things don’t feel like we were being heroic
at all. Just the right thing to do at the time, or the job, or happenstance…
Thanks for that.
Semper fi,
Jim