I don't have the artistic ability, but maybe a rendition of our first week's ( I remember the incident like yesterday) confrontation with the lovely young women through the back fence would capture the spirit of the times. 17 year old frauleins showing their legs to our shall-we-say
racially diverse men of A Btry? With Lt. O'Keeffe nervously in the back and Sgt. Candler righteously charging out to put a stop to the non-bible belt scene. Sgt Garrett, the young and lanky version, could be grinning
away as he did. Sgt. Deutsch looking on, skeptical, about to make a wisecrack.
In early June 1961, I drove from Ft. Bliss, TX to my home in Boston, MA. I believe I was accompanied by lt. Jim Hutton, who had also lived on Cape Cod. Our true and initial destination was the Cape and the women there. Around Missouri, we started talking about what we were going to do on the Cape.
These days were pre Jack Kerouac's marvelous On The Road , but that book illustrates the spirit of our trip. We drove straight through, stoppping only for gas and food. Jim was asleep in the back of my not too reliable blue '60 Plymouth Valiant in the middle of Missouri, when at eighty miles per hour, I ran right into an on-coming buzzard. The hapless bird filtered through the one inch steel squares of my grill, then got minced by my fan and spread itself all over the engine, a larger quantity of blood than one would think possible. The motor was blooded and feathered, but a quick hosing took care of most of it, the rest was carried as a proud wound.
We triumphantly made the Cape at Wareham, Mass. Our immediate goal was real fried clams, the kind where you get all the gooey innards. Now going back to my year in Forta Bleese. My mother sent me clams by the case ( several). It was a godsend. They came to my humble house near Montana Ave, which Lt. Jim Hutton (C Btry), Lt. Jim O'Neill (later went to Okinawa and Japan with a HAWK unit) and I rented from by girlfriend, Blanca Arellano.
In the neighborhood, unbeknownst to us, we were called Los Tres Cabritos. We were the targets of much plotting by Mexican mothers and daughters. The fact that we chose not to live on base, drove jazzy cars and that two of us spoke passable Spanish, made us ultra desireable young officers. O'Neill drove a 4 seater Sunbeam convertible and Jim Hutton drove a red MG. Neither ran too well, but looked great in front of the house at 1016 N. Octavia St.
We made frequent jaunts to Ciudad Juarez, where I had a longing for a certain stripper who was middle aged ( about 33) and had a child. Her act ended with her only in blue, gauzy pants and she was well endowed. Left me breathless. I also went out with a Graciela Martinez, who wore the tattoo of her pachuco gang on the area of her left thumb, below her index finger. We broke up one night, when listening to a Nortena song, No Somos Iguales. I turned to her and said sadly , "Es nuestra cancion, verdad?" Cruelest thing I ever did.
Anyway, clams and the ocean were high on my priority list.
(to be completed)
