or who he was? It's all the difference in
the world to me. I called him shipmate and
a friend. We were two aviators in
a class in Monterey. I've learned that Life
is not so cruel as those who once were friends.
conversed one-sided, drinking late into
the night? While one discoursed profound,
the other slept until the drink caught up
and turned the situation 'round. How oft
did we play out this cycle through the night?
How many times did you prod me awake
in class, and I'd blurt out, "I AM awake!"?
How many times did we work out our rage
and our frustration playing racketball
until our shirts our shorts our shoes were soaked
in sweat and neither one of us could breathe?
revolving joke. You'd planted in my bed
a bra I intercepted when a Wife
returned with me from Christmas break; I found
the bra before my bride uncovered such
a sign of early infidelity.
We sneaked the bra into the glovebox in
your Vette. But you discovered it before
a date one evening might encounter this
suggestion of your aspirations clear
revealed. So thus began the saga of
the wayward bra appearing at odd times
and places unpredictable for years.
we sneaked a kitten-in-a-basket once
into your car; and we got back a cat
when you got orders to the Philippines.
worked there between the joy of flight and crush
of drudgery for seaweed eaters lost
in purgatories of their own washed up
careers. When you reluctantly let go
a life we both had loved in Naval air,
I shared with you a sadness born of change.
dropped in on you, and we dined out 'til late.
Next morning at the Club while we drank beer
for breakfast, Alameda lost a jet
too heavy off the runway to sustain
sufficient lift, and left a broken "Whale"
beneath saltwater on the rocks of San
Francisco Bay. The A3D consumed
its crew and fiercely burned until it sank.
The plane confirmed the name the pilots all
had given it 'All 3 Dead' because there were
no rocket seats, no way to bail out
but down - no exit at low altitude.
We heard the engines' take-off roar, the thud -
more shudder felt than noise heard - the crash
truck siren's wail. I felt the shadow of
a prophesy portended in the bleak
obsidian pall of acrid smoke that rode
me back to San Diego. Gordon, I
was unaware how like that hapless Whale
you were. Your wounded wings and fuselage
on rocks in water without depth enough
to swim back out to sea and yet too deep
to walk back to shore, you drowned while I,
with all my Search and Rescue training, could
not save you. No one makes a helo that
can pluck a damaged soul from broken dreams.
big jets for foreign airlines, hoping for
an opportunity to come back home
and fly domestic in the U.S.A.
As you pursued a new direction, I
continued mine; and we lost touch.
With no address, there were no letters, cards,
no news of new adventures, loneliness,
of triumphs or of failures or fears.
I hoped one day to recognize your voice,
"This is your Captain speaking, ..." overhead
my seat on board a flight somewhere, and we
would send a brown-bagged bra up to the front,
instruct the flight attendant, "Tell him,
'This token's from a shipmate in his past.' "
I sought and found a link that might
connect us one more time. I called and spoke
to one who would protect and isolate
a fragile friend. We did, however, talk;
and you told me that you had A-R-C
and did not want your friends to know. I told
you then that it was more important
now than ever that we visit you.
You did not want the judgement of your friends.
I only knew we had to see you soon
before this illness dashed you on its rocks.
I drove the family up the road to see
how you were getting on and let you know
we cared. We shared some memories and laughed;
and when we left, we hugged. You told me that
my children's hugs turned you into a long
lost uncle reunited now, at peace.
That afternoon with you became for us
a highlight of that year in Monterey.
had sent returned with sanguine hand-stamped cold
inscription "Addressee Unknown". I knew
your fight was done and told the envelope
that it was wrong - you simply did not live
there anymore - the tide had set you free.
- Pete Freas