WHAT TO DO NOW? PART II

WHAT TO DO NOW?  PART II

By Duncan

I was safe, alive, and home in Indianapolis. Family and others were waiting. My military obligation was finished. The trip home took me from Galena to Anchorage, then to Atlanta’s airport, and then to Indianapolis. I was warned that I should be careful wearing my uniform in public. 

I had to switch planes in Atlanta and sat alone with my back against the wall. I didn’t want any surprises heading home. I was watching everyone in the waiting area. It was whispered to me by well-meaning people in Anchorage that hate was rampant in the United States because the military, all military, were baby killers.  

That news was hard to swallow. I would return home and be hated for serving. Yes, I know my service was not dangerous like many other military guys. But I did give four years of my life. I went where they needed me. 

An older woman sat down beside me in the Atlanta Airport. She looked at me. And gave me a gentle smile, 

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” 

I tightened up a little and thought I might get an ear full of hate. She adjusted herself in her seat and then adjusted her belongings. Once she was comfortable, she looked my way again and asked, 

“What branch are you in?” 

“The United States Air Force.” 

“What do you do in the Air Force?” 

“I was an Air Policeman.” 

“Oh, my, what kind of a plane did you fly?” 

I realized I wouldn’t get any hate from Grandma sitting next to me. My theoretical mind began to fantasize about playing the part of a pilot. She is excited, thinking she is sitting beside someone important or special. Do I tell her I wasn’t a pilot? I didn’t fly? Do I tell her I’m no longer in the military? 

I’m headed home. Do I tell her all I did for four years was walk around airplanes like a night watchman? She might want an exciting story to tell her family about the nice man in a uniform in Atlanta. Then again, maybe not. 

It’s hard to tell the truth. It’s hard to be a grunt, a nobody. It’s hard to admit that I coasted for the last four years, simply doing what I had to do to move on with my life. I never intended to make the military my career. How do I tell this lovely older woman a story like that? 

“No, I didn’t fly any airplanes.”

“Oh, what did you do in the airplane? Help the pilot?”

I wanted to give her a good story, and I did. I told her that I was like any other policeman. I ensured the airport was safe so the airplanes would not be harmed. The story didn’t match her expectations.  

She sat motionless and looked off into space. I felt like I let her down, but I still remember her. For a few minutes there, I was special.

WHAT TO DO NOW? 

I was unemployed and had no idea what I was going to do next. Was it time to head back to New York? I remember walking down the plane's steps and being met by family and others. 

I still remember my Air Force hat falling off my head as I was hugged. It's weird how things like losing my hat and having it fall to the ground have stayed with me all these years. I grabbed my duffle bag with my military clothes jammed into a blue canvas tube. I tossed it over my shoulder and made my way to the car. I threw the bag in the trunk and headed home. 

Of course, my family wanted to hear all about my last duty station. They wanted to be proud of me and made me feel special. Then, after a couple of days, the pressure of WHAT TO DO NOW? 

During my Galena, Alaska tour, I started writing to a girl. We were allowed one free phone call every three months. I had to write to my family to inform them how I was doing. I started writing to this girl, too. You may remember that when I purchased the hair-cutting clippers, I asked for a portable typewriter to be thrown in with the deal. I used that typewriter to write to this girl regularly. Remember, there was no internet, emails, or texting in the middle to late 60s. The only way to keep in touch was to write. I also used a portable typewriter to write. 

The closer I got to being mustered out of the military, the more letters we exchanged. She was excited that I was returning. After my family had all the stories I was willing to share with them, it was time to spend some time with my girlfriend. She had an apartment; she was a school teacher. 

I remember I was home between Homestead Air Force Base, Florida, and on my way to Alaska. I had about a week at home before going to Alaska. I was watching television at home, and my father, who had been to a church function, came in the back door. He walked through the room and stopped. He tossed a piece of paper in my lap. 

I looked at the crumpled paper, and it had a phone number. 

“What this?”

“I was at the Baptist Association's monthly meeting when I ran into Mary Alice. She asked me if you were married and how many kids you had.”  

“How many kids I had?” 

“Yes, I told her you were not married, and you were in the Air Force and home for a week before you had to report to a place in Alaska. She gave me her daughter's telephone number and told me to tell you to call her and ask her out.”

“I don’t know her!”

“Call her!” 

“And say what?” 

My mom walked through the room and said, 

“Take her to a movie; I’m sure she’s a nice girl. But be careful about the movie you take her to. You don’t want any sex in the film. You want to respect that she is a nice religious girl.”

I was twenty-five years old and didn’t realize I should be married and have kids. Now, I’m being pushed into having a date with someone I don’t know, and I'm uneasy about this call. What do I say? 

I waited a couple of days. My mother was insistent that I call this girl and ask her out. 

“Hello … ?” 

“Hi, my name is Steve Duncan, and I thought I would give you a call.”  

“Oh, hi Steve, do you remember me? I lived by The Valley, on Shepaard Street, and we went to Public School 49 together. You walked me home one day. You carried my books for me. Do you remember?”  

At that point, I did remember her. 

“Oh yes, after P.S. 49, where did you attend high school?”  

“I went to George Washington High School.” 

“Oh. Well, what are you doing now? 

“I teach fourth grade.”  

“Oh, that’s good. You don’t need your books carried anymore, do you?” 

“No, I guess not!” 

I’m in the Air Force and home briefly before I have to go to Alaska. While I’m here, would you like to see a movie with me?” 

“That sounds like fun, sure; I would love to see a movie with you.” 

This put my mother in a tizzy. She began scouring the newspapers for a movie appropriate for a nice religious girl. I couldn’t believe all the preparations for us to see a movie. I was given instructions on how to behave, what to say, what not to say, how to dress.  

We sat down in the dimly lit movie theater. The lights went lower, and the movie started. The introduction to the movie began, then, horrors of horrors. The first scene was of two people naked people in bed making love. I slid down to my seat, not knowing what to say or do. What must she think of me? Needless to say, I couldn’t wait for the movie to end. I honestly don’t have a clue what she was thinking. All I wanted to do was end the evening and be the good little Baptist Christian boy I was supposed to be.

She invited me into her apartment and turned on some music. Then, she began telling me where she had been and what her life had been like up to this point. She pulled out her high school class yearbook and showed me pictures of herself as a member of the Honor Society. 

She asked where I had been and what I was interested in. I didn’t feel I had much to offer. She was an Honor Society Winner and a fourth-grade school teacher. I was simply a guy in the military. I got through the evening and returned home. 

Thank goodness everyone was asleep. I didn’t know whether to tell my mother the first scene of the movie was of two naked people or not. She was trying so hard for me to be HER, telling me what she thought I should do and how she would say things; she was worried that I needed to make a good First Impression. 

I assumed I blew it and didn’t give the family much information. They wanted to know if we were going to meet again. I figured there was a “fat chance” of that happening again, but I tried to sound optimistic. 

Over the year in Alaska, we began writing letters to each other. I’m unsure who started writing letters, but I began to look forward to her letters. I, in turn, became a little more relaxed when writing her. I was able to be more flamboyant. She seemed to enjoy my flirtations. At least I wasn’t scolded for saying things that might be inappropriate. Can you imagine me saying anything inappropriate?  

Of course, I was on a plane heading back to Indianapolis. She was looking forward to seeing me in person, and I also looked forward to seeing her. 

We began spending a lot of time together. She was a friend. A good friend. I enjoyed her company. We talked about my future and what I would do next. I had decided to look for a job in broadcasting. I sent several letters of inquiry to different radio stations. Two stations interested me, and one wanted me to come to South Carolina for a job interview. I was excited. 

“South Carolina? How long do you think I’m going to wait?”

This was the first time I had heard words like this. How long do you think I’m going to wait? What is she talking about? It suddenly dawned on me that she was expecting me to marry her. Marriage wasn’t in my plans; that was not on my radar. Marriage? I was going to be wherever the work would take me. I can’t be tied down to a marriage. 

Here I was again, faced with a dilemma. Hold on a minute, I just gave four years of my life to the military so I could return to New York City and Broadway. This radio interview was a stepping stone to the things I wanted to do in my life. I had plans too, you know. 

Evolution takes a while. If I’m not mistaken, it takes Earth about twenty-four hours to rotate around the sun.

EDITOR’S NOTE:  I made an error. The Earth rotates once every 24 hours. The Earth moves around the sun every 365 days. Thank you, Tom Morookian and Mike Chesher.

The earth's speed slowed way down the next couple of days. I was confused, angry, and weak. I was trying to do the right thing for everyone other than myself. What a selfish way to look at things. I hated myself; I loved myself. 

I applied to a local radio station and was granted an interview at WIFE-AM. The station manager looked at my resume and suggested I would be a good fit for the station. I expect to be on the air during the midnight shift and on weekends. I certainly wouldn’t be on the air during the day, at least not initially. 

I sat anxiously until he suggested I would be given territory, and I could begin almost immediately selling radio air time to retail customers. 

Selling? You mean I won’t be on the air? You want me to be a salesman? 

I thanked Jack and suggested I needed a day or two to consider the offer. A sleazy salesman? Selling things to people who don’t want to buy? I’m not cut out to be a salesman. 

The realization that my life would always have roadblocks was becoming an ever-present distraction and, I guess, a reality. I was just offered a job at Indianapolis's number one, most popular and listened-to radio station, and I'm not excited. 

I wasn’t sure who I could talk with about his “opportunity.” My family, my girlfriend? There was more to consider than just the job. I would be settling again, giving up on my dreams. My expectations of Broadway were slipping even further away. If I take this job, I can kiss “Showbusiness goodbye.”

How could I talk to someone other than myself about my problems? Did I want other people telling me what I should do? Was I too afraid to make my own decisions? Was I really this weak as a man that life can stop me dead in my tracks and paralyze me? I didn’t like the body I was walking through life with. I didn’t like me at all.

Expectations, we all have them. I’m leaning not to expect too much out of life. Perhaps the word “Compromise” is something I need to learn. What an ugly word. But “Reality” is another word I’m starting to dislike. 

At some point, I gave up my New York dreams. I took a sales job at WIFE-AM radio station. I agreed to get married. After we were married, I moved in with her in her apartment. I had never lived with a woman before. 

There was that ugly word again, “Compromise.” We had a budget, and I was not in charge.   

I still longed for “Stardom.” I suppose I can call it that. I left WIFE and went to work at an FM radio station in Greenfield, Indiana (WSMJ), fifteen miles east of Indianapolis. I was on the air from early morning to mid-afternoon. 

I loved the job. I was on time, worked weekends and holidays, and was there when they asked me to work. There was only one problem: my pay was lower than her pay. A lot lower, I was being paid chicken feed. I was so happy to get the job I didn’t pay much attention to the pay. After a year, I asked for a raise. 

They took a lot of time to decide. I was offered a ten-cent an-hour (.10 cent) raise. Again, the reality of life came around and slapped me across the face. Do I continue to do what I love doing and suck up the pay, or do I accept reality and know it's time to make some money? I was embarrassed after discovering what “she” was making compared to what “I” was being paid.  

WHAT TO DO NOW?