My father passed away on August 22, 2008. In honor of Veteran’s Day (he served as an Electronics Technician on the USS Reclaimer) I thought I’d start posting the journal he kept shortly before he died. I’ll keep posting them as time permits. A few photos are included.
***
July 16, 2008
OK here’s the deal –
After discharge from the service in Feb ’69, my buddy Tom* and I flew to Europe and began hitchhiking around. Bottom line – we end up in Algeceras, Spain which was on the Mediterranean coast. It was the only way to get to the Rock of Gibraltar. The Rock was occupied by the British as it has been for hundreds of years. The Spaniards were trying to squeeze them out, so they closed off the land route to Gibraltar and you could only get there by boat. So we stayed in Spain (’cause it was cheap) and rode the ferry to the Rock, to snoop around the stores and, of course, climb the Rock itself.
So, one day, while on Gibraltar, we decide to walk out to othe airport on the peninsula @ La Linea. It was a small airfield, perpendicular to the Peninsula and right up against the Spanish border.
There was a small terminal building containing: the tower, a couple duty-free shops, a money exchange (more on this later), and an upstairs duty-free bar. The money exchange place was necessary because the terminal was British-run. Only English money could be used in the various shops in the building and, indeed, anywhere on Gibraltar.
So Tom and I got some English money and went upstairs to the bar for a drink. We sat overlooking the lower terminal floor, watching people come and go. We noticed this tourish come through the door, past the sign explaining only English money was used, and up the stairs to the bar. He nodded to us as he headed to the bar. He was a big man, a little overweight, about 50 years old, dressed in khaki shorts, a Hawaiian type short sleeve shirt, and flip flops. He had a 35 mm camera around his neck.
Stepping up to the bar he ordered a drink and a bottle of Scotch to go (being duty-free, it was a good price).
The bartender was a tall, quiet Englishman about 50. Handing the Scotch and the drink to the tourist, he said, “That’ll be 2 pounds 6 sir.”
The tourist handed the bartender a $50 US bill. The bartender said, “We only take English money here, sir. You need to exchange this downstairs.”
The tourist smiled and said, “Would you do it for me?”
Now the bartender gave this man a long careful look. It was a look that spoke volumes about his feelings about this situation. With a sidelong glance at us, he muttered, “Certainly, sir,” took the money and went down the stairs, leaving us and the tourist alone in the bar.
The man turned to us and smiled. “Yeah,” he said, “Just flew in from Marseilles. Going to Madrid for 2 days, then Lisbon. Then back to the US. Spent 2 days in Paris. 2 in Copenhagen. 2 in London.”
My friend, Tom, studied the man through half-closed eyelids, then he spoke – “Why’d you bother?”
The man was taken aback – “What do you mean?”
Tom said, “Why come here if you are going to skip around so much. You won’t get a feel for Europe.”
The man turned sullen. “It was a cruise deal.”
Tom said nothing. There was an awkward silence, broken by the return of the bartender with the proper coinage. He counted out the American’s change and handed it to him. Said, “Thank you, sir,” and returned to tending his bar. The tourist finished his drink and left. Tom and I rose to leave and, in doing so, exchanged more glances with the bartender. He knew that man was an American and he also knew we were. I felt bad being associated with that insensitive type the but the bartender remained non-committal. He bid us “Good day” in an honest and forthright manner.
*not his real name. His real name was R___ T___ N___ but everyone called him Tom.
By the way, I called Tom this afternoon – thanks to Google, I was able to find him. I miss my father very much.
Your father’s writing has the same sharp, human observation that yours has. Thank you for sharing it.
Readers; it’s Kelly. I mentioned I’d called my father’s friend Tom; he’d had no contact with my father, nor heard word of him, for forty-some years. I just received this in my inbox.
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Thank you for your efforts in finding me and for your Dad’s story. Dave and I met in electronics school at Treasure Island in San Francisco. We used to have contests for weekly tests – whoever could finish fastest with the highest grade drank free on the other’s money. Your Dad and I were always out the door first and at the head of the class. After a year we were both sent to cryptographic school in Vallejo and then were assigned to different ships. We were the best of drinking buddies. Both ships were home ported at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii so we would see each other occasionally over the years. We corresponded occasionally (his handwriting never improved I see) and met up in Long Beach California at discharge. We drove up to your grandparents house in Medford, thinned pears for some spare change. He and I once went to Yosemite where we lived in the back of a very used liquor store delivery station wagon. At night we had to throw out all the spare tires we had along with the empty bottles and slept in the back of the station wagon.
After his discharge we set out east in an old Chevy I had bought while waiting for him to be discharged. The car had no compression and we had to abandon it just outside of Barstow – wouldn’t make it up to the high desert. We took a train to Detroit, stayed a few days, then hoped an airplane to London. We saw London, then flew to Belgium and hitch hiked to Paris. We tried to live on $2 a day (a long loaf of bread and a bottle of wine).
After Paris we walked and hitch hiked to Barcelona (only time in my life I slept on a park bench covered in newspaper to keep out the cold – doesn’t work well) then took a bus down to Gibraltar. We took a ship to the island of Majorca, rented a car and drove around the island. At night we slept in the little rental car and were awakened in the middle of the night by the gendarmes. They spoke no English and we spoke no (whatever the language they used). I’m surprised we didn’t end up in jail. When we got back to the pier we had to wait a couple of hours for the ship. There was a little drugstore at the edge of the pier. We each bought a Jeroboam of champagne for 50 cents (best champagne I’ve ever had – before or since) and drank them in the Mediterranean sunshine sitting and talking on the edge of the pier. We returned to Gibraltar and walked to the top of where you could look across the straits to Africa. I don’t remember any events like his story in Gibraltar but I had come down with spinal meningitis although I didn’t know what it was at the time. Barely made it home alive. We never made contact again after that.
I’m very sorry to hear that Dave has passed away. For a time he and I were best friends and there were few that could out drink us. I’ve thought of him many times over the past forty years. I regret that I didn’t try to find him but Google is pretty recent for me. I’m glad to know he had a family and it sounds like you and he were close. Our adventures together have been the subject of many stories told to family and friends over the years. I’m grateful and proud to have known your father.
If there is anything I could address or fill in about Dave please let me know. He was, as you say, a pretty private person.
Thanks again! May God bless you and your family.
Tom ____
[Address]
@Medrie
Thanks. I’ll be posting more. He didn’t write too much, before he died.
Thanks for posting that letter! It offers interesting insight about your dad (whom I knew later, when he had entered his dry wit, quiet, Baggy Whitey Tightey stage), and also brought back memories of my own travels around Spain as a young woman. I’m glad you reached out to Tom.
@diplordia
Thanks for reading! Tom wrote me two emails (so far), they were both great.