man,” he said. He launched into his military career and told me that after his last Vietnam tour in 1969, he’d been denied field duty. Because he hadn’t relished the notion of a desk job, retirement was the better choice. He’d been a captain in the Navy, but at retirement received a tombstone promotion to rear admiral.
“Tombstone?” I asked.
“That’s when an officer, at retirement, is honored by a raise of one rank. It depends, of course, on the officer’s service record. Obviously, it provides higher retirement pay.” He raised his glass.
“Guess you got that promotion because of the Congressional Medal of Honor, huh, John?” Ted asked.
I leaned forward. “You received the Medal of Honor?”
We were off and running. John talked about how the VC had swarmed over his unit’s position. They’d been completely outnumbered, casualties incredibly high. He was nearly killed trying to save several of his men. John’s hand slid to the side of his chest and rested there as he continued. “A fifty-millimeter machine gun opened me up good.” He patted the spot on his side. “Real good. Right here.” He sighed. “Lost a lung, you know. Still carry the scar.”
We were all silent for a moment while John leaned across the table to fix himself a plate of appetizers.
“No disrespect intended,” I heard myself say, “but war is always horrible. I believe we had no business being in Vietnam.”
John smiled and began to lay out the usual arguments about the importance of fighting communism, but eventually admitted the war had taken its toll on him. “I still have nightmares about the kids I wasn’t able to save,” he said solemnly. He told us he had to shoot one of his own men who had fallen into a camouflaged, bamboo-stake-filled pit. Debbie gasped and I shuddered. “He begged me to shoot him,” John explained. “When you’re in the service, you go where duty calls and you do what you have to do.”
I looked away, not caring to hear any more war stories. That didn’t faze John, who seemed to relish talking about it. If I had only known then what I know now . . . that most servicemen don’t like to talk about their war experiences. But I didn’t. So, despite my disinterest in the topic, I found myself listening.
He said he’d been in three wars. He’d lied about his age in order to enlist during World War II, and, at sixteen, joined one of the first Navy SEAL units for underwater demolition. “I was a naval aviator in the Korean War. Got shot down once but landed in the water.” He smiled, remembering. “After two tours in the Blue Angels, I went to Vietnam and was given command of the Black Boats, small and swift. They went up the river into North Vietnam. It was dangerous duty. Very dangerous.”
It was clear he loved to talk about the military, about his experiences. “It’s in the blood,” he commented. “I’m tenth-generation Navy. Did you know that, Ted?”
Before Ted could answer, John was already into the topic of a film from the 1940s, starring John Wayne. It was the story of John’s father and how he had started the Seabees.
“Because Dad was story consultant on the set,” John said, “I got to meet John Wayne. Matter of fact, the Duke and I got to be real good friends.”
After offering some inside gossip about the Duke, he joined Ted back in the kitchen to rustle up another round of drinks. Debbie immediately pumped me for my reaction to her guest. I conceded the man was certainly interesting. “But,” I cautioned her, “if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, forget it. He’s almost as old as my mother.”
“Maybe he is too old for you.” Debbie stood, announced that she was going into the kitchen to put on the finishing touches, and started out of the room. Over her shoulder she added, “Or maybe he’s not.”
“Not?”
“Too old for you. Maybe he’s not.”
With everyone settled back in the living room, the conversation turned to
Katherine Garbera - Baby Business 03 - For Her Son's Sake