A brother named Rusty I graduated from boot camp in December of 1964 with orders to report to Radioman A school in Bainbridge, MD in January. After leave and my last Christmas home for two years, I reported. We were billeted in old WWII barracks which were lined up and down a hill in single file. I got settled in and started my life on base, going to class and occasionally taking Liberty in Washington DC. About a month after I arrived, a red-headed kid from I dont know where arrived and was billeted in the barracks just above mine on the hill. It was only a short time after that when I met Rusty. We introduced ourselves, using our true names, but I dont think we ever remembered them. He became Rusty and I became Shef. Rusty was a good old country boy full of spirit and a healthy dose of the devil. He had this sparkle in his eyes, always looking for action. Sometimes it got us in trouble, but for the most part, we had a blast together. We spent the next 7 months going to class, learning our jobs and hitting the beach when those opportunities presented themselves. We muddled through our classes and I finally graduated from Radioman A school about a month before my buddy Rusty. I had orders to report to a flattop called the Ticonderoga headed for Vietnam in one month from my graduation date. After much slapping on the backs and several hand shakes, I left, never seeing Rusty again, that is until I was seperating from the service at Treasure Island in San Francisco, California. As I was being processed and about ready to head home, I had the opportunity to pass by the line of my fellow sailors who had just arrived for seperation. As I was passing the line, I noticed a red head in the line. I immediately went to check. Low and behold, it was Rusty, but it wasnt the same Rusty. I shook his hand and told him how happy I was to see him. What shocked me the most of this reunion was that ever present sparkle in his eye was gone and along with it one of his legs. We talked for awhile before my bus left and then said our good-byes. I never met Rusty again and I wouldnt know where to begin to look, but what I remember the most is how much that damned conflict changed us, especially Rusty. Wherever he is, I hope he came to terms with his lot in life and had a full and rewarding life. To Rusty, Welcome Home, Brother.
Posted on: Mon, 26 May 2014 19:55:21 +0000
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