King of Homesick Hill

King of Homesick Hill

William Jackson got the letter two days after his eighteenth birthday, January 2, 1960. He’d been drafted. The war in Viet Nam had been plodding along for five years already. Neighborhood friend, Jimmy Dawson, who lived on Capital Street died in Nam a year earlier. When he got that letter, he considered his options which seemed few at best. Draft dodging was not one of those options in his family. A descendent of several generations of military glory, only one of them had been regular Army. He knew he could avoid the Army by enlisting in one of the other military branches. Jackson’s uncle, Terrence, had been an Air Force Pilot during the Korean War. The fact that Terrence was a jerk on top of his subliminal if irrational fear of heights, was enough to keep him out of the Air Force. His Dad had been Army, a Green Beret no less. To be like his dad in any way or shape or form is not in the cards. He and his Dad are estranged on many levels for many reasons. But that is a whole other story.

Jackson was a great swimmer; had even been on his high school dive team. Went to state in ’58. Seemed his life was all about water. It was almost a no brainer. The thought of being at sea with a crew of men in sailor pants appealed to him more than he was ready to admit. His sister’s boyfriend was in the Navy. Jackson thought Philip looked down-right sexy in his dress uniform. He longed to be all at sea as if mythical sirens beckoned him. So, he enlisted in the Navy.

One year later, to the day, a shimmering sliver of red light pierced the eastern horizon, seeming to lend credence to the adage, “Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.” It would be at least another sultry day of military exercises on the Caribbean Ocean, with a hint of possibly inclement weather thrown in for good measure. He rubbed tired eyes and stretched his sinewy body in anticipation of much needed rest in his berth below decks, and the end of his night owl portside watch standing. His designated watch relief approached; a big grin on his face.

Seaman Thomas Harris never greeted the dawn with a smile unless he had had a bit of personal relief of his constant pent-up sexual frustration. Some called it blue balls. His smile belied recent hands-on manipulation. In other words, he busted a nut in the head before reporting for duty. Knowing he had received a letter from his sweetheart, Bonnie, the day before was justification enough for this indulgence. Seaman Harris blamed her for his nearly constant boners. Some would call him a randy boy. Jackson almost felt sorry for him but was mostly amused by his adorably endearing embarrassment every time he tented his trousers. Fortunately for Harris, he was studying in an A-School for his Hospitalmen rating, so those not in his closest circle never knew the real reason for his nickname, “Bones.”

Seaman Harris hung Jackson’s nickname on him the day they met. Harris/Bones was short with a wrestler’s build. Jackson stood six inches taller with long arms and legs. As Jackson was unpacking his gear below decks, Bones remarked, “Look at those legs. Daddy long legs. I’ll bet people call you Spider, right?”

“No one ever called me that.”

“Starting right now, they will. Hey Bolt, come over here and meet Spider.”

Bones invited a blond guy to join their conversation. “Spider, this is Bolt, also known as Seaman James Tallison.” Bolt’s dimpled chin reminded “Spider” of Kirk Douglas. “Spider here is just moving in.” Bones added.

“Welcome aboard Seaman Spider” said Bolt, a conspiratorial smile on his face. Deeper dimples pierced his cheeks.

“Bolt is in A-school for his Airman rating. He’ll fly like a bolt of lightning.”

“Lightning strikes the ground and dies” was the thought that raced through Jackson’s head. He didn’t say it out loud.

“Bones hands out nicknames to everyone,” said Bolt. “You’ll grow into yours.”

“Spider, do you play poker?” Bones inquired. “We got a game planned for later. Join us?”

“Penny ante. Not big stakes,” said Bolt reassuringly.

“Sure, why not?”

“Great. We’ll have a foursome tonight. Jargon is up for it too.” Bones made a bee line to the head, his hands covering his crotch, a blush covering his cheeks.

Jackson doubted it was common that any four men whose berths lay in closest proximity to each other were destined to become friends. Bones, and Bolt, and Jargon welcomed Spider into their midst as if they had been waiting for him to appear. It was brotherhood at first glance. They soon fancied themselves modern day Musketeers; all for one and one for all. Their favorite game though, was talking incessantly about home. They played a stupid game of one-ups-man-ship to see who was king of homesick hill.

One night, about two months into their deployment, Fidel Castro was shaking military rattles in Cuba. Command had all hands in the Caribbean on high alert. The Musketeers couldn’t concentrate on cards.

Bones lamented, “I’m worried I’ll never see Bonnie again. I can hardly make it through a night without rubbing one out thinking about her. She’s on my mind all the time.”

Bolt had a special girl back home too. He first mentioned her by saying, “Her name is Lulu, just like the comic book one. Little Lulu. It’s short for Luella. She always has a ribbon in her hair. I miss her bad, guys, real bad. I just want to be there for her. To love her an help her and…” Whenever he talked about her he got that glassy look in his eye, like he was about to cry.

Jargon too waxed poetic whenever he mentioned his main squeeze back home. “Delores is the most beautiful woman I ever seen. You might think Marilyn Monroe is a hot potato, but my Delores makes Marilyn look like French fries. What a dish. Mmm Can’t get enough of her knockers. You guys have no idea. One glance at her cannons would knock your eyes out STAT.”

Bones ribbed him, “What would a dish like that see in a dishpan like you?”

Bolt added, “Musta dazzled her with that Jargon of yours.”

They laughed. Not the usual belly guffaws they were capable of. Their fears remained unspoken.

“How about you Spider? You homesick for someone special?” asked Jargon.

“I don’t want to brag, but my girl is the best friend this guy ever had. She is the most loving, loyal and true companion a man could ask for. She’s the love of my life, the one I can count on to give me unconditional love and devotion. I tell you fellas, she is one of a kind. I’m one lucky cuss. She has attached herself to me. When we go for a walk she stays right next to me and matches my every step. When I stop, she stops. When I walk, she walks. It’s like we are attached at the hip or something. I can count on her through thick or thin. If I’m down in the dumps her kisses bring me right back into happiness and gratitude. Life is good when she’s by my side. We do everything together. She loves the great outdoors as much as I do. She loves swimming and playing catch and just laying in the shade of the old apple tree on a hot afternoon. She can spend hours happily just keeping me company. WE chase butterflies and swim and race and just have a blast all the time. We have had so many great times together. Man, I do miss my Doxee. Yes sir. I’m homesick for her more than I can stand.”

Bones pulled out his wallet and passed it around. You can bet every sailor on board had a picture of his sweetheart in their wallet. Bone’s girlfriend Bonnie had bright red hair with matching lipstick. Her make up was not exactly professional and reminded Spider of Betty Boop.

Bolt’s Lulu didn’t look like the comic book Lulu at all except for the ribbon in her hair. She was otherwise rather plain and her smile revealed braces. She also had braces on her legs.

Jargon’s Delores was the prettiest girl of the three but all wondered silently if the picture was taken when she was in grade school. She looked too young to be spooning with the likes of him. “She’s older now,” he offered oddly, as if we had accused him of pedophilia.

The captain sounded the alarm. They were at Red Alert about twenty clicks from the Bay of Pigs. The Musketeers didn’t get a chance to see Spiders picture. As the others raced to their battle stations, Spider took a long look at the picture in his wallet. He kissed the photo and slipped the wallet into his berth. What they didn't see. Doxee is a pure bred Dachshund.

DOXEE