1968 - San Bernardino

My buddy Merle was usually a cool-head when it came to crisis. Very cool.
...Sometimes it's surprising. the people you meet and then, sometime later, find out who they are. Sometimes they haven't even become that person yet...

1968 – San Bernardino

“Dismissed.” Chief let us go for the weekend early at 2:00. Time to head to Berdo! Party!

Merle and I headed for our birthing compartment to find Rick and Ladd already there grabbing enough clothes for the weekend. We proceeded to the parking lot where Merle’s Gran Turismo waited for our weekly trip to San Bernardino. We hit the locker-club running to change into “civvies” so we could look like sailors in civvies on weekend liberty. Cool! That was exactly what we were! It was a lovely summer day and we were ready for some good times with friends with whom we partied almost every weekend!

Leaving the locker-club and tossing our changes of clothes, and several bottles of Boones Farm Strawberry wine, into the trunk of Merle’s Studebaker, we climbed back in to spend our weekend at the USO in Berdo where we were well liked and appreciated. Although it was a military town, the service in question was the Air Force so sailors were well accepted as representatives from another service. Normally we stayed at Rick’s parent’s house in Colton but, as we were friends with a few of the Airmen, we often spent our nights on the Airbase, using the beds of roommates who, like us, were out-of-town for the weekend. The Airbase also had a bowling alley and a restaurant as well as a few amenities that, as military personnel, we could readily take advantage. This weekend we would be staying with Rick.

Leaving the locker club we started up Broadway for 11th street where we would find the beginning of the 163 freeway, which would take us to the 395 and north to our destination. Ladd sat shotgun while Merle drove as we paused for the traffic light. I sat directly behind Merle while Rick sat forward talking to Ladd as we the light changed and Merle hit the gas.

“Whoo-hoo! Alright! San Berdo here we come!”
“Hit it! Go, go, gogogogo!”
“Yippie-ki-yay, were on our way.” Rick was slammed back into this seat as I sat forward looking over Merles shoulder as we accelerated onto the highway. Rick sat back up cheering. A summer wind was blowing through the windows, making for another lovely Southern California weekend. The wind was blowing loud and it took some volume to be heard so everybody was in full voice as we egged Merle on. He aggressively double-clutched and dropped the car into 2nd gear. The car lurched forward, quickly gaining speed as we outdistanced the other vehicles that had sat at the light with us. He began shouting to us about the young lady he had met the previous weekend, telling us how he hoped she would be around this weekend. Deloris was his new love and he was infatuated. Merle hit the clutch for the last gear and dropped it into place. There was another lurch as the hood flipped up and folded itself over the windshield! Merle immediately propped his arm on the window ledge and stuck his head through the window. He continued to drive until he could find a good spot to pull over. He never stopped talking…he didn’t change the subject…he simply went on talking like this hood-folding thing happened every day. Eventually he found a spot to pull over and we all got out to inspect the damage.

What a mess! The hood was buckled in the middle, folded neatly over the front window and onto the roof. Ladd and I pulled on the panel forcing it forward until Rick and Merle could get a firm grip on the front end. The hood protested with the sound of tortured metal. Pushing the hood down as much as possible still left a good 9-inch gap. This would never do. Merle climbed up on top of the car standing on the fender and launching himself onto the front end of the hood and stomped down hard. A couple more of these succeeded in bending the front end down until an old metal coat hanger could be twisted around and through any opening that could help secure the hood so it would not fly back up. We proceeded to San Bernardino without any further incident and spent a great weekend at Rick’s, meeting his cousin, Roseanne who had been dropped for the weekend to stay with her Uncle, Rick’s dad.

Her dad, Johnny, was in town for the weekend playing a concert and his ex-wife was invited to spend the weekend with him in San Bernardino. As she would be busy for the entire time and needed someone to watch her daughter, she dropped Roseanne off for the weekend with her ex’s relatives. Sadly there were no free tickets. At 12, Roseanne was a few years younger than me. Despite this she wasn’t so young that she wasn’t attracted to boys and, in fact, she immediately decided I was desirable and soon was stuck to me like glue. Eventually the guys retired to the basement to have a couple of beers and a few hits from a hash-pipe and to listen to Rick’s new Gary Puckett and the Union Gap record. We managed to convince Roseanne that the basement was off-limits so I was secure, content and not fending off what I saw as a “little girl.” Every moment not in the basement I had my little shadow, Roseanne. The weekend proceeded until it was Sunday evening and it was time to leave. As we left I shook Rick’s dad’s hand and thanked his mom. Roseanne grabbed me and hugged me hard then, reaching up, removed my dog tags from around my neck and asked for them as a remembrance. I resisted for a few seconds until I reluctantly gave in as I realized a lot of sailors had either lost or discarded their dog-tags long before. I realize now this was not a good idea but, at the time…

Everyone in a while I see Roseanne on TV or hear of her doing a concert somewhere as she was able to become a professional using her family connections to get started in the business until she could clearly hold her own. Every time I think of her I wonder…

…Does Ms. Cash still have my dog tags?