Where Were You
The Day
Camelot Died
A True Story
By
Robert A. Chapin
Copyright 2011
Smashwords Edition
I traveled from Fredericksburg, Virginia to Western Massachusetts last October (2010), for our 45th High School class reunion. It evoked so many memories, but none as heartbreaking as the day we were in drivers education class and abruptly sent to the auditorium.
Walter Cronkit’s announcement: “From Dallas; the flash - apparently official: President Kennedy died at 1:00 PM Central Standard Time - 2:00 PM Eastern Standard Time, some 38 minutes ago. Vice President Lyndon Johnson has left the hospital in Dallas, but we do not know to where he has proceeded, but presumably he will be taking the oath of office shortly and become the 36th President of The United States.”
* * *
It was April,1968 when the Pan American plane touched down in Vietnam where the coolness of the cabin gave way to the extremely humid blast furnace when we disembarked. It was somewhere around 8:00 PM and the temperature had to have been at least 100 degrees.
There were three airliners on the ground, refueling and either arriving with replacement troops or those returning home. I noticed an enormous industrial tractor resembling a fork lift - one of those extremely huge and powerful machines you see with a whole skid of plywood back in the states used by construction companies. I lost view until it re-appeared this time with metal boxes being lifted from a pile and into the belly of the plane.
Those boxes were coffins of servicemen killed in the war and the irony was at this point in the process some mother was unaware that her blooming flower was a casualty.
A chain link fence separated the new recruits wearing freshly starched uniforms from the haunting faces of those returning home who had the appearance of having been frozen in time. Most were wearing dirty and torn uniforms from which they would no doubt discard for clean clothes before they left Vietnam. We had our youth and they were going on thirty something. Their deep emotionless gaze into our faces send silent signals that we too, would suffer the same destiny.
The sight of the giant fork lift transporting not only one but possibly a dozen or more coffins into the plane with the same indifference afforded President Kennedy will forever be etched in my brain.
There are events in life that place us in a specific place and time. The attack on Pearl Harbor, The Kennedy assassination, the Martin Luther King, assassination, the death of Bobby Kennedy the attack on America on 9-11. I’m not going to list a litany of events, but the pain of November 22, 1963 will live with me forever, and with the class of 1965.
I have always attempted to avoid these reunions because inevitably someone who imagines I remember how they should have appeared 45 years ago.
“Bobby! Do you remember me? C‘mon guess!. I used to scold you in bookkeeping class for not doing your homework!”
Quite frankly what I want to say is “Who in hell are you?” Even after she revealed her identity, this lady who does in no way resemble the beautiful young lady I knew back in high school.
Back then, Laurette was barely sixteen and the extremely delightful young lady everyone wanted to date. Her blonde hair, blue eyes, perky outlook and how she developed over the summer was extremely appealing to say the least. How I’ve changed! Back then I weighed 123 pounds was slim and trim with six pack abs and blessed with black hair and always a smile on my face.
Now, I’m cornered with the lady who is now more buxom than I ever remember, or perhaps it is just the way she has tightened her bra asking if I like the new perfume she purchased at CVS just for the occasion and with yearbook under her arm pointing out the boys she used to date. There’s the sentiment I wrote beneath her picture. and how she always had aspirations to leave this small manufacturing town.
Her grandmother and grandfather, mother and father and ultimately she and her husband worked in the woolen mills 24/7 producing fabric or thread to be used in the process of making blankets and uniforms for the quickly escalating Vietnam War. Following the end of the war the mills either went broke or moved down south or relocated in Mexico.
It is unkind what the yearbook plays on you. Now, 45 years later, the six pack abs have given way to a plump belly, but I still have my own teeth! Someone got the bright idea of reproducing our graduation photos and pinning them on when we arrived.
Laurette proceeded to show me her children and grandchildren and brought me up to date on her third marriage to Stan Pitkowski and asked if I would like to attend an after dinner party at her home later that night. I was staying with my sister for several days and begged off on the invitation. Then I threw all caution to the wind and said: “Why not!”
I appreciated meeting Laurette but where was Cindy? Surely there had to be one girl who still retained her beauty. Suddenly, from out of nowhere I felt someone grab my hand and as I turned, it was Cindy all grown up! She was still as radiant as ever and as chance would have it we sat next to each other when it came time for the group photo - and she even arranged (she was the event planner) to sit next to each other at dinner There was the usual compliment of guys who were dressed in jeans and at-shirt. I think I was the only one wearing a sport coat and tie. It all worked out well as her husband was a retired auditor for the IRS. We got along well, and we did have a commonality as we were both served in Vietnam.
Cynthia was as beautiful as I remembered when we met by chance in 1970 at the local mall. She was with her mother who complained that Cindy “had to get married.” How cruel! I was recently discharged from the Army - and just before my release accepted a position with The Monarch Life Insurance Company of Springfield, Mass - now out of business. I never sold anything except for encyclopedia’s and that was only for one day. That will be a subject for a short story at another time.
The whole idea of selling insurance was a great one if you could write enough business - the residuals were absolutely fantastic. They always had one carrot like who attended the meeting and spoke about how he became a millionaire before the age of 30, and how easy it was to also become a name on the insurance company Wall of Fame. I am a self starter but did not have the desire or drive to approach every friend, acquaintance, or stranger and put the fear of God in them about future security for their family. It is like the door to door religious fanatics who bombard you with the end of the world facts and if you are not a Baptist, Jehovah Witness, or of “their” particular religious sect you are doomed to hell!
I struggled at selling to my family and friends and of course purchased a one million dollar policy for myself - that was in the 1970’s which has long expired and at the time the premiums were $1200 per month! It lapsed thirty days later. I was supposed to have over a million dollars by their projection by 2010. It looked so impressive on paper, but suffered a quick death.
The first reunion of our 1965 graduation had taken place on the fifth year out of high school (1970) and this last reunion now forty five years later in 2010
In that first reunion everyone brags about their accomplishments, who they married in our class and who got divorced, who moved away, and all that stuff one can do without. In my first reunion, I wore a mint green leisure suit, sporting mutton chop thick dark black sideburns that make me look like Elvis. I had not yet begun to gain weight and thought I was cool. I played the game, telling anyone who would listen that I was the CEO of my own company and played up the annual sales. Something you were compelled do to impress those who got stuck in the town of 3500.
As I entered one of the side rooms this voice from out of nowhere yells out
“Hey! Bobby! Belt one out for me!” as this guy begins to sing the high pitched imitation of Gene Pitney.
Who in hell is this I ask myself. Turns out to be one of the guys who sang in the choir with me. Paul Hazelton. He was going to become an x-ray technician at some college in Florida, but never did fulfill his dream and ended up with four kids and a wife who was pregnant with twins - and never got past the job of janitor at an elementary school several towns away.
I learned that Mitsy Belk passed away from breast cancer. It was a shock - especially when someone so young dies so early in life. Just before we sat down to dinner we observed a moment of silence in her honor.
My wife was not pleased in the least. She could not wait for the evening to end and every time a girl kissed me she must have had visions of what we may have done at the drive in theater in 1965. It was of no consequence how out of shape they were, my wife was not taking this too well.
Every male there was in some way or another doing “well beyond their wildest dreams” at the fifth reunion, and would ask occasionally how did I “make it to the top?” It appears that if one was just half believable and successful and from out of town you were the one to ask. It must have been the leisure suit!
By the time Reunion 45 came along I was a successful author with a series of books to my credit.
I just purchased a brand new Mustang and everyone wanted to either sit in or get a whiff of the new car smell. It was as though I returned to Mayberry where Andy, Barney, Goober and Gomer were delighted at something they had never seen before. It had the mentality of: “Local boy makes it big!”.
* * *
Earlier, the committee e-mailed me asking if I was going to attend. The only other reunion I attended was in 1970.. We were all baby boomers retired or coming up on retirement. Should the event be held at the same restaurant as it had for the past 45 years where there were only 6 or 8 barstools, or should we consider a local Italian restaurant. After a bunch of haggling it was decided to go with Italian.
By the time I made a commitment to attend the 45th, a number of people backed out and some just plain did not answer. The e-mail messages adjusted and re-adjusted and the menu and changed for lack of enough people. The chef for some unknown reason refused to provide soup. Finally, when all was settled we were given a choice of fish, chopped sirloin or chicken parmesan. if you selected the chicken you could have a side of mashed potatoes - and absolutely no substitute!
I wanted to play down the recent success I have come to enjoy since my writing career began to soar. When it came time for the bio, I was already retired for 10 years but only listed my profession as Supervisor of Operations for U.S. Airways out of Hartford, Ct. I was vague but truthful - not like at the 5th when we were all successful entrepreneurs and egotists.
Our master of ceremonies for the evening was Billy Parks a gofer or some type of appointee at the White House the summer following the Kennedy assassination and had aspirations to make it big in Washington, D.C. He managed to become quite successful as a consultant to the Democratic Party.
As he began to talk he flubbed his lines and quickly looked directly at me saying announcing: “among the graduates of 1965 is award winning author Bob Chapin. Bob is under contract with Amazon with 2 full length novels and 12 short stories on sale at Barnes and Noble and available in 26 languages.” He went on to say that I live in Florida, Virginia, and Ogunquit, Maine where he and his wife Maureen own an estate on the ocean recently selected by Better Homes & Gardens and Southern Living with an upcoming special by HGTV.
“My God! This guy is killing me! I thought
Unfortunately, the internet is a venue for anything about anyone and one of the gals who was compiling additional information to be added to our bio but with no malice intended was clever enough to Google my name where she found a wealth of information from which I could not escape.
Once the cat was out of the bag it became apparent that everyone has a secret desire to write a book and asked if I could help them fulfill their dream. In an effort to take the spotlight away from me I would like to think I was clever enough that I had a business card designed which listed the title of my book and also the internet address for the publisher (Smashwords) and how one can get started.
I could not have more embarrassed! All 38 people in attendance were awaiting their personal autographed copy of my current novel. When it was explained the book is not available in paper form, but in a new type of presentation format known as the e-book, it would have been easier for me to instruct them on how to operate the Space Shuttle than to attempt the procedure on how to maneuver them how to use the computer to find my book!
“I don’t have a computer - can’t afford one!” said one guy.
I really felt humiliated when Billy just had to mention that the book was available for $1.99.
“You mean we have to buy it ?” someone asked
It was at this point when I interrupted by grabbing the mike and soothing the pack of wolves by telling them the publisher provided me with 100 copies and I would be more than pleased to sign the CD jacket and they would all have a copy at no charge. I was fortunate enough to have my secretary Kitty make 100 copies.
Following the dinner, about 12 of us drove to a local bar where a group of three or four girls began belting out the songs of the era “Just Call Me Angel Of The Morning!” Betty La Marche and I sat for about 30 minutes reminiscing - and her sentiments were the same as mine. How we were not too interested in the 50th. In a way it was nice to have waited so long to see the remnants of what time hath done over the years. If I had agreed to attend every 5 years, nothing would have changed much, but attending the 45th put everything into perspective. How much more can these people - myself included change on the next five years - except to die.
That night when I undressed, I stood in the nude in front of a full length mirror in the bedroom. I desperately wanted to be that kid in the picture on my lapel used to identify me earlier - and the spaghetti with a side of mashed potatoes was priceless.
I hope you are amused by some of these true short stories - and in the case of Where Were You The Day Camelot Died it is bitter sweet as it takes us to a place in time where we all hurt like hell - to the 45th class reunion which makes us laugh and there is much similarity in all class reunions. They will certainly never win a literary award, but they are reminiscent of a time forever lost.
I am new to Smashwords and if you find these short stories amusing or if they bring back memories of your youth would you please write a review. I have noticed that in order to properly promote these stories even though they are FREE it would be a great help to be.
Please look forward to more stories in the future.
Thanks for coming along,
Blessings,
Bob