It was in late August 1963. In the Navy I had just arrived at my new
assignment at NAS Lakehurst, New Jersey, Helicopter Utility Squadron Four
(HU-4).
In the barracks I was assigned a
cubical that I would share with three other men. HU-4 supplied helicopter support to
non-aviation ships. So, at all times I
think there were at least 100 men in helicopter detachments on ships. The good part is they were not in the
barracks. So, although my cubical was
for four men, two were all on detachments.
The one remaining man (besides me)
in the cubical was a little short guy named Marlow from Maryland. Marlow looked like Mike Myers, A.K.A. Austin Powers
Marlow was witty and on top of what
you said. Nothing got by him. We introduced ourselves and somehow Marlow
knew I have never been to New York City.
He said, “Lets go, it is just up the
road (60 miles).”
We took the bus to New York City
that Saturday morning.
I was very impressed as we started
declining down a spiral road. Right
then, from the Jersey side the city looked big and overwhelming.
We went through a tunnel under the
Hudson River. I don’t remember if it was
the Lincoln Tunnel or the Holland Tunnel.
Then, out tunnel and into the
city. I saw buildings with clothes lines
between buildings, some people with their torsos half out their windows talking
to people on the street. Then the bus
when into the huge Port Authority building, a terminal for buses.
Marlow and I walked down 42nd Street
and Times Square, with me being amazed at everything I saw.
Then we took a subway to either the
Bronx or Brooklyn. We visited a
relative or friend of Marlow’s for a while then returned to Manhattan.
I don’t remember what we saw then,
it all blended in with my awwness.
When it got dark, back to the 42nd
Street area with all the carnival loud come-ons and music. We went into, if I remember correctly the
Peppermint Lounge with Chubby Checker, or a Chubby Checker look-like singing
“THE TWIST”.
Then as it got late, we had planned
to go to the cheapest place in town to sleep, The William Sloan Y.M.C.A. House.
Just as we arrived in the front a
young Italian or Greek looking man emerged from the darkness and asked if we
were looking for a place to crash.
I knew what he was up to and said
no.
He was persistent and offered that
Marlow could stay with him and he would pay for my room at the Sloan
House. What a deal for me!
I think Marlow knew what he was up
to too.
He walked me inside the building and
he paid the desk clerk. He probably got
a discount for being a repeat customer.
Marlow and I agreed to meet at Port
Authority the next day at whatever time.
The bad thing about the William
Sloan House the rooms did not have bathrooms.
You had to go to a public bathroom and share the facilities with about
20 other men.
The next morning, I explored by
myself and discovered the New York Public Library was on 42nd and 5th
Avenue and other places… got to hear several street singers at a little park
behind the library.
I reported to the Port Authority at
the preplanned time and Marlow wasn’t there.
I suppose they were having one for the road.
I went into the bar and had a drink,
a Manhattan, I think. Then another. After the second one I went to the telephone
booth and looked up Harvey Kurtzman, creator of MAD Magazine He was my hero, as Charlie Brown said, I
just mildly worshipped the ground he walked on.
I found his name living in, I think, Mt. Vernon, New York, just outside
the city. The two Manhattans swelled my
balls, so I called him!
He answered the phone!
He was very pleasant. We swapped a few one sentence notes via mail
for the next few years.
Marlow finally showed up and the
code of silence was, without saying, was placed on us, I was not to ask what
went on with him and his new friend and well, “what happened in NYC stays in
NYC”
We got back in time to dinner in the
chow hall.
In the chow hall line I met Don
Lash, who became a lifetime friend. In
line I told him I just saw New York City for the first time.
Don, being a people person, who can
tune into your frame of mind, horned in I was hiding something, and he lit up
smiling pumping we with questions. In
about 10 minutes he knew exactly what happened without me saying anything
leading. In fact I unlead, picked
up the exact opposite. In civilian life he worked for the Chicago
Tribune, I think in the want-ads section.
Don and I made a friendship.
After dinner we walked over to the
E.M. Club. We had one beer after another
and talked about our experiences and solving the world’s problems, which became
a daily routine after work.
But that first night we had enough
beer to be woozy enough to think we could take a joy-ride in a helicopter. How hard could it be?
Actually the whole time I knew
better and was trying to figure out how I was going to get out of this
predicament we put ourselves in. In
front of our squadron’s hangars were always several large helicopters that was
called “Horeses”.
I was I going to get out of his and
not appear a stick in the mud or “chicken”?
I think we both wisely changed the
subject.
Don and I ended up working in the
same office (Information & Education) We along with Reuben Collier (Louisiana)
Sam Kasuske (Minnesota), Ron Langless (Minnesota), Dick Graham (Michigan), and
Dick Day (Pennsylvania) went on sprees
in surrounding New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvanian, NYC, and Delaware getting a
liberal arts education from the University of The Streets.
My unofficial liberal arts education had begun with instructors
and co-students as Don, Ruben, Sam, Dick, and Dick (right, 2 Dicks). Our campus of higher learning was West to mid
Pennsylvania, South to Atlantic City, North to West Point and Bear Mountain
State Park, NY, and east just 13 miles to the ocean.*
*And one 3 week trip west to New Orleans.
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