Goodbye My Friend

Goodbye My Friend

Suzanne Marsh

“Dale was killed this morning in Incirlik, Turkey.” I stared at the phone before uttering:

“What, what happened? He was just here on leave; we went to his Mom’s funeral.”

The year was 1969. Dale was in the Air Force stationed in Bentwaters, England; however, upon his return from leave, he was sent to Incirlik, Turkey. He was twenty years of age; he never saw twenty-one.

I was nineteen at the time, married with one child; death had invaded my world. I sat down on a wooden kitchen chair, and with fond memories, I cried.

Later that afternoon, after I regained my composure, I began to picture in my mind memories of Dale. There were so many times we played street kickball; Dale played in dress shorts and a sweater, and we called him Little Lord Fauntleroy. Needless to say, he tumbled, tore his shorts, and his mom was livid. Dale used to walk his dog Rusty, and I would walk up to the corner with him. I went to a Catholic high school for two years, then transferred to Kenmore East. I had not seen Dale in several years, but there he was one afternoon, sitting in the audio room.

“I thought you were going to the Mount.”

“I did for two years, but the nuns and I had a serious disagreement, so here I am.”

He laughed:

“I can only imagine if the school is still standing?” I smiled:

“Yes, although the nuns may never be the same.” He laughed:

“I thought your mom wanted you to stay in catholic school?”

“She did, but the nuns had other ideas.”

That began a dialogue between two old friends with very different backgrounds. Dale introduced me to his then-girlfriend, Kathy, who then introduced me to her former boyfriend. Dale argued with Kathy and began dating Bonnee. Kathy was delighted that her former boyfriend and I were dating, Dale tried to warn me about him more than once, but I wish now I had listened.

We argued, he shoved me, my dad had him by the collar, ushering him out the door, hoping he would not return. I was angry and would not speak to him. He sent one of Dale’s nieces to tell me he was sorry. The following day at school, Dale took me aside:

“You don’t want Ace; he will break your heart and spirit.” This statement should have made me think harder than I did. Ace and Dale grew up together; they went to the same church. Ace apologized again, like the fool that I was; I took him back, much to Dale’s chagrin.

In 1967, there were so many things happening in the world and in my little corner. It was my senior year in high school. Ace was drafted into the army. He shipped out for Fort Dix right after I graduated from high school. It never rains, but it pours. I discovered I was pregnant. I waited until Ace called, then I blurted out:

“I am pregnant, now what?”

He tried to get an emergency leave, which he did. My mom was angry; she was ready to haul me down to Fort Polk in Louisiana, where he went for Advanced Infantry Training. I had made a mess of my life and his. We married on my eighteenth birthday. Dale did not say much.

Ace shipped out to Fort Lewis, Washington, in early January. I had a huge map of Vietnam, and I began to seek information about Chu Lai, where Ace was stationed. The police action escalated, names that became engraved in my mind, such as Hue, Kham Duc, to name a few. Dale walked down to the house one evening with news of his own:

“I enlisted in the Air Force. I leave for Kelly Air Force Base in Texas.” I had only one question:

“Why? You are the only son.” Dale replied:

“Yes, but I can’t let Ace have all the fun.”

1968 turned into 1969, and Ace returned home. His orders read: thirty-day leave, following leave report to Fort Dix, February 4th, 1969. We moved to Burlington, New Jersey, for four months, and Ace was then honorably discharged. We moved back home to Buffalo, found an apartment, and became something of a family.

Ace’s mother called: “Dale’s mother passed away earlier today. Dale is flying home from

Bentwaters, England. The funeral is on Monday morning.” Once again, I stared incredulously at the phone: “What happened? I just saw her two days ago.” Ace’s mother said softly:

“Lee had heart problems; her heart gave out,” I told her we would be there for the funeral. Dale came home on leave. He had not seen our daughter yet, so we brought her over to his home. He took a picture of me holding her; I still have that picture. We hung out that entire afternoon, and part of the time he was home. He returned to Bentwaters, England, he was transferred to Incirlik, Turkey. He sent a letter to me saying all was well but he had been transferred. I did not think much about that, but a chill ran down my spine.

Time went on as it does, Dale missed his fiancee Diane, and he asked me if I would go and visit her. I did several times; she was now a senior in high school. It seemed once I married and had a child, I was in a different category than other young people.

It was a gray rainy day, and my former mother-in-law called:

“Dale was killed this morning in Turkey. Warren is beside himself, first Lee, then Dale.”

I was not prepared for this shock, I mumbled something about why and what happened:

“There are no details as of yet. I will let you know as soon as I know.”

This could not be happening. Dale, an anchor in my life, was gone. How could something so horrible happen? The details began to come in. Dale had been working on an ejection seat, and it went off. Dale went up in the air about two hundred and fifty feet, then fell to earth. His neck and back were broken; he died instantly. His body was sent to Dover Air Force Base in Delaware. It took over a month for him to come home one last time. He was buried in the plot next to his mom, where they both rest today.

The friendship ended abruptly with Dale’s death. It has been fifty-six years since he passed, and I still miss his smile and that crazy laugh of his; most of all, I miss the talks we had. Goodbye, my friend.