That Last Supper (October 2010)
Il Menu
Ed Editor’s Note: Perhaps the kids or caretakers without a senior citizen’s perspective of life’s little revelations should leave the room before reading this recounting. Emotional systems of younger generations may not yet be sufficiently tempered in the crucible of grinding experiences to deal with the inexorable conclusion.
Tabella di host:
As with all reunions, those of us in the Burderop clan may find these affairs bewildering experiences spent mostly in the company of friendly but mutually awkward strangers. Every now and again, when I trouble myself to listen carefully, someone will say something to spark a dormant synapse. Igniting, that flicker, that flash, that recall of an event or person or emotion from yesteryear induces pent-up, gummed-up memory juices to flow again. We all know how much we miss those flowing juices! Good grief, Charlie Brown! It’s like my old gasoline lawn mower. Wrap a memory cord around my head and give it a snap. In a puff of smoke and a pop of pistons a place, an event, an issue, or a person still levitating in the manifold of my mind belches like exhaust fumes through the baffles of my muffled recall.
L’antipasto:
Of the dozen or so veterans I urged to join us in Charleston, it appeared none would show; but just as we were about to sit down for the closing diner, Glenn and Kathy Shellito walked in along with Frank and Mary Majewski. I hadn’t seen either man since the cold gray dawn of my Boxing Day departure. Glenn is a hard guy not to like. Like a fine old wine, his easy-going nature has only been enriched and mellowed by the years. Add Glenn and Kathy to the list of life-long couples that met and married in downtown Swindon.
Il Primo:
In and after uniform, Glenn and Frank were lab techs. As in my case, each managed to transfer Air Force acquired skills to a civilian vocation sufficient to sustain us in this after life. Frank is now an independent agent with an office in one of the hospitals he services. “First-timers” were asked to introduce themselves and one could not help but be touched by the way Frank spoke so glowingly of Mary, his wife and partner in business for all these years.
Il Secondo:
Conversation with both couples was memories-filled and all too short. It was wonderful renewing acquaintances with these old buddies but there weren’t enough of us attain a quorum, that critical mass, needed to sustain the conversations. Pinned to a wall butted up to the outermost table gave limited opportunity to rub elbows with my seasoned and spiced fellow Burderies. Once the desert platters were licked clean and all loose change sucked up by the traditional end-of-proceedings auction, most folks rushed back to their room enclaves leaving me to wonder whether Dancing with the Stars had been switched to Saturday nights.
Il Contorno:
Fortunately, some folks did linger. While waiting to pony-up for my bidding impulses Gil Wasserzieher taped me on the shoulder to tell me how glad he was that I came to the reunion. I never once spoke to (then Lieutenant) Wasserzieher during my years on the hill but I remember him. My recollections are of a tall, alert and extremely neat figure of a man. He wore ‘whites’ as did many of my fellow enlisted men, but unlike the rest of us, his uniform was trim and exceptional white with razor-sharp creases in the trousers. How did he do that?
Formaggio e frutta:
Military bearing not withstanding, I don’t think I would have remembered Gil were it not for the grand 1930’s Rolls Royce limousine he would sometimes bring to base. That huge, beautiful monster of a machine would slide past saluting A/Ps with the grace and dignity of a great grand dame ocean liner setting out to cross the Atlantic. My own youthful, testosterone driven impulses had until then defined almost everything I cared about in terms of speed and cheap thrills. Even I could see there was no purpose in driving that car any other way than slow, smooth and purposefully. Despite memories dimmed by years of disuse and misuse, images of disc wheels with balloon tyres nearly three feet in diameter still rattle like lug nuts in the hubcaps of my brain. Perhaps Gil will set my memories straight and the refine the details of that car in a future issue.
Il Caffè:
Lt Wasserzieher has emerged from the decades long time tunnel looking remarkably well. He may no longer be an officer but the gentleman aspect is clearly intrinsic to his character. The persona and demeanor of this man left me with a sense of meeting an old friend for the first time.
L’aperitivo:
Upon my arrival that the afternoon I stumbled into the hospitality lounge, rolled up my sleeve plunged a hand into the ice cube-infested water tub to come up with a wet arm-pit and a fresh can of RC Cola…or was it just a Pepsi? The tour bus had not yet returned and looking around I found the room nearly empty but for Dorothy Wasserzieher.
Il Digestivo:
Casual conversation came easily and discovering we shared the same tour of duty period made our encounter all the more enjoyable. Dorothy had no better Burderop recall of me than I of her, but in fairness to each of us, my elliptical sphere of eclectic relationships rarely brought me into contact with members of the nursing staff.
Dorothy’s story of how she met and married Gil while stationed at Burderop set my mind a-reeling. Here was yet another testament in the growing litany of lifelong romantic bonds formed within a remarkably brief window of time. “What else”, I reason, “can possibly explain the phenomena of mystically romantic charms at that little military outpost teetering on the windblown edge of Marlborough’s eternal downs?” It has to be pixie dust sprinkled by the ancients as they dragged their behemoth stones across these green and fertile hills on their way to Stonehenge.
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