The Skymasters (Episode 4) East Manchester, 2100 Hours 11September 1954 Tom drove up Maple St. singing along with Dean Martin doing That’s Amore on the car radio. It was Kurt Komansky’s car, actually; a 1949 black Olds with a standard shift and white wall tires. As a gesture of friendship Kurt had offered to lend him the car for the night. This would be Tom’s first date with Kathleen and he had not forgotten anything that Zack had shown him during all of his numerous coaching sessions in and around the mess hall and barracks on how to score with chicks. Zack would know about such things if anyone would. Kathleen’s house was on the corner of Maple and Prospect Streets. Tom pulled into the driveway and sat there for a moment making sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything.. Nothing had been left to chance. He had worn his Air Force dress blues and had come bearing gifts for Kathleen’s parents. A large box of chocolates for the mom and a large box of Cuban cigars for the dad. With gifts in hand, Tom walked up and rang the door bell. Kathleen’s father, Bob McNeil worked as a middle manager for the telephone company. He opened the door and very hesitantly invited Tom into the living room. In his hand was a partially opened, Manchester Union-Leader City Edition evening newspaper. His reading glasses were suspended over the tip of his nose, and he displayed a blank stare. He somewhat reluctantly shook Tom’s outstretched hand. Margie McNeil, Kathleen’s mom, came out of the kitchen and took the two boxes from Tom, smiling as she did so. “Oh, you shouldn’t have!” “Aw, shucks, mam,” Tom responded, “You deserve it!” Bob McNeil opened the box of cigars, stuck one in his mouth and lit it. He took a couple of puffs, exhaled, and then motioned for Tom to have a seat on their living room sofa. “Kathleen tells us you’re a pilot,” Bob mentioned, dropping his portly frame into the wing back parlor chair. “Yessir,” Tom answered reflexively. Meanwhile Margie had retreated back to the kitchen where she plunked herself down at the kitchen table and, obvious weight problem or not, began inhaling the contents of the chocolate box. “KATHLEEN!” she shouted out to her daughter between chews on the confectionery, “Ooh! Good! KATHLEEN! Mmmm - yummy! KATHLEEN! YOUR DATE IS HERE!” Kathleen came bounding down the staircase, and in one felled swoop with a tissue, wiped her mother’s mouth, whose face at this point, covered with chocolate, resembled a five year old’s on Easter Sunday Morning. “Take it easy on those chocolates, will you, Mom?” But Margie McNeil buried her face in those chocolates and continued devouring them with orgiastic abandon. On the other hand, Tom’s gaze was transfixed on Kathleen. Her auburn hair now in a pony tail, she wore a black and white pleated skirt, with tight, black blouse, white knee socks, and brown and white saddle shoes. To Tom she was more attractive than at their first encounter at The Top Of The Town Lounge and he felt his heart skip a beat. Mr. McNeil attempted to find some common ground with Tom, but without success. “So, Tom.......who d’ya think is gonna win the World Series, the Indians or the Giants?” Tom had never been a spectator sports enthusiast, so he simply said that he was unsure. Moving on with the pleasantries, Bob McNeil asked Tom where he and Kathleen were going on their first date. “We’ll be going to the State Theater,” Tom explained, “To see On The Waterfront,” Kathleen’s father breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief as he explained his daughter had never dated anyone before. “Cripes, we thought she was gonna wind up an old maid!” “DAD!” Mrs. McNeil shouted angrily from the kitchen as Kathleen began to blush. “PIPE DOWN, MOTHER!” shouted the old man, “I was having a man to man talk with Kathleen’s suitor, and you are not a part of this!” Kathleen ran up and took Tom’s hand, leading him out of the house and toward the car. “C’mon, Tommy! We don’t want to be late for the show!” By 10:30 that night she and Tom were sitting in a booth at The Puritan on Elm St., an odd amalgam of sounds meeting their ears, a hodge podge of nearby conversations, the clinking of glass and silverware drowning out what there was of Mr. Sandman by The Chordettes. Tom sat there with Kathleen nursing a couple of chocolate ice cream sodas as they discussed the movie. The best line of all, Kathleen observed, was when Terry Malloy, played by Marlon Brando, tells Rod Steiger: “I coulda BEEN somebody! I coulda been a CONTENDER, instead of a bum......which is what I am!” Tom sat there, totally amazed by the way in which she so masterfully mimicked Brando’s character in the film. Then she shared some good news. “I got a job, several actually.” Tom smiled. “Doing what?” Kathleen seemed so proud of herself that she had been able to land three jobs in such a short time. “I’ve just started as the hostess at Alma’s Tea Room,” she revealed, “I’m also a cashier in Mohigan Market, and work in the shoe department at Leavitt’s.” Tom gave her a puzzled look and asked her, “Why do you need three jobs?” But Kathleen just shrugged off his lack of apparent understanding. “I’ve told you I want to be a writer. If it takes three jobs to cover the tuition, room, and board, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.” Then she made inquiry as to his own career plans. “How long do you plan on flying planes?” Tom thought for a moment as if reflecting upon his vacillation between Holy Orders and The Wild Blue Yonder. “I’m still uncertain, Kathleen,” he told her, “Flying cargo planes was never my boyhood dream, but I’ve learned so much from watching Zack, that I may serve out my time and try to get a job flying for the airlines.” Kathleen smiled as though amused to learn this. “You have an awful lot of respect for Zack , don’t you, Tom?” Tom waxed nostalgic over the exploits of Capt. Jim Zackos. “If anyone was ever born to fly, Zack is that man. For example, when I’m flying I’m simply the pilot of a large, transport craft........But when Zack does it, it’s as if he and the C-54 are one and the same. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ll bet he could fly in his sleep.” The waitress came up and gave Tom the tab. He stood up and stretched as Kathleen gathered up her purse and prepared to leave. “Well, I guess it’s about time I take you home, Kathleen,” he said. Kathleen reached out and softly squeezed his hand. “There’s a special place I’d like to bring you,” she said, heading toward the door. By the time Tom woke up he hadn’t a clue as to where he was; likewise for the day and time. Then, slowly, he came around......noticing that the Olds’ radio was tuned to WKBR, 12.50 on the dial, the musical fare of the moment being Stranger In Paradise by Tony Bennett. Next, Tom became aware that Kathleen was sitting there next to him, sound asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. She had directed him here to the Oak Hill Reservoir Parking Lot to view the illuminated Queen City skyline. They had been parked here talking for perhaps ten minutes, made out for five, and then fallen asleep. By now it was nearly 1 a.m. Tom woke Kathleen and took her home, where they sat out in front of her house discussing their deepening relationship. “I don’t want this to end,” Kathleen told him in the most assertive way one could imagine. “I want to do crazy things with you. I would like for you to sing to me. I want us to have a candle lit dinner at Six Acres on Crystal Lake. I want us to go to Pine Island where we can eat cotton candy and go on the rides until we get sick. I would like you to take me dancing at The Carousel Ballroom where we can jitterbug to The Jimmy Parks Orchestra........ and then I want to come here after the places close.” Tom took a deep breath and sighed. “Yup; me too.” he admitted, not understanding why he was feeling so strongly about her. Then, before exiting the car, Kathleen leaned over and kissed him. “Call me Monday,” she told him. Tom frowned, realizing that this would not be possible. “I’ll be gone all week on a major mission and won’t be back until late Friday or early Saturday.” “Where are you going this time, flyboy?” Kathleen asked him, smirking. Tom took on a mock air of seriousness and said, “That’s classified information, mam.....and I’m not at liberty to discuss it.” Kathleen laughed. “Okay, flyboy! Call me when you get back to town. I’ll be working at Alma’s Tea Room all day Saturday. So.......why don’t you stop by to see me?” Then she closed the car door, walked away and entered her house as Tom drove off heading back to base. When Kathleen entered her home her father was in the parlor sitting in the wing back chair. “Mother is sick,” he told her. “She ate too many chocolates and can’t stop puking.” Kathleen sighed. “Oh, brother!” “This is all Tom’s fault, y’know!” her father opined. “What?” “And yours too, Kathleen. You should’ve warned him that mother has a problem with chocolate!” Then the sound of someone violently retching and heaving filled the house, interspersed with Tom’s name and an assortment of disparaging invectives. Kathleen, shaking her head, said nothing as she went upstairs to her bedroom in silence and closed the door behind her. She was greatly saddened. Her parents had often told her that as an only child, to her would fall the responsibility of caring for them in their declining years. Over time Kathleen’s mother had told her that they always viewed her as a home body, a woman who would never marry or have children, becoming, as her father had phrased it, an old maid. Now angry, Kathleen had become hardened in her resolve to move away to New York to become a writer. Hopefully, by working three jobs, she would have enough money for this by the spring. (TO BE CONTINUED)
Posted on: Mon, 05 Jan 2015 20:57:46 +0000
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