A “Becoming’ Excerpt in sequence 10/10/52 & forward (CG2)
Cape May, New Jersey
October 10, 1952 and forward
0500
Reveille: “You can’t get’em up,
you can’t get’em up,
you can’t get’em up in the morning!”
The bugle call that had sounded so mournful playing taps the night before was now loud and raucous… just the way it was meant to be.
“Reveille!”
Walking the aisle between the two rows of bunks, “Reveille!” Clanging a truncheon from bunk to bunk, “Reveille!” Boatswains Mate Third Class Gustand called, “Reveille! Drop your cocks and grab your socks! ‘Reveille’!”
Jarred awake. Shove your pee erection back into your two-snap, slightly snug, U.S. Government issue skivvies and, holding your towel and toilet kit in front of your crotch to hide it, rush to the head.
Civilians, the Army and the Air Force have ‘washrooms’, ‘bathrooms’ and ‘toilets’. The Navy, Marines and Coast Guard have ‘heads’.
Stand in front of the long communal urinal straining against your full bladder. As badly as you feel that you ‘have’ to ‘make’, it seems an eternity until, finally, you do.
Wait until there’s an opening in the long row of sinks and brush your teeth, wash and shave.
‘Uniform of the day: dungarees.’
Thirty minutes from reveille: “ ‘Fall in’! ‘Hustle’! Fall in outside!”
Slattery, Monroy and Boatswains Mate Third Class Gustand stand at ease, waiting for the still rag-tag formation to form.
Wearing pea coats—buttoned to the throat over their dungarees. Caps at precisely two finger-widths above eyebrows— as they had been taught the day before. The breath of the fifty boots coming in white plumes on the early morning, frigid air.
“ ‘Tench hup’!” Faces— red from the cold, stare straight forward. “ ‘Dress right dress’! ‘Tench hup’!”
“Left, face! Forward, harch! Hup, two, three, four! Hup, two, three, four!”
To Mitchell Lipensky the commands are familiar and the excitation of the commands automatic.
Chow…
****
Drill: “Hup, two, three, four! Left shoulder, arms! Hup….”
****
Drill: “Hup, two, three, four! Right shoulder, arms! Hup….”
****
The men of Company Seven considered Chief Petty Officer Slattery the personification of the ‘salty’ Coast Guard ‘lifer’ and without realizing the more impressionable began to take on some of Slattery’s characteristics: The way he held his body. The way he walked and what, and how he smoked.
The ‘Hava Tampa’ is a thin cigar held in a wooden mouthpiece. When lit, the tobacco gives off the sweet sent of chocolate-covered orange peels.
Within a week of first seeing Slattery smoking a Hava Tampa, more than half the men in the barracks were smoking Hava Tampas and they smoked them held at the far corner of their mouths with the wooden mouthpiece clamped between their teeth— just as Slattery did— and in barracks 7, the harsh odor of cigarette tobacco had been overcome by the sweet smell of chocolate-covered orange peels.
****
Drill: “Hup—two—three—four! To the rear, harch! Hup…”
And Forward...
‘Semaphore’: “ ‘B’! No...”—not having the sense of humor of Monroy, to Boatswains Mate Third Class Gustand it was—“... ‘Lipensky’, the right flag is at nine o’clock and the left at six! Okay. Now ‘C’. That’s it; right at eleven, left at six.”
****
‘Knots’: “Yeah, La’pinsky, over and under, now the running end goes through the loop. Yeah! That’s the way to make a ‘running-bowline’.”
Drill: “Hup—two—three—four! Right shoulder, arms! Hup…”
****
‘KP’…
And a week later, KP again.
****
Drill: “To the rear, harch! Column left, harch! Hup…”
****
‘Guard duty’…
And a week later, guard duty again.
****
Drill: “To the rear, harch! Left shoulder, arms! Hup—two—three—four! Hup…”
****
‘Rowing’: “Pull them fuckin’ oars! You’re pullin’ like a bunch’a pussies! Come on, ‘Lippy’, give it some muscle! ‘Stroke’! ‘Stroke’!”
****
The days occupied his mind… But the nights found him lonely, and in his loneliness his mind went to Susan. Having no outlet for his feelings, finding he had a penchant for poetry, Mitchell became the poet of barracks 7, writing corn-ball poetry for his shipmates to send to their girlfriends or wives… At a dollar a throw.
****
Drill: “Hup—two—three—four! Hup—two—three—four! Hup…”
****
‘Calisthenics’: Fifty push-ups… Two laps around the field… “Come on, you can make it up that fuckin’ rope! Use the knots! Use the god-damn knots! You got it! Good work, Lippy.”
****
Drill: “Right shoulder, arms! Left shoulder, arms! Hup! Hup!”
****
‘Morse code’: “Dash, dot, dash! Not dot, dash, dot! Come on, Lippy, use your fuckin’ head.”
****
Drill: “Left oblique, harch! Right oblique, harch! Hup…”
“ ‘Drill’! Fuckin’ drill! Is that all we ever do around this fuckin’ place?” Exhaling ‘Hava Tampa’ smoke from the corner of his mouth, as did Slattery. “What are we, the Coast Guard or the fucjin’ infentry’?
***
‘Davit drill’: “Come on! Even up on them davits! Soboleski, you’re spillin’ the fuckin’ passengers into the fuckin’ ocean! God-damnit, Lippy, even up on that fuckin’ line!”
****
“Hup—two—three—four!”
‘Lifeboat Drill’: “Bend them elbows! Straighten them bodies! Come on, you fuckers! You ain’t no bunch’a fuckin’ pussies! You’re the U.S. Coast guard!”
‘Strok’! ‘Strok’! ‘Stroke’!”
‘Calisthenics’: “Yeah! You can do a hundred pushups easy! Damn it, ‘S’wartz, get your ass outta the air!”
NOTICE
The Wildwood Jewish Congregation invites all men of the Jewish faith to attend Sabbath services this Friday.
After services a traditional meal will be served.
For those attending, dress blues are the uniform of the day.
(signed) Base Commander
11/12/52
****
Far from religious. Under normal conditions Mitchell would shy away from religious services of any kind. But after more than a month of Coast Guard food—although he had to admit that, really, it wasn’t too bad—what caught his eye was the ‘traditional meal’ part.
****
“Excuse me, young man.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re Mister and Mrs. Fox…” holding his hand forward, “and my wife and myself would like to invite you to our home for supper.”
Shaking the offered hand, “Hi, I’m Mitch Lipensky. And thank you, I’d love to. And who’s this?” Squatting, offering his hand to the little girl, “Hi! My name’s Mitchie. Who are you?”
_______________________________________________________
November 15, 1952
Dear Sue,
You must really be surprised to get a letter from me after five months, and from a place like Cape May, New Jersey.
I’ve started to write to you at least a hundred times, and I don’t know whether you’ll be glad to get this letter or not, (I pray that you are), but something happened to me last night and I could not hold back writing to you any longer.
Sue, after you gave me back my ring and told me that you were not going to see me anymore I didn’t know what to do and almost went crazy.
I did go to Wright, but could only think of you and could not concentrate on anything else, and believe me, Sue, I really tried. So, to be honest, I ran away. You see, I simply could not go on living that close to you and not be able to see you. So I enlisted in the Coast Guard and arrived in boot camp on October 9th.
At first the training was very hard, but by now I’m getting used to it.
Hey, you ought to see me! (God, how I wish we could see each other.) I’ve lost about 25 pounds since the last time you saw me. And believe it or not, I’ve even got a muscle.
Anyway, what happened last night, and the reason I’ve worked up the nerve to write to you now is because of this.
Wildwood is the town closest to base with a big Jewish population, and the Jewish men on base were invited to attend Friday night services last night and after the service to go to their homes for an old fashioned Jewish meal.
You know I’m not religious, but I miss my family a real lot, (and you, Susan, more than I can tell you) so I got permission to go.
The service was real boring, but when it was over this nice lady and her husband, Mr. & Mrs. Fox, invited me to come home with them for dinner, and the thing is they have a daughter. She is five years old and everything I would hope for if I had a sister, and exactly what I would want my daughter (someday) to look like when I do have children.
This little girl is what got to me and the reason I am writing to you now.
She has the prettiest little face, with light brown eyes and dark brown hair, and she looks exactly like what I imagine you looked like when you were five, and what our daughter would look like if we were married (God I wish) and had a daughter.
And you know what else?
I couldn’t believe it, but the little girl’s name is Susan too (Susan Friedman, Susan Fox), and when I heard that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The Foxs have invited me to their house again for Thanksgiving and I’ve put in a request to see if I can go.
Sue, I’m going to be in the Coast Guard for four years. But if you think about it, I’d have been drafted for two anyway, so it is only like two more years.
I know that is a long time, but less time than the army and college would have been, if I had gone to college.
I can get training in the Coast Guard for all kinds of things, like radio or electronics, so I will be able to earn a good living when I get discharged, and I’ll have the G.I. Bill to go to college on, and if we are together I certainly will!
Susan, you’ve got to know that I have never stopped loving you, and I know that you still love me.
I am sure that you didn’t break up with me because you wanted to. I know it was your parents that talked you into breaking up with me and I would like to spank you for letting them do this to us, to both of us, to you and me.
Please, sweetheart, think about this letter very carefully and know that my heart beats only to hear from you.
But also know this, Sue. I’ve been hurt very badly by this, and really cannot take much more, so if I do not hear from you, or if you do write and tell me that you really don’t love me, then I promise that this letter will be the last time that you will ever hear from me.
Like I said before, no one will ever love you as much as I do.
Mitch
_____________________________________________________
He spent all his free time on Saturday and Sunday writing and re-writing the letter.
Although Mitchell thought he would never forget Susan’s phone number, her address, though, he’d only looked at twice— when she’d given it to him over the phone that first night, then later when he looked for her building.
Taking the blue envelope flap from his wallet—where Susan had written her phone number and later where he had written her address—Mitchell addressed the envelope, wrote his return address on the corner and put an airmail stamp on it, then returned the blue envelope flap to his wallet.
Wanting the letter on its way on this night, even though he knew that it would not go anyplace until the next day. As it was just a half-hour to lights out, he ran to the base post office and was about to drop the letter into the slot when remembering the prayer he had said on the day he’d met Susan, and it had worked then— to a point —so, “Oh, God,” he prayed, his words just above a whisper, “’please’ let me hear from Susan! ‘Please’ let her tell me that she still loves me! ‘Please’!” Kissing the envelope, he dropped it into the slot.
****
Wednesday he knew that it was too soon, But it did go airmail, and if she got it on Tuesday and wrote to me right away and sent hers back airmail, too…? There was a letter, but it was from his mother.
Thursday: Yeah, it’ll be here today! But no mail on Thursday, or Friday.
On Saturday there was a letter…
November 21,1952
‘Dear Mitchell:
All of us at home hope that everything is going well with you and the Coast Guard.
We are all fine here.
Yesterday I received a very embarrassing phone call from Mr. Friedman. He told me that Susan had repeatedly told you that she did not want to hear from you and that you sent her a letter anyway, and that in the letter you threatened to beat her up for breaking up with you.
He also told me that if you ever write to her, call her, or try to see her again, they will contact the police and the commander at Cape May, or wherever you are stationed.
Mitchell, your mother and I are well aware of how you feel about Susan, and we know you better than to believe that you would ever threaten to beat her up, but it is well about time you realized that it is over between you two, and the sooner you forget her, the better off you will be.
Don’t take this too hard, everything works out in the end.
All our love
Dad’
_______________________________________________________
Furious, Never! He reread the letter. ‘I threatened to beat her up’? To beat up Susan? ‘Never’! My, God, I’d never hurt Susan! He further thought, How could she show my letter to her father? How ‘could she’!?
Because one’s private letter and the U.S. mail are, after all, ‘sacrosanct’. Being naïve and basically honest, the thought that his letter did ‘not’ reach Susan. That his letter might have been ‘intercepted’ never entered Mitchell’s mind. Nor that ‘possibly’ Susan never saw the letter… ‘Possibly’!
Taking his wallet from his pocket, opening it he removed the blue envelope flap and looked at it: ‘Susan Friedman, Sh. 3-5758’, along with her address in his handwriting.
Going outside without his coat, the frigid wind pressing his shirt and jeans to his chest and legs, Mitchell walked beyond the comparative shelter of barracks 7 to where the Atlantic wind blew the fieriest.
Looking at the bleak, winter sky, carefully tearing the triangle of blue paper into pieces…
“Goodbye, Susan.” He opened his hand.
‘Goodbye, Susan’.
The wind taking the bits of paper.
Goodbye.
****
“…Hi, Mrs. Fox, it’s Mitch Lipensky.”
“Mitchell, hello. How are you?”
“Fine, Mrs. Fox, but I’m sorry, I won’t be able to make it for Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, what a shame. Susan will be brokenhearted. You do know she’s got a crush on you, don’t you?”
“Uh, I’ve got a crush on Susan, too.” Biting his lip, “Please tell her I’m sorry and that I’ll call her next week… Bye, Mrs. Fox.”
But he didn’t.
Wildwood, New Jersey
December 24, 1952
She liked him. She knew it didn’t pay to like any of these boys because they’re so young and so… transient. But he’d been to the ‘U.S.O’ three times that she knew of, and each time he’d had a glass of punch, one or two doughnuts and had danced with her once, and only after she’d prompted him, and then only to the slowest of dances. He had held her closely but not, she was sure—a girl starts to get a feel for these things—for the touch of her body, but more so for the warmth of human contact.
She’s kind’a cute, he’d thought the first time she had asked him to dance but, really, he hadn’t wanted to and besides, “I’m really not very good at dancing,” he had told her.
On his third visit to the U.S.O., when the record player began a slow one without asking she had taken him by the hand, pulled him to his feet and onto the floor and… What could he do—be rude?
Other than his mother when he had left home, this was the first time he had touched a female hand — since Susan had returned his ring — in nearly six months, and he wondered at the softness and seconds later the warm, human touch of her body pressing next to his almost brought tears to his eyes.
Dancing to two more slow ones, Mitchell and Connie had spent the balance of the evening talking and minutes before getting ready to leave, “Mitchie, come on! Come with me!”
“Connie, I’m a Jew. Jews don’t go to Christmas Eve mass!”
“You said you didn’t have to be back till eight tomorrow morning, so come on, Mitch! The midnight mass is so beautiful, and even if you are Jewish”—knowing there was a sadness within him that this might help dispel—“I’m sure you’ll like it. Please come with me!”
****
“…What do I do? Should I wear my cap inside?”
“No.” Taking his hand, she led him through the arched doorway into the crowded church, where it took a few minutes until they found a pew with two vacant seats.
Apart from the Ark holding the Torah, the interiors of whatever synagogues and temples had ever seen had all been free of ornamentation and he was all but overwhelmed by the trappings of the Catholic Church.
As the mass began, even though Mitchell knew nothing of the Latin verse, closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to become surrounded and overcome by the beauty of the mass… And he came away from the mass somehow feeling more at peace with himself then he had in months… In six months, to be exact.
****
A light snow falling, “Mitchie,” the streets deserted, they walked with their collars turned up and their hands held deeply in their coat pockets—their own pockets.
“Here’s where I live,” Connie said. Then, surprising herself, “Would you like to kiss me?”
Surprised, too, thinking, Oh, God, it’s been so long since I’ve kissed anyone. “Yes, Connie. I would like to kiss you.”
Taking his hand. Opening the outer door she led him into the dark hallway.
Their lips meeting. His hand finding the opening to Connie’s coat went about her waist.
He felt her lips on his. He tasted the kiss.
He smelled the floral scent of her perfume
He felt the curve of her hips.
But…
The kiss wasn’t Susan's kiss and didn’t taste right.
Her perfume wasn’t Susan's perfume and didn’t smell right.
The curve of her waist wasn’t Susan’s waist and didn’t feel right.
Mitchell didn’t want to hurt Connie’s feelings but breaking the kiss…
Orphaned, raised in a Catholic orphanage, having given up a few of her virtues already, willing… wanting to give up ‘that’ virtue again, “You said you didn’t have to be back on base till morning, Mitchie, and I don’t feel like being alone on Christmas Eve, so if you want… If you’d like to, you can stay with me tonight.”
She wants me to spend the night! She wants me to sleep with her! But… “I can’t, Connie!...” She’s not Susan and I ‘can’t’! I just ‘can’t’! “...I forgot, but I do have to be back tonight…” Glancing at his watch, “Now!”
“Now, Mitchie?” Hurt. “Now!”
“Sorry.” Backing out of the hallway, “I’ll see you at the center.”
But, never going back, he never saw Connie again.
****
Next “Becoming” except in sequence: CG3/Rockaway
