Jack T.

     Jack, my friend from New Orleans, was a fellow lifeguard at one of the summer camps I worked for.  A big man with thinning blond hair and a wealthy family behind him made for a valuable acquaintance.  He was also a rescue swimmer for the Coast Guard auxiliary. He was on call for any assignment in the Gulf of Mexico. He had the pager. Some guys have all the luck. 

     We trained together for WSI which is Water Safety Instructor also known as Waterfront Safety Instructor.

     He was courting Heather. She was one of the counselors at the  summer camp on the Gulf Coast. The camp is called Kingsley House that sponsors young blacks from the inner city to see the Gulf of Mexico for the first time and enjoy camplife. Kum Bai Ya

     One night, I was awakened by a sound near my rack. I became wide eyed. My cabin of black boys were encircling my bed.  One had a butcher knife.  It was their way of playing a joke on me.  If I let it go on, it could have been a real problem. I yelled for help. Soon all the counselors were there looking in. The next morning the participants were heading back to New Orleans on the bus. This was the lightest form of punishment for these boys that represented Catholicism among the blacks.
      Heather had a hunter green MG with all the trimmings which was a gift from her parents for her graduation from the prestigious Tulane University as a medical researcher.  One night, we all piled in and took the long drive along the Mississippi Gulf Coast through Biloxi and beyond. We stopped for a few drinks at some oasis along the Strip. I was alcohol free at that moment, so I got to drive back while Jack and Heather snuggled in the rumble seat. 

   It was very late. No one was on this 4 lane highway at that time of the morning.  Heather kept saying go faster as we hurtled down the deserted roadway. She climbed up on the backseat so she could feel the breeze racing through her hair. 

     Sandy was next to me on the passenger side. Her wide eyed looks egged me on as I was now testing the performance of this little spitfire of a car. We got back to camp in record time. We put that beast to bed. Next morning, it was black coffee and aspirin.
      I was no stranger to the Gulf Coast. Many times, my buddies and I would catch the boat to Ship Island where Fort Massachusetts was built during the time of sail during the War of 1812.  It was renamed that way as a lure to northern gunboats thinking that the North had overcome all the difficulties in founding a fort that far south and so close to New Orleans. It was a rude awakening for the Northern boys to find out the hard way that it was a Southern outpost. Let the shelling begin.

    We would intentionally miss the boat back to Gulfport spending the night on the island.  It was a different time. We would examine horseshoe crabs all day since they are technically spiders. They have blue blood which has been developed into a treatment for blood diseases. 

     At night we would walk the beaches to shine the light on all the fiddler crabs that only come out to pick for sand fleas. 

      Later in the fall, we would fish for sharks in the Rigolets which were used in research at the Tulane Medical Center.  They were turned into the shark cartilage you see in the drug store for arthritis.   When the island was deserted, we would break out the booze and get pirate drunk and sing like banshees to the wind.   We were young and partied hard to ease the pains in life.  We lived on French bread, summer sausage and red wine. The cheese disappeared on the first day. This is the food of the poor in New Orleans.  We took our time away from the city seriously, We were doing what we wanted in a wilderness setting.

     Robert C. was training to be a city planner. He had his room set up with a drafting table and piles of blueprints.  He scoured them for technical information to design better cities. One meets people that suddenly disappear from the radar as if they were ghosts. I try to remember all my ghost friends that influenced my direction in life.
  Why are soldiers afraid of ghosts?  They are scared of sheet.