Today on a dark and rainy early morning I threaded my way to the Veterans Administration in Brockton. It is an hour drive cross country from Marshfield. At Boston commuting time, you do not go on Route 3 north.
I know Brockton having spent six months there driving Yellow Cab for six days a week and twelve hours a day. My "handle" was Mustache. I wore a brown corduroy casual sport coat. It was perfect, being comfortable and warm, having many large pockets, and concealing the heavy shoulder holster and pistol that we all needed for protection.
Probably drivers today wear flack jackets. It is an even tougher city than it was forty years ago. Why I took this detour in my life still is not clear to me.
It is pouring rain but a veteran is prowling the parking lot, driving Marines and Seabees and even Army to the main building, #3. I am due for a pneumonia shot, tetanus shot, flu shot, and some blood and urine work.
The office is full. We are a bunch of smashed up old people, some with no legs, many in wheelchairs, but all glad to be alive. I take a number, like at the supermarket. Much to my surprise, the line moves very quickly. Fast and efficient. And friendly.
The corpsman asks, "Name and service number?"
"Sir, Bacon R.F. 693-10-63, Sir."
Eighty days of Boot Camp at The Naval Training Center at Great Lakes, near Chicago, never really leaves you.
"Did you fast?"
"Sir, Yes Sir."
It just seams proper to address the corpsman this way, although he is an enlisted man.
"Mr. Bacon, for having fasted, we are authorized to give you a breakfast chit for $3 dollars."
Chit? I haven't heard that word since 1968, when I got out. As I leave, I compliment him on his speed, friendliness and professionalism. I tell him if I was at my primary care doctor, I would still be checking in. He smiles.
Thirty minutes and I am back on Liberty and I can do whatever I want to do for the rest of the day.
I love the V.A.!!
Bacon CEW2 USN Seabees
