Cajun Books by Lionel A. LaVergne
	Excerpt of Innocence Lost		HOME CLICK TO RETURN TO HOME PAGE
Innocence lost        PROLOGUE   Innocence sometimes dies quickly.  For me, the sound of my childhood fleeing abruptly was heralded by a loud blast followed by the smoke and flash of a revolver.  Turtle, Louisiana in the year 1947 was a typical small town the sort of place people referred to as a wide spot in the road, or as a country town.  Several small farms were scattered around just north of Turtle.  Most of the adult males earned a living by rough necking either on land or off shore on oilrigs.  The farms that dotted the landscape were mostly cotton and rice farms.  The downtown area of Turtle had a department store that was owned by an elderly Jew named Mr. Horowitz.  No one knew how Mr. Horowitz had found his way to the small community consisting mostly of Cajun families. Next to Mr. Horowitz’s department store sat Debreaux’s Drugs.  That, establishment had been owned by the Debreaux family for several generations.  Across from the department and drug store were two businesses, a place that sold furniture and a movie theatre.  The entire downtown area was about six blocks square.  City hall, the fire and police department and utilities, were all in one building at the southern end of downtown.  To the rear of this building was a shed used to house prisoners.   The sometimes guests of the city were usually locals who had too much to drink on Friday paydays.   West of downtown, on Highway 78, a Piggly Wiggly grocery competed with a small store. The small grocery had been operated by several generations of McGees and had been in the same spot since the town had first been charted.  Mr. Clovis McGee and his wife somehow managed to make a living in the small establishment.  Many of the local poor Cajuns still shopped there exclusively since Piggly Wiggly didn’t offer credit.  Mr. McGee sometimes carried customers on his books for months till someone in the family managed to earn a paycheck. East of Turtle, past the poor part of town, were the homes of the wealthy.  The banker, car dealership owner, funeral director and the Baptist preacher all had large homes on five-acre lots. Most of the citizens of Turtle were Catholic, but it seemed most of the ones who had money were Baptist.  Any Presbyterian or Methodist who came wandering into the area and wanted a church to attend had two choices, start one or move on.   My dad had once been a tenant farmer near a larger town sixty miles west of Turtle but as most men his age had to eventually do in order to feed their families, he now worked for an oil drilling company.  We moved to Turtle because it was one of the main areas used by the oil companies to recruit workers.  My dad, Joe, my mom, Esther, my older brother, C.J., my little brother Clinton and I all lived in a small shotgun house just north of Turtle.  A shotgun house is one where a person can stand in the front door, fire a shotgun, and have the pellets go out the back door.  My name, Levi, short for Leviticus, has caused some misunderstandings in my life starting with Mr. Horowitz who got excited when he first heard my name.  He assumed he had found another Jewish family when he met me.  I was given that name because my mom loved reading the bible even though we were Catholic.  Most Catholics never read the bible.  They have their missal and assume that is all they need.   While I was part of a protuberance my mom walked around carrying, she found the book of Leviticus and thought that it would be a really pretty name for a girl.  I was the second child as well as the second son.  I was born in her and dad’s bed on a hot morning in July.  Although not the best endowed male around, there was still enough there to allow anyone to see I was definitely not a girl.  Still, since she was so enamored with the name, I was christened Leviticus.   School had been out for almost a week before I had a chance to go downtown to hang around and see what sort of trouble my friends and I could get into.  I was not looking forward to the next school year when I would become a sixth grader.  My brother, C.J., had told me the sixth grade was hell.  He informed me things got really tough in that grade.  I should have known better because anything to do with school was hell for C.J.  He was not a good student.  How he had reached the ninth grade, was one of our family’s mysteries.  He probably accomplished his rise to that grade by using his charm and good looks. since he had a plentiful supply of both.  I was a short, scrawny child unlike my tall well-built brother.  My younger sibling, Clinton, who was big for his age and although not yet two, was tall and strong, unlike I had been at that age, I knew he’d soon be catching up with me and perhaps grow to be taller and larger then I ever would. I would be eighteen before I ever saw any other races besides Negro and white.  In the southeast corner of Turtle was an area called Coon Town.  I called it by that name because my parents did.   In fact the whole town called it that, even the people who lived there called it Coon Town.  The citizens of Coon Town were all Negro.  Most of the whites in Turtle called dark people Nigger.  The word was not meant to be a slur in the least, at least by most whites.  Even the Negroes called themselves by that name, I thought nothing of that word, it wasn’t derogatory, at least I didn’t feel it was.  The whites were all Cajun, except for Mr. Horowitz, who was a Jew.  People with extremely dark complexions were Niggers.  The term was no more meant to be a slur than Cajun or Jew.  As I went all over the town I spoke to everyone and all the people of the town knew me.  I felt comfortable with every one I met.  Mr. Horowitz called me his little ‘Cajun Jew’ and the Niggers accepted me as simply another little kid.  I ate meals with them, played ball with their children and I didn’t feel any different in their homes than I did in any of the Cajun homes. One day as I was walking down a dusty street that ran through Coon Town, just hanging around with my best friend, Jimmy Joe Joe, a young man I didn’t recognize stood across the street smoking a cigarette.  As we walked by, the stranger yelled to Jimmy Joe Joe.  “What the hell are you doing with that white son-of-a-bitch?”  Turning to Jimmy Joe Joe, I asked why had the fellow called me that?  Jimmy Joe Joe answered.  “I suspecting he done tink yos a sumobitch.”  “That’s not what I mean,” I explained to Jimmy Joe Joe.  Why did he use the term, white?”    Jimmy Joe Joe looked at me for a while then he shook his head and said, “I’s doon know why, Levi.” Jimmy Joe Joe was a huge black man.  He was well over six feet tall with enormous arms and shoulders.   Although Jimmy Joe Joe was probably in his late twenties he had the simple mind of a young child.  Actually I was a lot smarter and understood most things much better then Jimmy Joe Joe did.  My mom had explained to me that Jimmy Joe Joe was retarded.  I figured that retarded was a type of a disease I couldn’t catch, so I didn’t care. It would be some years later before I realized I had encountered my first act of racial prejudice.   The young Negro man hadn’t cared if I was a son of a bitch.  He was only irate because Jimmy Joe Joe was with a boy of a different race than they were and walking around in a section of town where only Negroes lived.  I was not aware of racial bias, prejudice or hatred of another due to the color of their skin.  Until that day, to me, people were simply people. I knew there were obvious differences in people.  In my young mind, some people were darker than others some were taller and some fatter.  Men didn’t have chests that stuck out like women did and women didn’t have to shave.  I had never known of anyone being angry at or hating someone because they were different.  That was soon to change.   Heading to town that summer day with the hot dust kicking up between my toes, my toughened, shoe less feet barely feeling the heat from the ground, I had only one thought in mind and that was to find some friends and have some fun.  Summer didn’t last long enough and I knew I had to cram as much enjoyment in my time of liberation as I could.   As I walked into the downtown area, I noticed several young men standing in front of the local movie house.  The marquee showed that a Roy Rogers and a Durango Kid movie would be on that day.  I knew this would also include several cartoons and one or two Leon Errol comedies.  My cost for attending a movie was nine cents.  Occasionally I’d get lucky and I would get a quarter from dad and have a great time.  The quarter would get me into the movie buy a bag of popcorn, a candy bar and a coke.  This left me with a penny I would spend on a black licorice stick on the way home.   The young men were horsing around with seemingly not much to do.  I knew the movie wouldn’t start for at least another hour.  I wondered who they were and where they were from.  I’d never seen any of them before.  As I walked by I could see they were muscular and dressed in worn, stained clothes.  I walked by the men and into Mr. Horowitz’s store to say hello.  I liked the old man and he always joked with me asking if I was ready to go back to the homeland.   “We no longer have a nation to call our own.”  He would say.  “One day we will reclaim our land, you watch, young Cajun Jew.”  I puzzled over these statements because, weren’t we already home?  Mr. Horowitz stood staring at the young men and he had a slight frown on his face.  I stood next to him for a short while.  He didn’t speak right away and this puzzled me because he was always full of good will with something to say when I came by.  Studying Mr. Horowitz’s face, I wondered at the strange expression I saw there.  It was a mixture of fear, apprehension and disgust.  Why he was focusing these emotions on the young rowdies didn’t make any sense to me.  The men were loud, but they weren’t bothering anyone.   “Who are those guys?”  I asked.   “Oil field workers.  Louisiana Drilling Corporation has just found a big pool of oil south of here.  I imagine this town will be filling up with all types of elements.  So, my young friend how is my Cajun Jew today?”   “I’m fine.  If you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Horowitz, why were you looking at those guys with such a funny expression on your face?”   “Always with the questions.  You ask why more than anyone I know.  That’s good though, that’s the only way to learn.  It was nothing I suppose.  The young men, for some reason reminded me of others back in Germany who used to gather on the streets and act much the same.  That didn’t turn out too good, especially for the Jews.”  Mr. Horowitz explained.   “What happened?”  I asked, really curious.   “The young men in Germany became the Brown Shirt group who eventually became Hitler’s gang of cutthroats.”   I didn’t know much about this Hitler fellow, although I’d picked up bits and pieces listening to the older men hanging around the general store.  I knew Hitler had something to do with the war that had just ended a few years ago.  It seems I had heard more about a Jap guy named Tojo.   “Was this Hitler a bad man?”  I asked.   “He, my young friend, was the devil.  Because of him I am here in the United States alone.  My wife and children are no longer alive because of that monster.”  Seeing the look on Mr. Horowitz’s face, I stepped back.  His expression held more anger than I in my short life had ever seen.   Composing himself, Mr. Horowitz smiled at me.   “Enough talk about trash.  What are you about on this nice beautiful sunny day?”   “Not much, gonna find some buddies to hang around with.  Just fool around.”   “Good, you enjoy yourself.  Youth is fleeting and trouble comes much too soon.  Well, I’ve got some new stock that just arrived.  I guess I’d better get busy.”  I left Mr. Horowitz to his work and headed toward Coon Town.  As I expected to, I found Jimmy Joe Joe sitting in front of the old store on Peach Avenue.  Some apple crates were scattered around in front of the old building and people in the neighborhood used the store as a gathering place to socialize and get caught up on the latest news. “Hey Levi, hows you be today?”  Jimmy Joe Joe called out and waved to me, as I walked toward where he sat.  His black face split in a huge grin revealing a large set of white teeth.  I could tell he was happy to see me, as I was to see him.   I walked over and sat on an empty crate.  We chatted idly for a while enjoying the last of the morning’s coolness.  In a short while the temperature began to rise.  The May sun beat down on us and Jimmy Joe Joe started showing rings of sweat under his armpits and on his back.   “Why don’t we get some sodas and moon pies and go out to the woods?” I asked.   “Das a wonderment idea, Levi.”  I gave him the small amount of coins I had in my pocket and Jimmy Joe Joe walked into the store and soon came back with the goodies.  We headed for the small copse of trees on the western side of Turtle we called ‘the woods’.  The entire area wasn’t more than an acre or two.  In the middle of the woods was a small pond good for skinny-dipping and there were several Muscatine trees that provided nice snacks.  Eating the grapes, I usually ended up with part of my face nearly as dark as Jimmy Joe Joe’s. The shortest route to the trees was straight through the middle of town.  Jimmy Joe Joe and I talked and laughed as we made our way to our favorite hang out.   “Hey, boy what the hell you doing hanging around that nigger bastard?”  Hearing the voice I looked around to see who was doing the shouting.  Walking toward us were the young men I had seen in front of the movie house.  As I stood and watched, they came up to Jimmy Joe Joe and me.  All four of them had cocky smirks on their faces.  One of them got behind me and the others surrounded Jimmy Joe Joe.   Looking into the sack Jimmy Joe Joe held the man asked.  “What you got, nigger?  Moon pies and orange soda?  Hell, boy don’t you know that shit will rot your teeth?”  The speaker laughed, throwing back his head and revealing he had apparently had quite a few sodas and moon pies.   His teeth were brown and rotten.  Jimmy Joe Joe started shivering.  I was surprised to see his reaction to the young men.  We had nothing to fear from these four.  As I watched in wonder I saw Jimmy Joe Joe begin to sweat and his eyes got bigger and bigger.  The one with the rotten teeth grabbed the bag out of Jimmy Joe Joe’s hands and began eating our moon pie.   “Hey, what are you doing?  Those are our moon pies.  You can’t just take things from us!”  I exclaimed, shocked to see such behavior.  Things like this didn’t happen in Turtle.   “Little nigger lover, I can do anything I want.  Who’s going to stop me?  Not you, you little shitty ass nigger lover.  This dumb nigger ain’t gonna do nothing either, are you, boy?”   “No, suh.”  Said Jimmy Joe Joe.  “Ya’ll sho can have all these moon pies and sodas.  Wez don’t wants dems anyways, does we, Levi?”   “I want them.  Give me back my moon pies.  You better watch out, I’ll get my dad on you.”  I threatened.   “Your dad? Shit, anyone who would raise a kid to hang around with niggers is an asshole anyway.  I ain’t afraid of your dad.”   Taking out the pies he began passing pieces around to his friends.  Using an opener he had in his pocket he popped open the orange sodas and guzzled half of one.  His friends hollered at him trying to get their share.  The four began wrestling over the pies and sodas.  Orange liquid squirted all over the four hoodlums.  I stared at this scene in shock.  I couldn’t believe anyone could be that cruel and uncaring.  These guys had taken away our treats and instead of eating them they were splashing the sodas and smearing the pies all over each other.   Looking over at Jimmy Joe Joe, I couldn’t believe he was simply standing there.  He was twice as big as any of these thieves were.  His arms were like tree branches.  I had seen him pick up large heavy objects, others couldn’t move, seemingly effortlessly.   “What you gonna do, nigger?”   “Nothing suh.”  Jimmy Joe Joe said.   “I know you’re not gonna do anything, you’re just a lazy, stinking no account nigger.  You should be working, hoeing, or plowing instead of walking around town carrying moon pies and sodas just like you was a real human being.”   “I’m sorry suh.”  Jimmy Joe Joe said.  He was standing there shaking in fear.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  I had thought Jimmy Joe, Joe was my friend.  Now I saw he didn’t care about me at all.  He had let these fools take away our stuff and now he stood shivering while some skinny asshole called him names.   “Less go, Levi.’  Jimmy Joe Joe said.  I agreed, if he was just going to stand there and let this happen we may as well go on.  As we began to go back the way we had come one of them pushed me back and two of them grabbed Jimmy Joe Joe.  One of them hit Jimmy Joe Joe so hard I saw blood start to trickle down the side of his face.   “You ain’t going nowhere till I say you can.”  Their spokesman said. Forgetting how small I was, I let my anger erupt.  I jumped on the back of the one who had taken our treats and began pulling his hair.  The hoodlum whirled around trying to dislodge me.  I felt more anger than I believed was possible.  I was mad because these guys had taken our food and I was deeply hurt because my best friend in the world had let them rob us.  I was shocked that they had hurt Jimmy Joe Joe and now I was going to hurt them.  I yanked out handfuls of greasy hair and screamed at the top of my voice.  The man whose back I was riding, while I pulled at his dirty stinking hair, began spinning around and reaching back for me.  His three friends stood watching and laughing at him as we whirled around.  In one angry effort he grabbed me by my shirt and flipped me violently off of his back and onto the asphalt road.  As I was thrown I managed to get a handful of his tee shirt causing it to rip completely off of him.  As I flew through the air I saw he had a giant eagle tattooed on his back.  I hit the street with a loud thud, flat on my back.  The landing knocked the wind out of me and I lay gasping for breath and crying.  The back of my head was throbbing and I felt as though I had a bale of cotton on my chest.  I tried to stand but could only get to my knees, so I crawled off of the road on all fours.  Back on the grassy area I reached around and touched my head and pain shot through me and I felt nauseous.  Looking at my hand I saw blood.  As I swayed on my knees I heard laughter from the four idiots.  They were shoving each other around and laughing and teasing the shirtless one, who had given me a ride. Standing I staggered back to the four fools and balling my fist I tried to slug one of them.  Casually, as one might swat a fly, he slapped me so hard I was sent spinning.  Once again I hit the ground in pain.  Now, blood poured from my nose, as well as the back of my head.  As I lay on the ground attempting to rise, I heard a sound that reminded me of a lion’s roar, like the ones I had heard in Tarzan’s movies.   The surprise of hearing that sound cleared my head and shot adrenaline through me giving me the strength to sit up.  My friend, who I had quickly lost faith in, had two of the men in his hands and was bashing their heads together.  The loud twonk sound of their heads hitting together made the same noise as when we threw watermelons to the ground to cause them to break open so we could reach in and get some of the sweet red meat.  The two young men were like rag dolls in Jimmy Joe Joe’s hands.  As he continued to batter them, the other two jumped on Jimmy Joe Joe and tried to rescue their partners in crime from the wild, out of control man.  Jimmy Joe Joe threw the two he was holding to the ground and turned on his other tormentors.  One man he simply picked up and threw at least ten feet.  The other took to his heels. Realizing he had no more trash to dispose of, Jimmy Joe Joe ran to me to see if I was okay.   Kneeling by me he gently sat me up and with his huge gentle hand began wiping the blood from my face.  As I looked at my friend I saw tears cutting through the blood and dust on his large ugly- beautiful face.   “Is you okay, Levi?  Does you need to go see the doctu?”  My head was still ringing and I found I was unable to respond.  A loud snapping sound was added to the ringing in my head.  Hearing that, I thought fleetingly I must have something badly broken in my skull, ringing and snapping sounds and of course more pain filled my wounded skull.  As I tried to answer Jimmy Joe Joe I saw his face change from a look of concern to surprise.  He looked straight at me and his already large eyes opened even wider.  On his face was a look of bewilderment.  The look was quickly replaced with a grimace of pain.  Turning he looked to where the three remaining roughnecks had been lying.  My eyes followed his and I saw a puff of smoke come out of one of the shirtless man’s hands.  I wondered how in the world he could be doing that, making smoke come out of his hand.   As the men turned and ran I saw the eagle tattoo again, on the back of the man who emitted smoke from his hand.   I heard a grunt from my friend and turning I saw blood pouring from his huge chest.  Galvanized by the sight of my friend bleeding, I jumped to my feet.  Forgotten were my aches and pains, concern for Jimmy Joe Joe overrode my bruised back and bleeding, ringing head.  Forgotten was my bloody nose.  As I moved to Jimmy Joe Joe he swayed then fell, reminding me of a large tree my dad had once chopped down for firewood.  Jimmy Joe Joe fell forward slowly, like the slow motion I saw in the movies.  I didn’t know that was what the action was called, but now as I recall that day, that’s how the large body of my friend moved, then he hit the ground with a loud thump.   Looking down at him I saw blood pouring out of his back.  I screamed for help and kneeling I tried to roll Jimmy Joe Joe over.  Blood covered the front of his shirt and I watched it pour into the hot dusty ground and disappear, I knew even in my young mind, along with my friend’s blood, my innocence was also being soaked up by the hot Louisiana soil, forever. Someone, I don’t know who, pulled my arms away from my friend’s body.  I fought whoever it was but I was weak from my wounds, and I never was a very strong child. The four murderers vanished from Turtle and they were never found.  Jimmy Joe, Joe was buried in the small cemetery close to where he had lived.  As for me, I became something different.                                                  By                                                Lionel                                                    A.                                               LaVergne 1.        Dedicated to, Monna, my sweet wife and chief supporter. PROLOGUE Innocence sometimes dies quickly.  For me, the sound of my childhood fleeing abruptly was heralded by a loud blast followed by the smoke and flash of a revolver.  Turtle, Louisiana in the year 1947 was a typical small town the sort of place people referred to as a wide spot in the road, or as a country town.  Several small farms were scattered around just north of Turtle.  Most of the adult males earned a living by rough necking either on land or off shore on oilrigs.  The farms that dotted the landscape were mostly cotton and rice farms.  The downtown area of Turtle had a department store that was owned by an elderly Jew named Mr. Horowitz.  No one knew how Mr. Horowitz had found his way to the small community consisting mostly of Cajun families. Next to Mr. Horowitz’s department store sat Debreaux’s Drugs.  That, establishment had been owned by the Debreaux family for several generations.  Across from the department and drug store were two businesses, a place that sold furniture and a movie theatre.  The entire downtown area was about six blocks square.  City hall, the fire and police department and utilities, were all in one building at the southern end of downtown.  To the rear of this building was a shed used to house prisoners.   The sometimes guests of the city were usually locals who had too much to drink on Friday paydays. West of downtown, on Highway 78, a Piggly Wiggly grocery competed with a small store. The small grocery had been operated by several generations of McGees and had been in the same spot since the town had first been charted.  Mr. Clovis McGee and his wife somehow managed to make a living in the small establishment.  Many of the local poor Cajuns still shopped there exclusively since Piggly Wiggly didn’t offer credit.  Mr. McGee sometimes carried customers on his books for months till someone in the family managed to earn a paycheck. East of Turtle, past the poor part of town, were the homes of the wealthy.  The banker, car dealership owner, funeral director and the Baptist preacher all had large homes on five-acre lots. Most of the citizens of Turtle were Catholic, but it seemed most of the ones who had money were Baptist.  Any Presbyterian or Methodist who came wandering into the area and wanted a church to attend had two choices, start one or move on. My dad had once been a tenant farmer near a larger town sixty miles west of Turtle but as most men his age had to eventually do in order to feed their families, he now worked for an oil drilling company.  We moved to Turtle because it was one of the main areas used by the oil companies to recruit workers.  My dad, Joe, my mom, Esther, my older brother, C.J., my little brother Clinton and I all lived in a small shotgun house just north of Turtle.  A shotgun house is one where a person can stand in the front door, fire a shotgun, and have the pellets go out the back door.  My name, Levi, short for Leviticus, has caused some misunderstandings in my life starting with Mr. Horowitz who got excited when he first heard my name.  He assumed he had found another Jewish family when he met me.  I was given that name because my mom loved reading the bible even though we were Catholic.  Most Catholics never read the bible.  They have their missal and assume that is all they need. While I was part of a protuberance my mom walked around carrying, she found the book of Leviticus and thought that it would be a really pretty name for a girl.  I was the second child as well as the second son.  I was born in her and dad’s bed on a hot morning in July.  Although not the best endowed male around, there was still enough there to allow anyone to see I was definitely not a girl.  Still, since she was so enamored with the name, I was christened Leviticus. School had been out for almost a week before I had a chance to go downtown to hang around and see what sort of trouble my friends and I could get into.  I was not looking forward to the next school year when I would become a sixth grader.  My brother, C.J., had told me the sixth grade was hell.  He informed me things got really tough in that grade.  I should have known better because anything to do with school was hell for C.J.  He was not a good student.  How he had reached the ninth grade, was one of our family’s mysteries.  He probably accomplished his rise to that grade by using his charm and good looks, since he had a plentiful supply of both.  I was a short, scrawny child unlike my tall well-built brother.  My younger sibling, Clinton, who was big for his age and although not yet two, was tall and strong, unlike I had been at that age, I knew he’d soon be catching up with me and perhaps grow to be taller and larger then I ever would. I would be eighteen before I ever saw any other races besides Negro and white.  In the southeast corner of Turtle was an area called Coon Town.  I called it by that name because my parents did.   In fact the whole town called it that, even the people who lived there called it Coon Town.  The citizens of Coon Town were all Negro.  Most of the whites in Turtle called dark people Nigger.  The word was not meant to be a slur in the least, at least by most whites.  Even the Negroes called themselves by that name, I thought nothing of that word, it wasn’t derogatory, at least I didn’t feel it was.  The whites were all Cajun, except for Mr. Horowitz, who was a Jew.  People with extremely dark complexions were Niggers.  The term was no more meant to be a slur than Cajun or Jew.  As I went all over the town I spoke to everyone and all the people of the town knew me.  I felt comfortable with every one I met.  Mr. Horowitz called me his little ‘Cajun Jew’ and the Niggers accepted me as simply another little kid.  I ate meals with them, played ball with their children and I didn’t feel any different in their homes than I did in any of the Cajun homes. One day as I was walking down a dusty street that ran through Coon Town, just hanging around with my best friend, Jimmy Joe Joe, a young man I didn’t recognize stood across the street smoking a cigarette.  As we walked by, the stranger yelled to Jimmy Joe Joe.  “What the hell are you doing with that white son-of-a-bitch?”  Turning to Jimmy Joe Joe, I asked why had the fellow called me that?  Jimmy Joe Joe answered.  “I suspecting he done tink yos a sumobitch.”  “That’s not what I mean,” I explained to Jimmy Joe Joe.  Why did he use the term, white?”    Jimmy Joe Joe looked at me for a while then he shook his head and said, “I’s doon know why, Levi.” Jimmy Joe Joe was a huge black man.  He was well over six feet tall with enormous arms and shoulders.   Although Jimmy Joe Joe was probably in his late twenties he had the simple mind of a young child.  Actually I was a lot smarter and understood most things much better then Jimmy Joe Joe did.  My mom had explained to me that Jimmy Joe Joe was retarded.  I figured that retarded was a type of a disease I couldn’t catch, so I didn’t care. It would be some years later before I realized I had encountered my first act of racial prejudice.   The young Negro man hadn’t cared if I was a son of a bitch.  He was only irate because Jimmy Joe Joe was with a boy of a different race than they were and walking around in a section of town where only Negroes lived.  I was not aware of racial bias, prejudice or hatred of another due to the color of their skin.  Until that day, to me, people were simply people. I knew there were obvious differences in people.  In my young mind, some people were darker than others some were taller and some fatter.  Men didn’t have chests that stuck out like women did and women didn’t have to shave.  I had never known of anyone being angry at or hating someone because they were different.  That was soon to change. Heading to town that summer day with the hot dust kicking up between my toes, my toughened, shoeless feet barely feeling the heat from the ground, I had only one thought in mind and that was to find some friends and have some fun.  Summer didn’t last long enough and I knew I had to cram as much enjoyment in my time of liberation. As I walked into the downtown area, I noticed several young men standing in front of the local movie house.  The marquee showed that a Roy Rogers and a Durango Kid movie would be on that day.  I knew this would also include several cartoons and one or two Leon Errol comedies.  My cost for attending a movie was nine cents.  Occasionally I’d get lucky and I would get a quarter from dad and have a great time.  The quarter would get me into the movie buy a bag of popcorn, a candy bar and a coke.  This left me with a penny I would spend on a black licorice stick on the way home. The young men were horsing around with seemingly not much to do.  I knew the movie wouldn’t start for at least another hour.  I wondered who they were and where they were from.  I’d never seen any of them before.  As I walked by I could see they were muscular and dressed in worn, stained clothes.  I walked by the men and into Mr. Horowitz’s store to say hello.  I liked the old man and he always joked with me asking if I was ready to go back to the homeland. “We no longer have a nation to call our own.”  He would say.  “One day we will reclaim our land, you watch, young Cajun Jew.”  I puzzled over these statements because, weren’t we already home?  Mr. Horowitz stood staring at the young men and he had a slight frown on his face.  I stood next to him for a short while.  He didn’t speak right away and this puzzled me because he was always full of good will with something to say when I came by.  Studying Mr. Horowitz’s face, I wondered at the strange expression I saw there.  It was a mixture of fear, apprehension and disgust.  Why he was focusing these emotions on the young rowdies didn’t make any sense to me.  The men were loud, but they weren’t bothering anyone. “Who are those guys?”  I asked. “Oil field workers.  Louisiana Drilling Corporation has just found a big pool of oil south of here.  I imagine this town will be filling up with all types of elements.  So, my young friend how is my Cajun Jew today?” “I’m fine.  If you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Horowitz, why were you looking at those guys with such a funny expression on your face?” “Always with the questions.  You ask why more than anyone I know.  That’s good though, that’s the only way to learn.  It was nothing I suppose.  The young men, for some reason reminded me of others back in Germany who used to gather on the streets and act much the same.  That didn’t turn out too good, especially for the Jews.”  Mr. Horowitz explained. “What happened?”  I asked, really curious. “The young men in Germany became the Brown Shirt group who eventually became Hitler’s gang of cutthroats.” I didn’t know much about this Hitler fellow, although I’d picked up bits and pieces listening to the older men hanging around the general store.  I knew Hitler had something to do with the war that had just ended a few years ago.  It seems I had heard more about a Jap guy named Tojo. “Was this Hitler a bad man?”  I asked. “He, my young friend, was the devil.  Because of him I am here in the United States alone.  My wife and children are no longer alive because of that monster.”  Seeing the look on Mr. Horowitz’s face, I stepped back.  His expression held more anger than I in my short life had ever seen.  Composing himself, Mr. Horowitz smiled at me. “Enough talk about trash.  What are you about on this nice beautiful sunny day?” “Not much, gonna find some buddies to hang around with.  Just fool around.” “Good, you enjoy yourself.  Youth is fleeting and trouble comes much too soon.  Well, I’ve got some new stock that just arrived.  I guess I’d better get busy.”  I left Mr. Horowitz to his work and headed toward Coon Town.  As I expected to, I found Jimmy Joe Joe sitting in front of the old store on Peach Avenue.  Some apple crates were scattered around in front of the old building and people in the neighborhood used the store as a gathering place to socialize and get caught up on the latest news. “Hey Levi, hows you be today?”  Jimmy Joe Joe called out and waved to me, as I walked toward where he sat.  His black face split in a huge grin revealing a large set of white teeth.  I could tell he was happy to see me, as I was to see him.   I walked over and sat on an empty crate.  We chatted idly for a while enjoying the last of the morning’s coolness.  In a short while the temperature began to rise.  The May sun beat down on us and Jimmy Joe Joe started showing rings of sweat under his armpits and on his back. “Why don’t we get some sodas and moon pies and go out to the woods?” I asked. “Das a wonderment idea, Levi.”  I gave him the small amount of coins I had in my pocket and Jimmy Joe Joe walked into the store and soon came back with the goodies.  We headed for the small copse of trees on the western side of Turtle we called ‘the woods’.  The entire area wasn’t more than an acre or two.  In the middle of the woods was a small pond good for skinny-dipping and there were several Muscatine trees that provided nice snacks.  Eating the grapes, I usually ended up with part of my face nearly as dark as Jimmy Joe Joe’s. The shortest route to the trees was straight through the middle of town.  Jimmy Joe Joe and I talked and laughed as we made our way to our favorite hang out. “Hey, boy what the hell you doing hanging around that nigger bastard?”  Hearing the voice I looked around to see who was doing the shouting.  Walking toward us were the young men I had seen in front of the movie house.  As I stood and watched, they came up to Jimmy Joe Joe and me.  All four of them had cocky smirks on their faces.  One of them got behind me and the others surrounded Jimmy Joe Joe. Looking into the sack Jimmy Joe Joe held the man asked.  “What you got, nigger?  Moon pies and orange soda?  Hell, boy don’t you know that shit will rot your teeth?”  The speaker laughed, throwing back his head and revealing he had apparently had quite a few sodas and moon pies.   His teeth were brown and rotten.  Jimmy Joe Joe started shivering.  I was surprised to see his reaction to the young men.  We had nothing to fear from these four.  As I watched in wonder I saw Jimmy Joe Joe begin to sweat and his eyes got bigger and bigger.  The one with the rotten teeth grabbed the bag out of Jimmy Joe Joe’s hands and began eating our moon pie. “Hey, what are you doing?  Those are our moon pies.  You can’t just take things from us!”  I exclaimed, shocked to see such behavior.  Things like this didn’t happen in Turtle. “Little nigger lover, I can do anything I want.  Who’s going to stop me?  Not you, you little shitty ass nigger lover.  This dumb nigger ain’t gonna do nothing either, are you, boy?” “No, suh.”  Said Jimmy Joe Joe.  “Ya’ll sho can have all these moon pies and sodas.  Wez don’t wants dems anyways, does we, Levi?” “I want them.  Give me back my moon pies.  You better watch out, I’ll get my dad on you.”  I threatened. “Your dad? Shit, anyone who would raise a kid to hang around with niggers is an asshole anyway.  I ain’t afraid of your dad.”   Taking out the pies he began passing pieces around to his friends.  Using an opener he had in his pocket he popped open the orange sodas and guzzled half of one.  His friends hollered at him trying to get their share.  The four began wrestling over the pies and sodas.  Orange liquid squirted all over the four hoodlums.  I stared at this scene in shock.  I couldn’t believe anyone could be that cruel and uncaring.  These guys had taken away our treats and instead of eating them they were splashing the sodas and smearing the pies all over each other. Looking over at Jimmy Joe Joe, I couldn’t believe he was simply standing there.  He was twice as big as any of these thieves were.  His arms were like tree branches.  I had seen him pick up large heavy objects, others couldn’t move, seemingly effortlessly. “What you gonna do, nigger?” “Nothing suh.”  Jimmy Joe Joe said. “I know you’re not gonna do anything, you’re just a lazy, stinking no account nigger.  You should be working, hoeing, or plowing instead of walking around town carrying moon pies and sodas just like you was a real human being.” “I’m sorry suh.”  Jimmy Joe Joe said.  He was standing there shaking in fear.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  I had thought Jimmy Joe, Joe was my friend.  Now I saw he didn’t care about me at all.  He had let these fools take away our stuff and now he stood shivering while some skinny asshole called him names. “Less go, Levi.’  Jimmy Joe Joe said.  I agreed, if he was just going to stand there and let this happen we may as well go on.  As we began to go back the way we had come one of them pushed me back and two of them grabbed Jimmy Joe Joe.  One of them hit Jimmy Joe Joe so hard I saw blood start to trickle down the side of his face. “You ain’t going nowhere till I say you can.”  Their spokesman said. Forgetting how small I was, I let my anger erupt.  I jumped on the back of the one who had taken our treats and began pulling his hair.  The hoodlum whirled around trying to dislodge me.  I felt more anger than I believed was possible.  I was mad because these guys had taken our food and I was deeply hurt because my best friend in the world had let them rob us.  I was shocked that they had hurt Jimmy Joe Joe and now I was going to hurt them.  I yanked out handfuls of greasy hair and screamed at the top of my voice.  The man whose back I was riding, while I pulled at his dirty stinking hair, began spinning around and reaching back for me.  His three friends stood watching and laughing at him as we whirled around.  In one angry effort he grabbed me by my shirt and flipped me violently off of his back and onto the asphalt road.  As I was thrown I managed to get a handful of his tee shirt causing it to rip completely off of him.  As I flew through the air I saw he had a giant eagle tattooed on his back.  I hit the street with a loud thud, flat on my back.  The landing knocked the wind out of me and I lay gasping for breath and crying.  The back of my head was throbbing and I felt as though I had a bale of cotton on my chest.  I tried to stand but could only get to my knees, so I crawled off of the road on all fours.  Back on the grassy area I reached around and touched my head and pain shot through me and I felt nauseous.  Looking at my hand I saw blood.  As I swayed on my knees I heard laughter from the four idiots.  They were shoving each other around and laughing and teasing the shirtless one, who had given me a ride. Standing I staggered back to the four fools and balling my fist I tried to slug one of them.  Casually, as one might swat a fly, he slapped me so hard I was sent spinning.  Once again I hit the ground in pain.  Now, blood poured from my nose, as well as the back of my head.  As I lay on the ground attempting to rise, I heard a sound that reminded me of a lion’s roar, like the ones I had heard in Tarzan’s movies. The surprise of hearing that sound cleared my head and shot adrenaline through me giving me the strength to sit up.  My friend, who I had quickly lost faith in, had two of the men in his hands and was bashing their heads together.  The loud twonk sound of their heads hitting together made the same noise as when we threw watermelons to the ground to cause them to break open so we could reach in and get some of the sweet red meat.  The two young men were like rag dolls in Jimmy Joe Joe’s hands.  As he continued to batter them, the other two jumped on Jimmy Joe Joe and tried to rescue their partners in crime from the wild, out of control man.  Jimmy Joe Joe threw the two he was holding to the ground and turned on his other tormentors.  One man he simply picked up and threw at least ten feet.  The other took to his heels. Realizing he had no more trash to dispose of, Jimmy Joe Joe ran to me to see if I was okay.   Kneeling by me he gently sat me up and with his huge gentle hand began wiping the blood from my face.  As I looked at my friend I saw tears cutting through the blood and dust on his large ugly- beautiful face. “Is you okay, Levi?  Does you need to go see the doctu?”  My head was still ringing and I found I was unable to respond.  A loud snapping sound was added to the ringing in my head.  Hearing that, I thought fleetingly I must have something badly broken in my skull, ringing and snapping sounds and of course more pain filled my wounded skull.  As I tried to answer Jimmy Joe Joe I saw his face change from a look of concern to surprise.  He looked straight at me and his already large eyes opened even wider.  On his face was a look of bewilderment.  The look was quickly replaced with a grimace of pain.  Turning he looked to where the three remaining roughnecks had been lying.  My eyes followed his and I saw a puff of smoke come out of one of the shirtless man’s hands.  I wondered how in the world he could be doing that, making smoke come out of his hand.   As the men turned and ran I saw the eagle tattoo again, on the back of the man who emitted smoke from his hand. I heard a grunt from my friend and turning I saw blood pouring from his huge chest.  Galvanized by the sight of my friend bleeding, I jumped to my feet.  Forgotten were my aches and pains, concern for Jimmy Joe Joe overrode my bruised back and bleeding, ringing head.  Forgotten was my bloody nose.  As I moved to Jimmy Joe Joe he swayed then fell, reminding me of a large tree my dad had once chopped down for firewood.  Jimmy Joe Joe fell forward slowly, like the slow motion I saw in the movies.  I didn’t know that was what the action was called, but now as I recall that day, that’s how the large body of my friend moved, then he hit the ground with a loud thump.   Looking down at him I saw blood pouring out of his back.  I screamed for help and kneeling I tried to roll Jimmy Joe Joe over.  Blood covered the front of his shirt and I watched it pour into the hot dusty ground and disappear, I knew even in my young mind, along with my friend’s blood, my innocence was also being soaked up by the hot Louisiana soil, forever. Someone, I don’t know who, pulled my arms away from my friend’s body.  I fought whoever it was but I was weak from my wounds, and I never was a very strong child. The four murderers vanished from Turtle and they were never found.  Jimmy Joe, Joe was buried in the small cemetery close to where he had lived.  As for me, I became something different. Chapter One In 1955, I left Turtle.  Since 1947, leaving that small miserable town had been the driving force of my life.  High School graduation day was May 25th and within two days I was on a bus to New Orleans, Louisiana.  En Ville, as everyone in south Louisiana called the big city, was okay.  The young men in my group of recruits had some time to ourselves so we did a little exploring.  We were housed in a hotel on St Charles Street just a few blocks from the Quarters.  It seemed that behind every doorway, there was a club or a bar.  Strange people walked up and down each of them holding glasses I assumed were filled with booze.  Many of the walkers were holding hands, now and then I saw two women walking that way.  I’d seen teenage girls do that in Turtle so that didn’t seem strange, but now and then two grown men would walk by hand in hand and sometimes with their arms wrapped around their partner’s waist.  Now that was strange.  A few of us walked up and down the streets of the French Quarter peeking inside some of the open doors.   We heard music and glancing into the clubs we saw musicians on small stages, playing jazzy tunes.   In a lot of the clubs we caught glimpses of nearly nude female dancers.  They shook their bodies to the music peeling off items of clothing while following the beat.  That was strange and interesting.  Near the Mississippi River we found an outdoor café that sold strong coffee and some sort of pastry that had sugar sprinkles on top.  We kept getting choked since we were trying to talk and eat at the same time.  The fine sugar kept flying into our open mouths and down our throats, but they certainly tasted good.  New Orleans, the little I saw seemed like a fun place so I decided I would return one day.  I recall walking down to breakfast one morning and a TV was on in the restaurant.  Someone named Vukovich had just been killed in a car accident in, I believe, the Indy 500.  A couple of the guys I was with got somewhat upset.  I remember thinking no one forced the guy to race, that was his choice.  He died doing what he loved to do, so, good for him.  Life and death were things I never thought about.  Neither held any fascination for me.  What people did, thought or felt were supremely unimportant to me. June 1, I began basic training at Lackland Air Force Base a large sprawling place with neat roads that wrapped around barracks buildings, command offices, training facilities and a small hospital.   We arrived and debarked off of the small plane that had flown us from New Orleans to San Antonio, at three A.M.  After leaving the propeller driven airplane we shuffled around wondering what was next.  A large red-faced man wearing what I later learned was fatigues, with two blue chevrons on each upper arm began calling names.  I heard mine and along with the others walked toward him.  “Fall in.”  He screamed.  Fall in what, I wondered?  Shouting instructions at the top of his considerable voice he organized us loosely into rows.  In a loud irritating voice he again called out our names.  The first fellow whose name was called answered, “here.”  “Ladies, you aren’t in school you’re in the United States Air Force and you will answer ‘YO’ when called.”  My first day on Lackland was long and tiresome, the screaming Training Instructors, the insulting airmen who threw our clothing at us and the kitchen helpers who slopped the uneatable food on our trays, almost made me wish I was back in Turtle.  The first day we got all of our clothes, whether they fit or didn’t fit, didn’t matter.  Injections were given from four needles held in two hands, by technicians vying for the Marquis de Sade award of the year.  They punctured our defenseless arms as we were driven past them, as though we were cattle being readied for slaughter.  Each of us was given thirty-one dollars and following that wonderful windfall we were marched to a store where we spent every cent on shaving cream, razors, blades, shampoo and soap and any other item we would need to keep ourselves clean and close-shaven.  That first day seemed to last forever.  As we slouched in one of the many lines we stood in that day, someone asked for the time than commented, “we had breakfast, are we gonna get some lunch?  It must be nearly time to eat.”  One of the guys looked at his watch and said it was 9:30 A.M.  That was impossible, I thought.  The day seemed as though it would never end. Sixty-four of us were housed in a large barracks building.  The front entrance had a small hall that ran by two enclosed spaces toward the main area where we bunked.  Our head TI and his assistant lived in those two separate areas.  The rest of us were split into two even groups half upstairs and the rest down.  Bunks lined both sides of the barracks and we were appointed beds alphabetically working from the top floor down.  I ended up on the ground floor.   At the end of the bunks nearest the passageway that allowed us to walk through the barracks building sat footlockers.  We were shown how to make our beds and how to store our clothes in the lockers.   At the PX, we had bought inkpads and stamps with letters and numbers.  We had to stamp everything we owned with our last name and sometimes our serial numbers. Our flight consisted of 60 airmen from Louisiana and four Texans.  Some of the guys were constantly bitching and moaning.  It seemed most of them had believed joining up was a way to get away from their parent’s authority.  Now they found themselves in the clutches of two demented instructors who were determined to make their lives as miserable as possible.  I didn’t care.  My body was tired and I was uncomfortable but no one could reach inside my heart and my essence because an impregnable barrier surrounded them, protecting me from internal pain of any kind.  Of course, I didn’t realize at the time just as pain couldn’t enter neither could love. I mused on the fact I had a serial number much like a car or an appliance.  We were told to memorize certain facts and to be able to spout them out if asked, such as our name, rank and serial number, who was General of the Air Force, the president, and joint chiefs of staff, our Training Instructor’s name and rank and so on.  At the end of the barracks closest to the TI living area was an area called a latrine.  It wasn’t a restroom it was a latrine although inside I saw commodes, six of them, urinals, four of them, and a large room with eight showerheads.   I desperately wanted to ask why it was called by that strange name, but for once in my life I knew better than to ask, why.  The latrine had six commodes and eight showers all open with no privacy partitions.  I knew I would be taking my craps in the early morning hours, as I couldn’t picture myself grunting next to five other guys looking at me while I was smelling their waste.  A razor and shoe shining kit along with articles of clothing such as a tie, belt, shorts and socks were all left in the top of our lockers neatly arranged in a precise order.  The razor and kit were never used and we had been told to buy two of each.  The rest of our clothing hung in a duffel bag behind our beds.  We were driven out of our bunks at 4:30 each morning.  We scrambled to get dressed quickly, make our beds and police around our bunks.  We had fifteen minutes to do this.  Outside on the blacktop street we fell into formation and we were marched to the mess hall where we ate something that supposedly was food, then were marched and run till we thought we would drop.   Some trainees passed out.  I didn’t, coldly I decided, no one was going to get the best of me.  They would have to kill me first. The third day of training we were marched to a large building.  Inside we sat at desks and were given multiple written tests.  We had problems writing because the paper kept getting wet from the sweat dripping off our faces and hands.  No one who hasn’t gone through the joys of basic training can imagine the pitiful state all of us babies were in.  Torn from the loving bosoms of our families, we were suddenly thrust into the arms of maniacs who for reasons unknown to us hated us all, why they did, we could not understand.  The fourth or maybe the fifth day, I no longer remember which, someone called my name as I sat spit shining my boots. “Leviticus Landry, front and center.”  I heard the order.  Several of my fellow sufferers looked at me as I stood.  A few of them knew my name was Levi, but till that moment none had known my full name, I had hoped none of them ever would.  I wasn’t certain where front and center was.  So I walked toward the tall muscular TI from Arkansas who had kindly and tenderly helped me awaken from a deep sleep on our second day here, by flipping my mattress and causing me to land full body, on the hard wooden floor of the barracks from my upper bunk. TI Doss handed me a piece of paper and told me to report to the same building where we had taken our tests.  In the building I was sent to a room that held a desk and table with a few chairs, behind the desk was a young blonde man wearing dress khakis.  On his shoulders I immediately noticed he had a silver bar.  I snapped to attention as well as I could.  We had been practicing saluting, attention, at ease, etc., so I had some idea of how to salute.  Standing in front of the desk, I stayed at attention with my right hand somewhere over my right eye in what I believed was the proper way to salute a superior. The lieutenant returned my salute in a sloppy half-hearted manner and told me to be “at ease”.  I snapped into the at ease position, nearly falling in my haste to obey.  This was my first encounter with a dreaded officer.  We had quickly learned that officers were our gods on earth and enlisted men were their helpers.  Basic trainees were as far down in the barrel as a human could possibly be, as we had already learned that a ton of whale shit at the bottom of the ocean was a step above a trainee. “Airman Leviticus Landry, is that correct?” “Yes sir.”  I stammered.  Damn, I had already messed up.  I hadn’t reported in properly.  Jesus, I hated this, but not as much as I hated Turtle.  The Lieutenant didn’t seem particularly perturbed by my oversight.  Rising, he walked around the desk pointed to a table with a chair next to it, in a corner, and told me to sit.  On the table were pencils and a stack of papers. “I’ve been going over your test scores and I would like for you to take a few more, if you don’t mind.”  Mind?  Did I have a choice?  He was one of the anointed and I was just a lowly trainee.  In a fog, I sat at the table with crazy thoughts running through my mind.  How had I messed up?  What had I done wrong?  Why was I being told to retest?  I hadn’t cheated, hell you couldn’t cheat because most of the questions hadn’t made any sense to me. I sat and began filling spaces and at the end of each of the sheets there were large blank areas where I had to write a short essay telling how I felt concerning different things.  Silly stuff like was it okay with me that the sky was blue, or would I prefer a different color?  Dumb. From that room I was taken to a large cool area.  For the first time in nearly a week, I wasn’t sweating.  As I stood enjoying the luxury of not soaking my fatigues with perspiration, a fat sergeant walked by and waved me over to a bank of machines that were set up against a wall. “Listen up, I’m gonna say this just once.  You will manipulate these levers and knobs in response to the flashing lights in the order they flash.  Your reactions will be recorded electronically.  After finishing these tests you will go and sit at that table in the corner.  Next to the table you will see a coke machine, you are not, I repeat not to buy a coke from this machine.  Is that clear?” “Yes, sir.” I replied. “Don’t call me sir, I’m not a fucking officer.  I’m just a lowly tech sergeant with fifteen years of time in grade.  I got my ass shot in World War II and got several medals and despite my glorious combat experience I end up giving pissants like you, these fucking, flashing light tests.  I guess you’re gonna be one of the chosen.” “What do you mean?”  I asked. “Fucking fly boy.” “Fly boy?” “Yeah, most of the guys that take these tests end up next door training to be pilots.”  He explained.  Pilot?  I didn’t want to be a pilot.  The flight from New Orleans had, of course been my first experience with airplanes and I hadn’t enjoyed it at all.  I wasn’t afraid but I hated the feeling of having no control.  Perhaps, if I was the one in the cockpit it would be different, but I still didn’t want to be up there, as I much preferred keeping both feet on the ground. Chapter Two Three long miserable days later, that were filled with smart-ass comments concerning my name, I was once again told to report front and center.  I still didn’t know where that was so I again went up to TI Doss who again handed me a piece of paper and told me to report to medical.  I knew where that was since we had been marched to that building twice more to have our arms punctured by grinning sadistic men in white.  Inside I was told to strip down and given a sort of robe that had strips you could use to tie it closed.  I stood in the middle of the room and waited.  A doctor wearing a stethoscope around his neck walked in briskly and told me to sit on a table in the middle of the room.  The table was covered with butcher paper.  Feeling I must be the next animal to be slaughtered I hoisted myself up on the table clutching the robe closed.  The doctor quickly walked behind me.  I wondered what he was going to do.  I had, had an examination of sorts in New Orleans, which had been very embarrassing.  We had bent over and had a doctor look up our butts this was followed by a cold hand cradling our balls and the order to cough.  The examiners seemed to have more of an interest in the condition of our feet than in the rest of our bodies. “Please stand and put the robe on again, this time put the opening in the back.  I’ll return shortly.”   The doctor left.  I reversed the robe and vainly tried to tie it in back.  After sweating night and day for a week I was suddenly freezing in a too cold room, naked except for a flimsy cotton robe that didn’t cover my butt.  The doctor came back into the room and told me once again to get on the table.  He prodded and poked me all over and did some exploring inside various crevices of my body.  The worse was when he put on a rubber glove, smeared a finger with something that resembled Vaseline, and told me to bend over the table and without a, by your leave, rammed his finger up my ass. I followed him down a hall while I was still wearing my flimsy excuse for a robe that exposed my ass which was not exactly hurting, but feeling funny and somewhat full like I needed to take a crap, but not really.  He took me into a room full of ominous looking machines.  Another man inside the room was wearing a shirt and pants made from the same material as the robe I was wearing.  Hanging from his neck was a heavy looking apron that seemed to be made of metal.  I was told to lie on a table, and later to stand in front of a screen and each time he would say, “stay very still” after which he would duck behind a wall while he turned on his machinery.  On a wall I saw writing that indicated this was an x-ray machine.  I surmised it was putting out dangerous emanations since he ran and hid each time, although I was left to fend for myself as best I could.   They had me piss in a cup, then a vampire with a needle took about a gallon of blood from me.   The manipulations, poking and prodding, went on all day long.  Finally I was told to get dressed and report back to my flight.  On the way back I saw my group standing in line at the chow hall.  I quickly got in my usual place since I was very hungry, not having eaten since five that morning.  I was attempting to choke down the mystery meat and vegetables on my tray when TI Doss walked up behind me.  I could feel him back there but he never said a word.  Finally out of the corner of my right eye I saw him walk away.  The trainee sitting next to me, a skinny kid named Lejune, asked me out of the side of his mouth, where the hell I’d been all day.  I didn’t bother to answer. Two days later we were taken to a shooting range.  We were shown how to load and shoot some old rifles.  The instructor explained how we could adjust the sights, talked a lot about something called windage.  There was not a trace of a breeze out on that sweltering flat area so I wasn’t concerned with the wind.  After placing targets on boards that were set up close to a manmade hill, we walked back and kneeling, standing, then lying flat on our bellies, we shot at the targets which I estimated were about fifty yards away from where we were shooting.  After each series of shots we walked back, got the old target and replaced it with a new one.  I was surprised to see that all of my shots had hit within the smallest circle in the middle.  I found this interesting and so did the Lieutenant that had given me the written tests.  As I turned my targets in to TI Doss, the blonde officer took them, studied them, rolled them up and tucked them under his arm. Chapter Three The next day I was once again called by TI Doss and told to go back to the testing building.  The officer who had given me the tests and taken my targets was there with another officer.  This one had two solid gold bars on his shoulders and I recognized he was a Captain.  This time I saluted and reported in. “Airman Levi Landry reporting, sir.”  I said. “At ease, Airman.”  Said the Captain. “Have a seat.”  I sat stiffly on the edge of a chair in front of the desk.  The Captain sat behind the desk and the Lieutenant left the room. “I see from your records you haven’t had any schooling past high school.  I see you also speak two languages fluently, French and English.  You grew up in a small town in Louisiana.  Correct?”   He looked up at me with blazing brown eyes.  His stare seemed to dare me to contradict him or maybe I was supposed to prove all this was true.  For some strange reason I felt guilty as though he had just read a list of some horrible crimes I was being accused of committing.  His eyes had that effect on me. “Yes, sir, that’s correct.”  I managed to answer without fainting.  I wasn’t afraid of him but he disconcerted me in a strange way.  I felt uneasy looking at him looking at me.  The hair on the back of my neck began to move and my body tensed.  Automatically the part of me that controls fight or flight kicked in.  I had no intention of running away but I was ready to do whatever it took to protect myself.  Where was this reaction coming from?  What was causing it?  The captain looked harmless, he was not a big man or strong looking and he had certainly not said anything to cause this reaction.  But something in his eyes told me this was no ordinary man.  When I looked into those black eyes I thought I saw death, lots of pain and suffering, that were not his. “I’ve been looking at your record, especially your test scores.  You seem to be a unique person with abilities we are very interested in.  Your shooting range scores were the highest ever recorded here at Lackland.  Did you do much hunting back in Louisiana?”  He asked. “No sir, I’ve never had any type of gun or rifle in my hands before.”  Those eyes bored into me and seemingly peeled back layers of my brain. “No?  That’s interesting.”  He kept flipping through my records studying each sheet as though he was reading the greatest novel ever written.  Just as I would begin to relax his head would jerk up and he would pin me to the wall with those strange terrible eyes.  Finally he stood and I got up so quickly I knocked my chair over.  My reaction was automatic.  A need to protect myself quivered in my every nerve.  My body and mind were obeying commands from deep within my brain stem.   Stammering I tried to apologize.  Raising his hand he indicated I was to be quiet then he did a very strange thing.  He walked to the table in the corner picked up a pencil then rushed toward me with the pencil aimed at my right eye.  Without thinking I moved my head to the side, pivoted, grabbed the pencil out of his hand and had him in a grip with the pencil nearly into his eye when I came to my senses.  He had a hand over his eyes as though he knew what I was going to do before I did.   Horrified at what I had almost done I realized I was dead meat.  Visions of standing next to a wall and being shot at dawn went through my brain.  I was in deep doo-doo up to my neck with not even a scrap of toilet paper, much less a roll.  Instead of calling for the Air Police to come and get me and throw me into prison where I would await my early morning execution, the Captain looked at me with those horrible eyes and smiled. “You’ll do.”  He said, and walked out of the room leaving me standing alone and deeply puzzled.  I was young and very naïve, having lived all of my life in a small town deep in the heart of a somewhat backward state.  But, I was aware that you didn’t threaten an officer with a sharp pencil pointing at his eye.  I had seen some violence in my life the worse was on the day my friend had died.  I had had very limited occasion or reason to hurt another person, mainly because I stayed away from others as much as possible.  My social life back in Turtle had been almost nonexistent except for one girl.  I’d never had any desire to associate with any of the kids I went to school with.  I had two very close friends, a kind man who seemed to always understand what I was feeling, and one that had died.  I had never fought with anyone and till that day hadn’t known my capabilities, hadn’t known how quickly I would choose to hurt or kill another human.  The Captain knew and he had chosen me to be one of his. The Lieutenant walked back in. “Don’t bother with your personal belongings.  I know all you have here is what you were issued by the military.  Every thing you need, such as your personal equipment, toothbrush, razor, etc. will be replaced.  Outside waiting for you are two Air Policemen, they will escort you to the flight line.   You’ll be put on an Air Force plane and flown to your next assignment.  Good luck, Mr. Landry.”  I didn’t go back to the barracks.  I never saw TI Doss again or any of the members of my flight.   Wearing my fatigues I boarded a plane and flew for a long time.  I wasn’t given a chance to get anything from the barracks.  There was nothing I wanted or needed back there.  I hadn’t become friends with any of that group and all my personal belongings had been bundled and mailed to Turtle, to Mom and Dad.  The military clothing I’d been issued had fit terribly, too loose, but that was all I owned.   We made two stops along the way but I wasn’t allowed to leave the airplane.   Finally that night I was taken off the plane and put into a white van.  I was driven to a large building, getting out of the van I saw two military police waiting for me.  They escorted me into the building and directed me to sit and wait in a small room.  I wondered what was going on.  I guessed that nearly stabbing a Captain in the eye was a pretty serious offense.  I also wondered why they hadn’t just taken care of me back in Lackland?  Why did they need to fly me, somewhere, I didn’t know where, but it must have been a good distance from Texas, just to execute me?  They let me know why eventually and I began learning how to do the job I had been chosen for, killing enemies of the USA.