Page 4 - _March 23, 2017 w_ 1_2_ boarder.pdf__
P. 4
Story Time
Con Man by Terry Denevan filled with the remains of several
cigarettes.
It was 0930 hours at Moffett encountered friends, made small “How’s the day going? Where
Field Naval Air Station. The talk, and enjoyed his coffee. The are you from?”
control tower informed waiting chief looked forward to retirement “Great! I’m from Nebraska.”
aircrews that the morning fog and started each day by adding Everyone except me appeared to
would burn off by 1030. There one more X to the wall calendar be quietly concentrating on their
weren’t many flights scheduled located to the left of his work work. With curiosity, I stared at
for that December 24, 1959. The space. the chief and the sailor.
normally busy streets of the My desk was located at the far “Nebraska?” said the chief. He
base were nearly empty. The rear, right side, of our office. As I added, “I once knew a fellow from
few military personnel on duty pounded away at my typewriter, Nebraska. Anywhere near Lincoln
were treated to Christmas music one by one, the other eleven or Omaha?”
played over the base’s outdoor Underwood typewriters stopped The sailor’s face lit up with
PA system. The stillness of the their clatter. After passing the pride. “Chalco, Nebraska.”
huge military facility and the carriage to the left, I also stopped The chief’s reply was warm, like
lingering damp fog had a beauty what I was doing. Everyone he was addressing his own son.
all their own. Those still on base looked busy, but throughout the “Chalco, the heartland of America,
must have felt as I did—a sense of room there was absolute silence. not far from Interstate 80. I’ll be
security and holiday anticipation. Mischief was afoot, and it quickly darned. By now, my friend would
I kept busy with clerical duties got my attention. be in his late forties or early fifties.
and worked alongside 11 other Moments earlier, a navy airman He lived in Chalco.”
sailors in one of the base’s three had been walking along the Throughout the office not a key
massive hangars. In our office adjacent passageway. It was easy stroke was heard.
was a chief petty officer by the to identify the young man because “What was his name?” asked the
name of Rizzo. Rounding out a his name was stenciled in one-inch sailor.
30-year navy career, the chief had letters on the back of his work I watched the chief put down his
been assigned light duty. Rizzo’s shirt and also just above the left paperwork. He briefly noticed with
mornings started at 0800, but pocket. a glance that his coffee mug was
unlike the rest of us he called it a Rizzo greeted the sailor, “Good empty. Without missing a beat, he
day by mid-afternoon and headed morning.” lit up a cigarette.
off base for his second job, where Caught off guard, but with “He was the nicest fellow I ever
afternoons and weekends he a smile, the airman apprentice met. We went to school together.
worked at a used car lot in San respectfully answered, “Good His first name is just on the tip of
Jose. morning, chief.” my tongue, but I’ll never forget his
My fellow office workers, From the back of the office I saw last name. It was Long.”
yeomen, sat at individual steel that Chief Rizzo held papers in his To me, the sailor’s boyish blank
desks situated along the three left hand and a coffee mug in his face looked like one big question
walls of our office space and right. I remember the mug as being mark. He cried out. “Ed Long?”
behind Chief Rizzo. Rizzo’s almost part of his right arm. While
desk faced an eight-foot wide it may have been early in the day, Story continued
passageway where daily he the chief’s ashtray was already on page 11
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