Category: Well I thought it was neat!
Grandparents weren’t born old and wise. In their prime,
they were likely markedly cooler than we are.
“Hi, this seat taken?” the man asked.
He was unnaturally handsome. His piercing blue eyes nearly took her breath away.
“Saving it for you,” the young lady responded coyly.
She absentmindedly straightened her airline-issue blue polyester skirt. The woman was objectively gorgeous in her own right.
“I’ll have what the lady’s having,” the man gestured to the bartender. “And get her another while you’re at it, brother. Thanks.”
In moments the barkeep returned with two glasses of ice water.
“The name’s Ricky,” the big man said, extending his hand. “You a pilot?”
She smiled. “I’m Nancy Frierson and don’t be silly. I’ve been a stewardess with Pan Am since ’47.” She studied him with an experienced eye. He was fit and hard, and he had the look.
“Europe or the Pacific?” she asked.
The man diverted his gaze to his glass, though the electric smile never left his face. “Europe,” he said.
“Yeah, me, too,” Nancy responded. “I was a nurse in France for 7 months. Afterward, I lost my enthusiasm for nursing, but I enjoyed the travel, so here we are. What did you do?”
“OSS. Know anything about that?” he asked flatly.
“Not really,” she answered. He obviously didn’t much want to talk about it. “How about now? What brings you to the airport in DC?”
“I still work for the government, though I’m based out of Chicago nowadays. I have a meeting this evening then I’m likely heading back tomorrow. You?” he asked.
“I’m deadheading to London in the morning. Pan Am puts us crew up in the Omni Shoreham when we’re stuck here overnight. I’m based out of Atlanta. We cycle through Paris, Stockholm, and Oslo before rotating back to London and heading home to the States. Repeat as necessary every other week. It’s a good job. I get to meet some interesting people.”
There was that smile again. She loved the way it made her feel.
Ricky and Nancy chatted for another half an hour, burning through the standard fodder about family, hobbies, and favorite places to eat on the continent. It was clear that he was as well-traveled as she was. Ricky suddenly glanced at his watch and frowned.
“I am truly sorry,” he said with sincere regret. “But I’m going to miss my meeting if I’m not careful. It has been a genuine pleasure meeting you, Nancy Frierson from Atlanta.” He dismounted the bar stool and hefted his canvas bag. The man took the woman’s hand and then leaned forward to kiss her softly on the forehead. She squeezed his hand back. As he walked away, she wondered what sort of man had a meeting at 7:30 on a Sunday night in Washington, D.C.
The unexpected knock startled her. Nancy set her mystery book aside and made her way to the door to her hotel room, checking that the chain was fastened and that her sweatshirt was presentable. She cracked the door and was shocked to see Ricky standing alone in the hallway.
“May I come in?” he asked.
Her first inclination was to say he most certainly could not, but there was something about his face. Though she struggled to place it, she had seen that look somewhere before. Against her better judgment, she closed the door, unfastened the chain, and opened it again. Ricky pressed inside without fanfare. She subconsciously checked the hallway. No one else was around.
The M-3A1 Grease Gun was designed with the espionage mission in mind.
As she turned around, the man dropped his heavy bag onto the bed and removed his long coat. She then noticed the sticky black wetness on his left upper arm. There was a small corresponding tear to the man’s pea coat that she had not seen previously. The bag was open this time, and the pistol grip of an M-3 Grease Gun protruded through the slash. The man retrieved a GI-issue battle dressing from the bag before sitting heavily on the room’s small sofa.
“I am truly sorry to barge in on you like this,” the man said, fatigue now heavy in his voice. “I really do work for the government, but what I do is best kept removed from the local police.”
He dropped his flannel shirt to expose a deep ugly gouge across his left deltoid. Nancy had seen enough gunshot wounds in France to recognize this one. Without really thinking, she soaked a towel in warm water and used it to clean the wound before dressing it properly. Ricky was pleased to see that she really did know what she was doing.
Rock and Nans were the best grandparents a guy could ever hope to have. They were married for 57 years. As far as we knew, Rock’s entire adult life was spent working for the railroad. We grandchildren loved going to work with him and climbing on the trains.
Everybody wonders how their grandparents first met. Rock didn’t admit the truth to me until three weeks before he died. That last operational mission had been to interdict a meet between a turncoat American nuclear scientist and a Russian agent in rural Virginia. Grandpa Rock said he personally set the Russian H-bomb back 5 years. However, after that evening in Nan’s room, he knew it was time to settle down. An assassin’s life was no way to raise a family.
This map shows all the Nike missile sites in the Bay Area.
NPS image
British fighter ace Robert Roland Stanford Tuck, shot down and captured on 28 Jan 1942, escaped from his prisoner of war camp, subsequently making his way through the Russian lines to the British Embassy in Moscow and then home.
On January 28th, 1942, while on a low-level mission over northern France, his Spitfire was hit by enemy flak near Boulogne and he was forced to crash land.
He was captured by German troops and spent the next three years in several POW (prisoner of war) camps until he made a successful escape on February 1st 1945. After spending some time fighting alongside the advancing Russian troops as an infantry officer he found his way to the British Embassy in Moscow. He eventually boarded a ship from Russia to Southampton, England
Robert Stanford Tuck died on May 5th 1987 at the age of 70
Above: The interior of the former mess hall at Camp Perry, OH. The facility, which had fed scores of hungry shooters and military personnel for several decades, was damaged beyond repair in 1998 by a devastating tornado.
Prior to the withdrawal of military personnel working the National Matches in 1968, the mess hall was run completely by the military. Competitors had a choice of excellently prepared foods at a very nominal price per meal. After 1968 it became the NRA’s responsibility to come up with a way to feed those attending the National Matches. The Ohio National Guard allowed the NRA to use only the ovens (not the stoves). The answer became pretty obvious—frozen food. Frozen meals were just getting started and in general were not very palatable. Also, to get the quantity of the same menu for each meal, etc., was daunting. However, an outfit in Toledo agreed to give it a try. There was not much of a choice at each sitting but most competitors understood the NRA’s problem and didn’t complain (too much).
Shooters waiting for a meal outside of the Camp Perry Mess Hall.
Another hurdle that had to be passed was the fact that the frozen food was trucked from Toledo to Perry in refrigerated trailers. The trailers could not be left there so the NRA had to again come up with a solution. The U.S. Marine Corps at Quantico, VA, came to the rescue by trucking up a half-dozen large field freezer units. These were lined up on the loading dock of a building next to the mess hall and wiring spliced into a nearby power cable. One of my collateral duties was to team up with the NRA Administrative Officer, Col. Russel B. Warye, USMC (Ret.), each day and inspect the mess hall in regard to cleanliness, safety, etc. One major job was to test the water heat for washing the cooking utensils as we wanted everything as sterile as possible. (The boilers were real cranky!) There was no problem with the eating utensils as they were all plastic throwaways.
Again, the selection was very limited and for those competitors who shot in a phase, it wasn’t that bad. For those who stayed all summer the repetitions came close to being unbearable. One breakfast item that was easy to make, freeze, pack and heat was French Toast so it was one of the mainstays. By the time the National Matches were over, I had a rough time just looking at a piece of French Toast, much less eating one. —John J. Grubar