From the Desk of Pat Greene
Detroit : Returning to the Scene by Pat Greene
Dear Boys and Jan ,
I really miss all of you . I ’ m glad to be able to be serving our country in a time of need . I ’ m in a supply unit that is a support unit to some of the posts in Vietnam . It ’ s a different world here . The Thai people here are very different . They are calm . It is very live and let live . I ’ ve come to appreciate the Buddhist culture . The vegetation is tropical . We are stationed near a village . Some of the villagers do some work on our base . They are very friendly . A lot of the guys that are stationed here , never want to leave . I understand that . It ’ s a beautiful , peaceful place . It ’ s hard to believe that we ’ re not that far from a war zone , but we are very safe here . It ’ s safer than Detroit or most of the United States .
The Army attracts all types . One guy had to go to the brig for selling Army trucks to a Thai guy . It was a pretty dumb crime . He had to explain where his truck was after he had done quite a bit of celebrating during a furlough in Bangkok .
I ’ m just doing my job , and hope to see you guys in a few months . I hear you two are doing great , and playing baseball . The Tigers look like they ’ ve got a shot at the pennant .
See you soon . Be good to your mother .
Love , Dad
My father had sent us some letters from Thailand while we were living in Detroit . As he mentioned , he was stationed in Thailand in an Army support unit . A couple of years later , we were living in Cleveland . My father was making good money . We weren ’ t sure what he was doing , but we knew it paid well . He was traveling a lot . I was 11 . My brother was 9 . We had heard my parents arguing , and had received calls from strange women asking for my father . My brother and I had surmised he was having an affair .
One evening my mother was crying while talking on the phone . We knew she was talking to my father . She kept saying she wouldn ’ t wire him money . We could hear him yelling at her through the receiver . She hung up . He kept calling back . At least , we assumed it was him . At that time , there was no caller ID or even an answering machine .
My mother was still crying . She told us not to answer the phone . Then , she told us that he was having an affair , and that he ’ d had other affairs .
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I remember my brother and I saying we knew , and she didn ’ t seem surprised . She said he was in New York with a woman ; he wanted to take her to dinner and to see “ Oh ! Calcutta !” She explained that “ Oh ! Calcutta !” was a play on Broadway and all the actors were nude . She seemed disgusted by this .
A couple of days later , the three of us fl ew to Ft . Lauderdale . Edee , my father ’ s mother , bought us tickets and invited us to stay with her . We didn ’ t tell my father . Later , when my father angrily told his mother she betrayed him , she said , “ My grandsons come fi rst , and it appears that your wife is trying a lot harder than you are .”
We had been living in Cleveland for less than a year , after Detroit didn ’ t work out . It wasn ’ t really clear to us why Detroit didn ’ t work out . My mother explained to us that my father was not in the Army , he was in prison . He had written those letters from jail . He had never been to Thailand . She said he had probably read a National Geographic article for research . He had been arrested , shortly after we arrived in Detroit , for passing several bad checks in Florida . He had lost a great job in Detroit because of the arrest . My parents decided to tell us that he was drafted . He had served towards the end of the Korean War . That war actually ended while he was in basic training . Later , I found out that he was given an ultimatum by a judge saying “ jail or the military .” He chose the military .
By the way , the letter above is a fi ctionalized version of his letters . My brother and I think that my mother destroyed his “ Army ” letters .
“ Were you born in Detroit ? How long did you live here ?” “ No , I was born in Ft . Lauderdale . I lived in Detroit for two years , from ages 9 to 11 .” That was a familiar exchange when I visited the city for a few days earlier this month . A few times people laughed and said “ you aren ’ t from Detroit .” I don ’ t think I ever claimed that , and I ’ m not completely sure what that means . I may not be a Detroiter , but Detroit was signifi - cant . I hadn ’ t been there since I was 11 .
During the ride to Detroit from Winter Park , Florida , my brother and I saw snow for the fi rst time . Looking back , it must have been a rare big snowfall . We started seeing a fair bit about midway through Georgia . I remember Chattanooga looking like what I imagined Switzerland looking like . We stopped at a Kentucky gas station . My brother and I excitedly ran out of the car and immediately fell on our asses , not having any experience with icy surfaces . My father laughed . We had been talking about snowball fi ghts in the car . My brother and I were already veterans of orange fi ghts — orange trees were everywhere in 1960s Florida . Right after getting up from the ice , I started to make a snowball . I was slipping , trying to keep my footing . I know this may sound really naïve , but I remember being surprised at how cold the snow felt in my gloveless hands . Snow was something from a movie in my mind . I made a half-assed snowball and immediately fell down again . The snowball was not very compressed and fell apart upon release .
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