Earl and Me

     We knew each other from a distance back in Basic.  We were on opposite sides of the street in different barracks buildings.  Havin' that strip of asphalt out there was like havin' an ocean between us.  Kinda odd ain't it how that street did a better job than the Pacific Ocean at keepin' people apart?  Strange world we live in where killing trumps potential friendship.
     Don't remember how it came about but at Fort Lewis we became bunk mates.  Not that we shared the same bunk.  Not that we needed to be told, but the Army officially frowned on such high-jinx.  As it was, Earl got the bottom bunk, I got the top.  Might have been his fear of heights coupled with my naturally magnanimous soul that brought that arrangement about.  Or his inability to give in when he wanted something,
     Oh yeah, almost forgot, Earl was black.  And if I haven't mentioned it yet, I'm white.  A German-Swede from Minnesota.  That's about as white as an American can get unless they're an albino Norwegian-Swede from North Dakota within ten miles of the Canadian border and not only can polka, but actually like the dance, 'specially when there's a concertina in the band (did I miss anything?).  As for size, we were about the same, height and weight.  He was a good lookin' man. Had I been black, I'd have been outstandin'.
     I'm not sure why we hit it off but bein' in the same boat at the bottom of the military peckin' order might have had something to do with it.  We dressed the same, ate the same foods, played poker together and were goin' to the same place (probably in the hereafter also since we shared some left-leanin' views).  Under the circumstances, race didn't seem to matter to us.  But there was still a line we didn't cross, one way or the other.  Call it mutual respect or maybe a wartime truce.
     'Bout the only time he was pissed at me was during our FTX, Field Training eXercise (seems the Army was pushin' the envelope when it came to purposely misspellin' words).  During it we spent five days in the field operatin' under similar conditions to Vietnam except no one got killed, or maimed, or had leeches crawlin' up their backsides.  The two of us were buddied up as usual.  That meant we each carried half of the canvas tent, with poles, and a sleepin' bag, neither of which we were gonna use.  Why we carried them didn't make a lot of sense.  Didn't use 'em at Fort Lewis and sure as hell didn't in Vietnam.  But we were sharin' the twenty pounds of it and sleepin' bags. Act of love, buddy-buddy, made it seem like nothin'.
     Till the Man came up and said, "Peters, you be the ace of aces when it came to larnin' up the PRC25 radio.  I want you to be my man and carry that twenty five pound baby.  Give your tent stuff and bag to Greene - that be Earl - over there and come follow me."
     So that left Earl with an extra ten pounds and he wasn't happy.  Also he was odd man out when it came to pullin' watch at night.  Instead of gettin' a half night's sleep he got, well, I don't know exactly how much sleep he got.  But seein' as how he was the definition of resourceful, I figured he turned it to his advantage.  Me, I got the twenty-five pound box and slept with the command group.
     Night on the FTX was good practice for Vietnam. Got us good and tired, zombie like, from a day's worth of walkin' around over hill and dale with a load on our backs.  And dirty.  Got so we smelled and looked like the ground around us with a little sweat mixed in.
     Every so often Earl and I would get together for a minute.  He sure looked tired.  And he let me know what he thought of me havin' a share of the good life.  Like I had any control over that.
     Come our last night the Lieutenant left us for a shower and a beer.  Now in charge was a two tour, Sergeant First Class who ran the outfit like he knew what he was doing.  'Cause he did.
     The plan for the night was to hunker down on the top of a hill.  Made sense seein' as how it'd been used for that same purpose since Teddy Roosevelt was trainin' his Rough Riders.  Fox holes were already dug and the hillside prepped for Metcalf to head down and work his anal-retentive magic with trip flares and barbed wire.  And the boy did us proud.  Spider webbed the slopes for the attack that was on the schedule for 2:47am.  Seemed the Army was just as anal as Metcalf.
     Our Sergeant had a plan for the night.  He wanted to be warm and not disturbed by any idiot infiltrators who might be comin' up the hill.  Metcalf's trip flares and barbed wire took care of that.  Gave us a show to watch as the little torches were accidentally set off one by one followed by soft cursin' that was music to Rich's ears.  Keepin' the Man warm was my job.  And he said I should get a partner to help out.  That's where Earl came in.  The two of us kept a blaze atop the rise that coulda been seen for miles, infiltrators be damned.  We slept good that night even though we didn't sleep much.  Warm side to the fire, cold side to the dark.  Rotate once in a while to even out the scorch and freeze, stoke the fire and cozy down.
     The last time I saw Earl was at the 90th Replacement Unit in Bien Hoa, Vietnam. I'd just arrived and he was on his way to the 101st Airborne Division.  Not a happy lad to be goin' up there where the NVA was waitin' to ruin his day.
     Earl Greene was from Memphis, Tennessee.  Born and raised.  Over the years I've spent a few days there 'cause I worked for FedEx and Memphis was home ground for them.  Each time I tried to find him through the internet or phone listings with no luck.  Even tried to see if his name was on The Wall in Washington, DC.  All tries came up empty.  Wherever you are Earl, I hope your's has been a good life.