{"id":1607,"date":"2009-05-01T01:10:46","date_gmt":"2009-05-01T06:10:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/paganpages.org\/content\/?p=1613"},"modified":"2009-04-22T14:44:12","modified_gmt":"2009-04-22T19:44:12","slug":"greetings-from-afar-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/2009\/05\/01\/greetings-from-afar-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Greetings from Afar"},"content":{"rendered":"

The Flight Home<\/strong><\/p>\n

The telephone rang at three o\u2019clock. Barbara glanced out the window\u2026 dark as the inside of a pile of coal. Then she looked at the clock on the nightstand by her bed. Who could be calling at such an ungodly hour? The thought frightened her. Instinct told her that it just had to be bad news. She rolled over and glared at it for a moment or two and then groggily picked up the receiver, answering on the third ring\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cHello?\u201d She whispered sleepily.<\/p>\n

Silence. In the background she could hear the muffled sounds that accompany large numbers of people packed into a small and crowded space.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello?\u201d She repeated\u2026 a little louder this time. There was a short pause, then a voice answered her.<\/p>\n

\u201cBarb,\u201d came the reply. A tinny and distant voice echoed and reverberated slightly as it came through the receiver to her tired, and still sleepy ear. \u201cThis is Johnny\u2026 can you hear me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Little Brother, wha-cha you up to? I didn\u2019t know that they even had phones where you are\u201d.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, they got \u2018em all right\u2026 I\u2019m not in Nam, Barb. I\u2019m at some Air Force Base, in Maine for God\u2019s sake. I got here over an hour ago. I\u2019ll be home tomorrow. Can you meet me at DFW?\u201d<\/p>\n

She thought for a moment. Dallas was a good four hour drive, in the very best of conditions. It was pouring down rain. Conditions were not good. At least six hours, she thought to herself as she answered her brother\u2026 \u201cWhat time?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be on flight 387. It arrives at 7:25 tomorrow night\u201d, came the reply.<\/p>\n

\u201cOK\u2026\u201d she said cheerily. \u201cI\u2019ll have to get somebody to go with me, though. You know I\u2019m due in about six weeks, and Roger\u2019s still in Germany on that Temporary Duty. HEY\u2026 What are you doing home, anyway? I thought your tour ran another three months\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThings change, Sis. Got to come home early. Why don\u2019t you get Jimmy to come with you? He\u2019s in on leave, isn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, he is\u2026 I hadn\u2019t thought of that. He\u2019s got a new car, too. Maybe we can pick you up in style\u201d.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry about that, Sis\u2026 just be there to meet me, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201dYou know it Little Brother. You wouldn\u2019t believe how glad I am to hear you\u2019re home. The news says things are getting pretty bad over there\u201d.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, they are, but I\u2019m outta it now. See you tomorrow, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOK\u2026 see you tomorrow\u201d.<\/p>\n

There was a click at the other end of the line, and then the hum of a dial tone. Barbara went back to sleep. A little later in the morning, she called her cousin Jimmy, who was in on leave from the Marines, and asked him to drive her to Dallas to pick up Johnny. Two hours later, just before noon, they were sitting in Jimmy\u2019s new Ford Mustang headed up U.S. Highway 59 toward it\u2019s intersection with I-20 leading to Dallas. Three packs of cigarettes, eight \u201cpit stops\u201d and six hours later, the two arrived in Dallas. Rain was still pouring down in sheets when the rolled into the metered parking lot of Dallas-Fort Worth Intercontinental Airport\u2026 the biggest Airport in the World. In spite of the weather, they had made it early, and settled into the lounge to wait for the flight.<\/p>\n

The lounge was packed. But when Flight 387 taxied into view outside the wall-sized picture window that overlooked the tarmac and the loading ramp, Barbara and Jimmy squeezed to the very front of the crowd that was gathered in front of the double doors leading to the newly arrived Boeing 727. They looked expectantly toward the door as each passenger entered the lobby, but\u2026 Sergeant John D. Lightfoot, USMC, failed to appear.<\/p>\n

Gradually the stream of incoming passengers changed from a flood to a trickle, and finally stopped altogether. The two looked slowly and expectantly back and forth, between each other and the door\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe he missed his flight,\u201d Barbara commented.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not like him,\u201d Jimmy answered. Johnny\u2019s too anxious to get home. The last time I talked to him, he was about ready to try and swim it\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know\u201d, the nervous looking woman replied. \u201cI\u2019ll go to the desk and see if they know anything\u201d.<\/p>\n

Just as she started to move away, toward the information desk, the double metal doors opened one last time. This time, they were held open by two uniformed marines. A few seconds later, six more marines entered the lobby. They were carrying Sergeant John D. Lightfoot\u2019s coffin. He had been dead for just over a week.<\/p>\n

Barbara fainted.<\/p>\n

This story in memory of my cousin, Sgt. John D. Lightfoot, USMC (16 July, 1951-21 August, 1972). One of the few, the proud\u2026 the Marines. Your name\u2019s carved on the wall, Johnny, but it\u2019s carved even deeper in the hearts of those who knew and loved you. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHNNY!<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Flight Home The telephone rang at three o\u2019clock. Barbara glanced out the window\u2026 dark as the inside of a pile of coal. Then she looked at the clock on the nightstand by her bed. Who could be calling at such an ungodly hour? The thought frightened her. Instinct told her that it just had to be bad news. She rolled over and glared at it for a moment or two and then groggily picked up the receiver, answering on the third ring\u2026 \u201cHello?\u201d She whispered sleepily. Silence. In the background she could hear the muffled sounds that accompany large numbers of people packed into a small and crowded space. \u201cHello?\u201d She repeated\u2026 a little louder this time. There was a short pause, then a voice answered her. \u201cBarb,\u201d came the reply. A tinny and distant voice echoed and reverberated slightly as it came through the receiver to her tired, and still sleepy ear. \u201cThis is Johnny\u2026 can you hear me?\u201d \u201cHey, Little Brother, wha-cha you up to? I didn\u2019t know that they even had phones where you are\u201d. \u201cOh, they got \u2018em all right\u2026 I\u2019m not in Nam, Barb. I\u2019m at some Air Force Base, in Maine for God\u2019s sake. I got here over an hour ago. I\u2019ll be home tomorrow. Can you meet me at DFW?\u201d She thought for a moment. Dallas was a good four hour drive, in the very best of conditions. It was pouring down rain. Conditions were not good. At least six hours, she thought to herself as she answered her brother\u2026 \u201cWhat time?\u201d she asked. \u201cI\u2019ll be on flight 387. It arrives at 7:25 tomorrow night\u201d, came the reply. \u201cOK\u2026\u201d she said cheerily. \u201cI\u2019ll have to get somebody to go with me, though. You know I\u2019m due in about six weeks, and Roger\u2019s still in Germany on that Temporary Duty. HEY\u2026 What are you doing home, anyway? I thought your tour ran another three months\u2026\u201d \u201cThings change, Sis. Got to come home early. Why don\u2019t you get Jimmy to come with you? He\u2019s in on leave, isn\u2019t he?\u201d \u201cYeah, he is\u2026 I hadn\u2019t thought of that. He\u2019s got a new car, too. Maybe we can pick you up in style\u201d. \u201cDon\u2019t worry about that, Sis\u2026 just be there to meet me, OK?\u201d \u201dYou know it Little Brother. You wouldn\u2019t believe how glad I am to hear you\u2019re home. The news says things are getting pretty bad over there\u201d. \u201cYeah, they are, but I\u2019m outta it now. See you tomorrow, OK?\u201d \u201cOK\u2026 see you tomorrow\u201d. There was a click at the other end of the line, and then the hum of a dial tone. Barbara went back to sleep. A little later in the morning, she called her cousin Jimmy, who was in on leave from the Marines, and asked him to drive her to Dallas to pick up Johnny. Two hours later, just before noon, they were sitting in Jimmy\u2019s new Ford Mustang headed up U.S. Highway 59 toward it\u2019s intersection with I-20 leading to Dallas. Three packs of cigarettes, eight \u201cpit stops\u201d and six hours later, the two arrived in Dallas. Rain was still pouring down in sheets when the rolled into the metered parking lot of Dallas-Fort Worth Intercontinental Airport\u2026 the biggest Airport in the World. In spite of the weather, they had made it early, and settled into the lounge to wait for the flight. The lounge was packed. But when Flight 387 taxied into view outside the wall-sized picture window that overlooked the tarmac and the loading ramp, Barbara and Jimmy squeezed to the very front of the crowd that was gathered in front of the double doors leading to the newly arrived Boeing 727. They looked expectantly toward the door as each passenger entered the lobby, but\u2026 Sergeant John D. Lightfoot, USMC, failed to appear. Gradually the stream of incoming passengers changed from a flood to a trickle, and finally stopped altogether. The two looked slowly and expectantly back and forth, between each other and the door\u2026 \u201cMaybe he missed his flight,\u201d Barbara commented. \u201cThat\u2019s not like him,\u201d Jimmy answered. Johnny\u2019s too anxious to get home. The last time I talked to him, he was about ready to try and swim it\u2026\u201d \u201cI know\u201d, the nervous looking woman replied. \u201cI\u2019ll go to the desk and see if they know anything\u201d. Just as she started to move away, toward the information desk, the double metal doors opened one last time. This time, they were held open by two uniformed marines. A few seconds later, six more marines entered the lobby. They were carrying Sergeant John D. Lightfoot\u2019s coffin. He had been dead for just over a week. Barbara fainted. This story in memory of my cousin, Sgt. John D. Lightfoot, USMC (16 July, 1951-21 August, 1972). One of the few, the proud\u2026 the Marines. Your name\u2019s carved on the wall, Johnny, but it\u2019s carved even deeper in the hearts of those who knew and loved you. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHNNY!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"iawp_total_views":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1607","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1607","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1607"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1607\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1607"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1607"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1607"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}