Remembrances, part 1
It has dawned on me that life is a collection of stories, strung one against the other. In ages past the conscientious among us kept journals of those stories so their children, and their children's children would be able to remember them. Other’s have turned those stories into profitable ventures through books, stage and screen plays. I think from time to time I shall write one of my recollections into a recollection to post on this site. Today shall be my first attempt. We shall see how it goes, and how much bourbon it takes to coax it forth.
In 1975 I was a newly minted navigator, a lieutenant in the Air Force, serving at Dyess Air Force Base, Abilene Texas. I was assigned to the 773rd Tactical Airlift Squadron, known as “The Fleagles,” and we flew the C-130E Hercules turboprop airlifter. The unit was directed to send four of its sixteen aircraft to Howard Airbase, in the Panama Canal Zone to provide airlift for US forces in Central and South America. At the time the Panama Canal was owned and operated by the United States. As a junior officer in the squadron I wasn’t really considered to be sent down there as one of the six crews we were sending. So I went to the Major who was in charge and asked if I could go in any role at all. He worked it out so I was the administrative officer and let me come along.
While there, I worked in the office Monday through Friday but I got to go on any trips scheduled to go over the weekend. I got to tag along on trips to Costa Rica, Honduras, Nicaragua, El Salvador and Guatemala. What I remember most about those trips was the shopping for mahogany furniture, sea shell necklaces and many other small treasures. There were also other learning opportunities, but they would be more along the line of “what happens in Central America stays in Central America.”
My best good-deal trip while we were at Howard Airbase was what was supposed to be a three day out and back to Brasilia, Brazil. We were supposed to fly to Manaus Brazil (in the Amazon) to refuel and then into Brasilia, the capital. The purpose was to take supplies down to the US Embassy. The stop in Manaus introduced me to Piraña, there must have been a hundred of them on display in the terminal, and for sale in the gift shop.
On the trip into the capital I was sitting in the back when all the sudden I heard what sounded like rain on a tin roof. It turns out the plane had flown through a hail storm. When we landed we saw we had holes in the leading edge of the wings, the nose radome was destroyed and a radome on the top of the plane was trashed as well. We headed off to the US Embassy to check in, call home and see what they could do to get us new parts so we could fly home to the Canal zone. It turned out the earliest we could get new parts was about a week away. In the words of the day, “too cool” we were going to be paid to hang out in a major city for a week.
What made this really, really cool was I happened to know a couple of girls and guys who were from Brasilia. They had been exchange students at my College my senior year. I had made friends and it was time to look them up. While at the Embassy I asked a Marine if he could look up a couple of names and call them. Imagine their surprise when I came on line and reminded them that I had said I would someday stop in and visit. I told them were I would be staying and asked if we could get together for an afternoon to catch up with each other. They turned out to be my keys to the city and wonderful week of sight seeing. Here is what I learned of Brasilia, Brazil and the Brazilians I knew.
First, Brasilia was carved out the center of the Amazon rain forest. The buildings are magnificent, and in 1975 the oldest building was about 15 years or so old. I toured the Capital and several government buildings. The architecture was spectacular, the finishing, the materials, all were beautiful. I visited my friends homes, they too were dazzling. They were three to four story buildings, entered through walled yard. As you entered the homes you found yourself in a multistory atrium. Servants were there to care for your needs. Clearly I was among the elite class of this city. As we discussed how Brasilia had been built I discovered the workers had lived in shanties that met only the most basic of needs. The servant class still lived in these slapped together structures in deep poverty. I also discovered there was little, if any, middle class. Just the very rich and very poor. This was my up close introduction to a rigid class society.
To the rich of Brazil, the poor are like the trees around them. They are there, that’s all just there. Brazilians are also closely linked to their Portuguese heritage. The men all believe they are the rulers of their destiny. The guys I knew explained to me that each had two girl friends. One was pure, a virgin, that was the one he would marry, but he would pursue her to attempt to soil her. The other was the one he fooled around with. I counted on my fingers and something just didn’t add up, so one day when we were at a club I had a chance to talk with one of the women I had met in the states and I asked how this pure virgin and slutty girlfriend thing worked. She told me that each girl had two boyfriends...To this day I am convinced the average man chooses never to put two and two together.
Brazilians build crazy hotels. We were staying in a big hotel near the center of town. It had everything. There was a wonderful restaurant, workout room, sauna and pool. The really crazy thing was the pool was on the 7th floor, smack dab in the middle of the 15 or so stories of the building. One night there was a big party at the hotel and my roommate and I had gone to the park across the street and had bought some toy parachutists we had seen kids flying as kits. While the guests were arriving, dressing to the nines, we were dropping these parachutes on them. Every once in-a-while one of them would land next to an elegant woman who would be startled and her escort would stare up at us. I don’t think Brazilian women in evening gowns or men in tuxedos have a sense of humor.
No comments:
Post a Comment