In July 1969, I emerged from the public pool grounds in Albany, Oregon, with Jesse’s hand in mine. She was a pretty, small, rather timid girl, but we had developed a lot of affection in a short time. Something haunted her. Even at the age of 14, I knew life was troubling for her in ways she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, express. I gripped her hand tighter and she gave me a lovely smile, one I would still remember more than 50 years later.
Jesse let go of my hand and cried as we separated for our respective walks home. We would never see each other again, and we both knew that the day we had spoken of was here.
My stepfather, Gene, was a U.S. Air Force staff sergeant, an E-5, stationed at the soon-to-be-closed Adair Air Force Station, just outside Albany. He was a communication specialist with the Military Auxiliary Radio System, or MARS. In May 1969, he received orders to be deployed to a radar site not far from the Demilitarized Zone in South Vietnam…