“You testified the same morning as Marine Major General Theodore Gates.”
“Oh yes, I remember him,” she said. “Such a southern gentleman, but he gave those senators the dickens. His older brother was also MIA in Korea, I believe.”
This had not been in Teddy’s testimony and he had never talked about it in Vietnam.
“Oh yes, a fine, lovely man,” she went on. “Kind but fiery. Before we testified they put us all in a room and we could tell why he was a general. He was a born leader and of course, he had not been killed in a war. Oh yes, Mother insisted Daddy would have become an admiral.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have the general’s number?”
“Oh, certainly. The general suggested we all exchange names, phone numbers, and addresses, and stay in touch. I get a Christmas card from him every year. He said I should call him if I ever needed anything, but I never have. Do you think he meant it?”
“I knew the general and yes, he meant it.” Teddy Gates always meant what he said and said what he meant, which made it a miracle he had been promoted so high. If you crossed him, he could be brutal, and while his men loved him, his superiors usually harbored a different opinion. “Could I impose on you for the general’s number and address?”
“Are you a friend of the general?”
“Yes, ma’am. I served with him in Vietnam.”
“Oh yes, that dreadful mess; but you came back alive. Were you an aviator?”
“No, ma’am, mud marine.”
“My father was an aviator. The navy calls them aviators, not pilots.”
The navy did a lot of things Service considered stilted, pompous, and downright archaic. Marines called all sailors rust pickers, and swabbies called marines bullet sponges.
“If you’re the general’s friend, why don’t you have his phone number? Oh yes, you men who have come home alive are lucky, but you need to be more attentive to your comrades and their loved ones. Lieutenant Gisseler, my daddy’s wingman, doesn’t call or write any more.”
Service thought: Korea ended nearly fifty years ago. Presumably the man was dead. “Yes, ma’am, I’ve moved around some and I can’t seem to find my book with the general’s address. You know how that can happen.”
“Oh yes—no, I don’t know. I’ve lived my entire life in Clyde. I never wanted to live anywhere else. And oh yes, I never lose things. You really must be more careful,” she said, chiding him. “Naval aviators are trained to be careful—all those dials and switches. But daddy said it was easy, a matter of simple logic and practice. Mother and I were to join him in San Diego when he got back. Mother was afraid to go so far from Clyde, but Daddy said he would come and fetch us. He never came back, did I tell you that? Oh yes, he was to leave Korea in a month but he didn’t come back. . . .”
Ms. Rivitz was a few cards short of a full deck, but he couldn’t blame her. “Is your husband there?”
“Please, you must listen better. I am a graduate of a class for active listening and the teacher said it is important to signal that we are listening, oh yes. I am Ms. Rivitz. I used to be Miss, but Ms. sounds more modern and I believe in growing with the times.”
This was going nowhere. “My father was MIA in Korea,” Service lied. “I read your testimony, where you said that ‘the living must bear the pain of not knowing until they die.’”
“Oh yes, I assure you I do not plan to die until Daddy comes home,” she said. “Was your daddy a naval aviator?”
“No, ma’am. We were both marines.”
“Oh my, the darn government let you both go to war? Your mother must have been devastated.”
“My mother passed away when I was young. My dad raised me.” Was it a sin to mislead the unbalanced?
“Oh yes, you poor boy. Mother didn’t really love Daddy. She promised to wait, but she died before he could come back. I’ll never forgive Mother.”
“Ma’am, General Gates knows something about my father.” This was not a prevarication. Specifically, Teddy knew he had been a marine in the Second World War and a conservation officer after that. Service and Gates had talked about families in Vietnam.
“Oh yes, your waiting might be over?”
“I don’t know, Ms. Rivitz. It’s been a long wait.” Especially since he had gotten on the phone with her. “I really would appreciate the general’s phone number.”
“Oh yes, I have all the phone numbers right here in my kitchen. My Daddy said an aviator must always be organized. He calls me his little aviator. Just a moment, please.”