As I Was Saying . . .

The military housing was unremarkable (and, no, that is NOT an example pictured above!) but the natural beauty was so extraordinary that even the mansions of Newport would have paled by comparison. On the base, we had one unit in a four-family unit. The front door was sheltered by a portico. My friend, Matt, and his best friend – who was, inexplicably, nicknamed The Wombat – would hoist themselves up to the roof of the portico and I would let them into my room. Then we would all go out through the window and off into the night in search of adventure . . . when the MPs made their rounds, we’d dive into the nearest bushes, stifling our laughter and trying our best to be quiet. It was innocent and harmless fun. The worst thing we ever did was commandeer a neighbors Big Wheel, which Matt rode down to the railroad track . . . we carried it back unscathed.

I learned to drive in the hills surrounding the base. During World War II the base had been bigger and more active; in fact, it was here that, so there were bunkers in the hills. (We weren’t supposed to go into the bunkers because it was dangerous . . . but of course, we went anyway, in search of treasures. Most of what we uncovered just barely qualified as trash!) I once made the rookie mistake of hitting the gas instead of the brake and nearly drove the car into the three foot-deep trench around one of the bunkers. Ah, good times! My mother deserved the Medal of Valor or at least combat pay for teaching me to drive there!