The months from June to December 1954 were long and slow. I turned twenty-one that summer and was anxious to get into the “real world,” but I had to wait until the army called me up. There was one small benefit: for the first time in my life I had a room to myself. But although I really enjoyed the luxury, I missed Robbie. After his graduation from the University of Rhode Island he had entered the Marine Corps and was now stationed at Camp Lejeune in Jacksonville, North Carolina. I hadn’t missed him much while I was at Bowdoin because I had lots to do and many friends; indeed privacy was very hard to come by in a college fraternity house. But now our home in Waterville seemed empty, especially after Barbara returned to the University of Maine in September to resume her studies.
So I was pleasantly surprised to receive a telephone call from Robbie in late September. He and Janet had gotten married. While he was at Camp Lejeune, she was living in Waterville, teaching school. He had just received orders assigning him to a tour of duty on board a navy ship in the Mediterranean Sea. He asked me to come to Camp Lejeune to pick up his car and drive it to Maine so Janet could use it while he was overseas. I was excited about the possibility of a trip and asked him how I would get to North Carolina.
“The same way you’ve gone anywhere.” It took me a few seconds to grasp his answer.
“You mean you want me to hitchhike to North Carolina?”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve never hitchhiked anywhere but around Maine, and North Carolina’s a long way from Maine.” I knew exactly how far because the Bowdoin ROTC members had taken a bus to Fort Eustis, near Williamsburg, Virginia, for a two-week training session one summer.
“You’re not scared, are you?”
“No, of course not,” I insisted. But I was.
“I really need your help, and besides, this is mostly for Janet.”
“Well, okay,” I said, nervous and unenthusiastic.
The more I thought about it, the more nervous I got. But I couldn’t figure a way out, so a few days later I rose with the sun and walked across town to the same spot I’d started from four years earlier when I hitchhiked to Bowdoin for the first time. My mother had packed a bag for me with enough food for several days.
I was lucky again. Within a few minutes a nice elderly man stopped to pick me up. He asked me where I was going. When I answered, “North Carolina,” he was surprised and in a loud voice repeated it. “North Carolina! You’ve got a long way to go, young man. I’ll give you a good start and get you to Boston.”
My luck continued for about a day. Most rides were short, a few quite long, but I waited no more than two hours between rides, and, as I made my way south, I developed a rhythm. I ate and went to the bathroom between rides and, as much as possible, slept during the rides. Every driver who picked me up was kind and generous and, after hearing my story, patiently let me sleep until we parted company. But my hitchhiking honeymoon came to an end in Petersburg, Virginia. The driver who dropped me there was an army sergeant returning to his home base just outside of Petersburg. He had warned me of what to expect, so when I got out of the car I was not surprised to see dozens of men in uniform, on both sides of the highway, hitchhiking. I walked south along the highway to find an empty spot. On and on I trudged, lugging my bag, but I found more and more soldiers. Finally, after walking what seemed like a few miles, I was on an open stretch of highway. I was exhausted and hungry and, although I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself, I was worried. I walked into the woods a few feet from the highway, found some shade, and sat down. I ate one of my mother’s sandwiches and rested for a while as I thought about my plight. I assumed that no one driving south who might be inclined to pick up a hitchhiker would bypass the many soldiers on the road before they got to me. Even worse, as the soldiers now on the highway were picked up they would likely be replaced by others, so I might never get a ride. Fortunately I was wrong about that.
Eight very long hours later a young couple from Rocky Mount, North Carolina, picked me up and took me to their hometown. Although I had only a few dollars I desperately wanted to sleep in a bed, go to a real bathroom, and take a shower. When I explained my plight to them, they took me to an old hotel adjacent to the railroad station in Rocky Mount. There I was able to rent a room for just a few dollars. I immediately called Robbie.
“I’m really sorry,” I began, “but I’m not able to get all the way to Jacksonville.” I explained what had happened and where I was and braced myself for his reaction. He could not have been nicer. He said he understood, he was very grateful to me for making such an effort, and he would drive to Rocky Mount to pick me up the next morning. I realized then that he loved me as much as I loved him. I had two sandwiches left. I ate one and saved the other for the morning. There was no shower in the room, so I took a hot bath, went to bed, and had a long and deep sleep.
The next morning I sat in a rocking chair in the lobby and waited for him. When I saw his car pull up I ran outside and greeted him with a big hug. On the drive to Camp Lejeune I regaled him with a ride-by-ride account of my trip. He laughed, genuinely and hard, and expressed his gratitude several times. After we arrived at the camp we spent a long time loading the car, a small Chevrolet. Besides his clothes and other belongings there were several boxes and cans of food, so the trunk, the backseat, and the front passenger seat were packed full. There was just enough space on the driver’s side for me to fit snugly. Doing his best to emulate our mother, Robbie prepared several sandwiches, which he placed on the front seat.
Early the next morning, well before sunrise, Robbie handed me enough cash to get me to Maine. I drove out of Camp Lejeune, turned toward Rocky Mount, and headed north. As I drove through Petersburg I regretted very much that I had no room in the car for the many uniformed men hitchhiking. I ate while driving, stopping only for gasoline and bathroom breaks. The only incident occurred just outside of Boston. Traffic was dense and moving slowly in hurricane-like conditions of high winds and heavy rain. The car driving alongside me suddenly lurched into the side of Robbie’s car, scraping it seriously. In the drenching rain the other driver and I got out of our cars and exchanged names and addresses. He apologized, saying that he had been blown into me by the high wind. Neither of us was in the mood for a long discussion, and in a few minutes I was back in the car, soaking wet but glad to be on the way home. I had driven slowly and continuously, and the roads then were not what they are now, so it was in the middle of the night when I pulled into the driveway alongside the house where Janet was staying. I was tired but proud; I had gotten Robbie’s car and stuff home safely, with only a few deep scratches on the car. I then made one unbreakable promise to myself: I would never again hitchhike anywhere. From now on I would travel by bus, and I hoped, eventually by train and by plane. And who knew? Someday I might even get to take a taxi.
A few weeks later I received notice to report to the U.S. Army Intelligence School at Fort Holabird in Baltimore on December 26. I started very early, traveled by bus, and made it just before the close of business. For the next six months I attended what was, for all practical purposes, a graduate school. I studied history, languages, personal surveillance, report writing, the qualities of leadership, and much more, all with a heavy overlay of anticommunism. I loved the school and the army. I met and studied and worked with young men from all across America, and when we graduated we were sent to stations all around the world. It was an exhilarating experience. To my surprise and pleasure, I was selected to be the deputy commander of one of the student battalions. I took it seriously, did my job well, and graduated near the top of my class. I was thrilled to receive an assignment to serve in counterintelligence in Berlin and promptly read as many relevant books as I could get my hands on. After a brief visit to Waterville to say goodbye, I packed my bags and headed for Fort McGuire, New Jersey, for the flight to Germany.