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“What the heck were you thinking, Dad?” Gail’s voice came out of the phone in a loud, demanding voice. “You’re ninety-five-years-old. Why would you get involved?”
“Because I was there, damn it!” I told myself to ease up. She was upset because she worried about me, and I guess that was only natural. “Listen, you of all people know the nightmares I’ve struggled with all these years. Nightmares caused by the Nazis over seventy years ago. And now they’re back! And they’re here in our backyard. I had to say something!”
“But Dad—.”
“Listen,” I said in a softer tone. “If what I have done can help make people wake up to these assholes, then it will have been worth it. It’s one of the last positive things I can do with my life. It’s better than sitting in this apartment watching old movies I saw decades ago, waiting to die.”
The silence on the other end of the line told me I had made the point, but probably also reminded her that my days were numbered. For the hundredth time, I thanked my stars I had not revealed news of the cancer. There would have been no talking to her or Richard.
“Gail,” I said. “Doing this is important to me. You have to see that.”
I heard her sigh in surrender.
“I know it is, Dad,” she said in a hushed whisper. “For what it’s worth, the documentary was extremely powerful and the message you sent will touch many people.”
“Thank you, but I’d like to reach more.”
I explained what Simon had proposed, and that almost set her off again.
“The man has a private jet and he’s paying the entire shot. He’s agreed that I will determine the pace of the trip because of my age, and even suggested hiring a nurse to travel with us to ensure my safety. Jeremy, the producer of the documentary and the interviewer, will travel with me, too.”
“How long will you be gone?” she asked, worry still in her voice, but restrained.
“Might be a month or more. It’ll depend on how I’m feeling. The last stop is Chicago, so maybe I can visit with you, Alex and kids, if you’ve got the room.”
“Of course we have the room, Dad. The kids will jump for joy when they hear. We miss you something terrible, Dad.”
“Then it’s a date. I’ll text you once I know when we’ll be in Chicago so we can meet up.”
“No,” she said sternly. “You’ll text me each day, so I know you’re okay. Doesn’t have to be much. Just a line or two. Promise?”
“Promise.” And I smiled.
***
MY TALK WITH RICHARD was not as emotional. He was concerned about me, but understood why I got involved and was excited to hear about my trip.
“How do I get an all-inclusive trip around the country in a private jet?” he asked with a laugh.
I also called Rita, who was really impressed, and would be able to tell the others at the Legion.
“I’ll be the first to admit that you were right,” she said. “You wanted to make a difference, and you did it in such a big way! I’ve seen the program twice now, and I teared up both times when you described what you found inside the Dachau camp.”
“I was fortunate to find the support I received from the Jewish community and that Jeremy got interested. That’s what catapulted my story across the country. Now with Simon’s help, we can keep the momentum going.”
“I’m so proud of you, Donald.”
“Thank you. Do me a favor and let everyone down at the Legion know I’ll be out of town for a while. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m dead or anything.”
“Not a problem. I’d be happy to keep everyone up to date. Drop me a note once in a while so we know how you are doing.”
“Sure thing.”
“Have fun, Donald. You deserve this adventure.”
After hanging up, I contacted the pharmacy to ensure I would have all my medication topped up, and then made sure that the steam-cleaners would pick up my uniform for pressing. I figured I’d be wearing it regularly over the next while.
Two days later, Wayne carried my suitcase and garment bag out to his handi-transit for the short drive to the Lancaster Airport. Jeremy would be flying from New York, and the little private jet would touch down long enough to pick me up before flying to the west coast.
“I caught the interview, Donald,” Wayne said as he navigated through traffic. “Very impressive. I’ve known you for three years now and never knew that stuff about the concentration camp. No wonder you had problems after that. Made me wonder if I’m making too big a deal over my own experience.”
“Bullshit! Don’t make light of what you had to deal with. It affected you, and this is not a competition. What gets to one person may not bother another. We’re all unique.”
He grinned in the rear-view mirror and raised a hand in surrender. “I get your point.”
“The issue I have with the situation,” I told him, “is that the government is aware of PTSD but does so little to help those who fight the wars that their incompetence has caused. Personally, I don’t think we should have been in any fight since 1945! There has been no global threat since then except the Communists, and that was a cold war. The rest have been for political or financial reasons, and I don’t think any of that’s worth one single human life.”
I could hear the anger in my voice, and I forced myself to calm down. It wouldn’t do to have a heart attack just before my trip.
“You won’t hear me argue.”
The rest of the ride was quiet, each of us thinking our own thoughts. As Wayne pulled up to the terminal, he said, “When you know when you’re returning, text me the day and time and I’ll schedule you a ride home.”
I nodded. “Thank you, my friend.”
Carrying my luggage, he led me to the check-in desk.
A young clerk smiled at me when I showed him my identification. “Mr. Wilson, we’ve been expecting you. Mr. Krakow’s office called, and everything is arranged. Allow me to call a shuttle to carry your luggage. Don’t worry about security—all that is taken care of. The jet should be in right away.”
“Well, I can see you’re in excellent hands, Donald. Have a glorious trip and remember to message me.” Wayne shook my hand vigorously.
“Thanks Wayne. You be good, now.”
He gave me a tight grin and left the terminal. Minutes later, a quick, electric cart whisked me along to a small boarding room overlooking the landing field. The steward transporting me pointed out a sleek business jet that had just touched down on the tarmac. “I think that might be your ride, Mr. Wilson.”
“Beautiful aircraft,” I said as I watched the white and blue machine brake.
Minutes later, the little plane had eased up to the loading door, and soon Jeremy jogged through the ramp doors into view.
“Donald,” he said excitedly. “Ready to take on the world?”
“Just the fascists.”
He laughed, grabbed my luggage, and led the way towards the adventure.