I had been at Bragg for about a couple of weeks or so, when I was suddenly called out of class and summoned down to Lieutenant Colonel Brownell’s office. The colonel was in charge of our class and that section of the school. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what was I had done wrong, but I went to his office and reported in. His orderly, a corporal, checked on the intercom and then ushered me inside. “SIR, OFFICER CANDIDATE BUCKMAN REPORTING AS ORDERED!”
“At ease, Buckman,” replied the colonel. There’s at ease, and at ease. I wasn’t an officer yet, so I snapped to parade rest instead. Colonel Brownell, surprised me by then ordering, “At ease, Cadet.”
I lost my rigidity and looked at the colonel, and noticed that there was a telephone off the hook and laying on his desk. “Yes, sir?”
“There’s been a phone call for you, Mr. Buckman,” he said, nodding towards the phone. “I’m going to step out of my office for a few minutes. Just open the door when you are done.”
“Sir?” Who the hell would call me by tracking down my commanding officer!? Marilyn would write, and so would Suzie. Nobody else would call me.
The colonel stood up. “I’m stepping out. See me when you’re done, Mister Buckman.”
“Yes, sir.”
The colonel moved around from his desk and went out the door, closing it behind him. I was tempted to sit down at his desk, but lightning bolts would probably descend and fry my ass out of sheer effrontery! I picked up the telephone and held it to my ear. “Officer Candidate Buckman.”
“Carling, it’s your father.”
“Yes, sir. What’s going on?”
“We need you to come home, Carl. It’s your mother and your brother. There’s been a problem,” he said.
“Sir?” What happened? I could care less about Hamilton, but if something had happened to Mom, I needed to know. Had they been in an accident?
Dad told me. It was a sordid tale indeed. Hamilton, in his desire to separate himself from me, had gone to college down south, at Georgia Tech in Atlanta. That hadn’t worked out so well. Unlike most colleges, they worked on a trimester system. Way back when, on my first trip through, his first trimester his grades were as good as anything I had ever seen. His second trimester they dropped to my level. His third trimester they dropped through the floor and my father yanked him out of school. When that happened Dad tracked me down and told me to take a Friday off and we drove down for the weekend and packed him up and dragged him home.
Before, during that third trimester, he had disappeared for a week, completely dropping out of sight. Nobody could find him, not even the college or campus security, and then he surfaced and denied he had ever been missing. We never did find out where he was, if he was on a binge or if he was stoned somewhere or in the slammer or wherever, and he just denied being out of contact.
This time around it was far, far worse. He disappeared for almost two weeks, and when he resurfaced, was dragged down to the campus security office and questioned before they called Dad. Hamilton still wouldn’t say where he had been, simply denying he had been missing, despite what the college was telling my father. Basic Hamilton behavior — lie and deny. Dad went down to drag him out. Much like before, Hamilton was sent to a shrink because of his bizarre behavior. Much like before, Mom was absolutely destroyed, crying her eyes out at the failure of her favorite son. Unlike before, Mom’s depression was much more severe, probably because I wasn’t around to take it out on, and she had a nervous breakdown.
This had been an ungodly disaster the first time around. Mom denied any hint of a problem, even denying he was seeing a psychiatrist, when we all knew he was visiting one. Dad and I had a long talk one day, when he asked me why I had gone to college. He had been heartbroken when I told him, quite bluntly, “Because you told me I was going to college!” When he asked if that was the only reason, I turned it back on him and asked if I had had any kind of choice. For the first time I think he actually gave thought to his non-existent parenting skills.
It was worse now. Both Hamilton and Mom were spending time in the nut ward. I was tempted to ask Dad if they had adjoining rooms, but that would have been really pushing my luck. He wanted me to come home.
I just stared at the phone for a bit. “Dad, I’m in the Army. You know what that’s like. I can’t just drop everything and come home. I’m on duty!”
“It would be good for your mother and your brother. You should talk to their doctor,” he replied.
“Excuse me? They’re in the nut house and you think I need to see the shrink? Whose idea is that? The doctor’s or Mom’s?” This was beyond ludicrous.
“Your mother seems to think it would help you understand your brother and better help him.” I think even he thought this was a stretch, and it was all I could do not to laugh.
“No, Dad, that’s not going to happen. I am not coming home so Mom can blame me some more because my brother is a raving lunatic. You know it and I know it. It’s only Mom that refuses to admit it.”
“Carling, it’s really not like that…” he tried to say.
“Dad, it’s exactly like that. Do you have a diagnosis yet? On Hamilton, not Mom, I mean,” I asked. Dad tried to hedge and I continued to push. “Dad, I’ve earned it. What’s his problem!?”
He sighed. “It’s schizophrenia or something.” I could practically hear him crying on the phone. This was a truly horrible thing to him. Mental illness had a very severe societal penalty then; it was not something you would tell people. Mom wouldn’t even admit it to herself, either then or later.
“Dad, I’ve earned this. He drove me from the family. I need to see a copy of the doctor’s report, the full clinical results.” You never know but how that might be useful someday to me, if simply to prove that when he finally drove me crazy, there was a reason for it!
Dad tried to back away hastily, but I kept pushing until he agreed to send something to me. I also repeated that I wouldn’t be coming home, and that the next time I saw my brother would be much too soon. My parents had sowed the wind, and now they were reaping the whirlwind. I was sorry for Mom, but I had moved on.
I hung up on my father and sat there for a moment, until I realized just where I was. I jumped up and scooted over to the door. “Sir, I’m sorry. I should never have tied up your office like that!” I blurted out.
Lieutenant Colonel Brownell was about 45, in a semi-retirement posting after seeing action in Viet Nam and getting a little burned out. He just smiled and came back into his office, and closed the door behind him, with me still inside his office. “Mister Buckman, is everything all right?”
I hesitated before answering, and then deflected the question. “How did you end up getting called by my father, sir? If I may ask.”
He nodded. “I spoke to him briefly. It seems that he wasn’t even aware you were training here this summer.” He looked at me curiously at that.
I just nodded. “My family and I parted ways many years ago, sir. I’m sorry you had to get involved. I apologize for that. It won’t happen again.” Dad probably called the house, and somebody must have given him Marilyn’s number. She was the only one who had any kind of detailed itinerary for me, along with the address to send me letters.
He waved it off. “There are provisions for emergency family leave, at least for a few days. We can have you home in a couple of days, I’m sure.”
“No, sir, that won’t be necessary.”
“Really, your class record is in fine shape. I would see no difficulty in giving you a three day emergency pass. I mean, I didn’t really ask, but your father indicated that your mother and brother are in the hospital. You don’t want to go home?” He seemed somewhat incredulous at that.