For nearly 63 years, this old broken-down soldier has thought that he and five other GI’s, could have acted more graciously in not accepting an offer by a gentleman to pay for a breakfast we ate in a civilian restaurant. Once the offer was either not accepted or if you will, rejected, there were no second chances to set the matter aright. Perhaps the civilian who offered to pay for our meal was crushed by our rejection. We don’t know his state of mind, but he was entitled to feel at least some distinct disappointment. On the GI side, we were so young and too inexperienced to know how to deal with an offer that came from a civilian patriot. In its kindest terms, it was a misunderstanding that has bothered me since December, 1942. But as we said, there are no second chances to set things aright.
This incident happened in Coral Gables, Florida shortly before Christmas, 1942. The six GI’s at the table came from a class of 100 being trained at the Embry Riddle School of Aeronautics to become Aerial Engineers for the United States Army Air Corps. We were to graduate from our training early in January, 1943 with a week or so of aerial gunnery which would then lead to our assignment to combat units of the Air Corps. All of this happened before Air Corps became the U.S. Army Air Force.
All of us held the rank of Private which is the lowest rank in the military services. We used to joke that we were paid $50 per day – once a month. Our military service came at the end of the American Depression starting in 1929. None of us had any money to speak of. After the Army deducted insurance payments, and for married soldiers, an allotment for wives, we wound up with something like $40 each pay day. Tycoons we were not.
In 1942, Coral Gables was an affluent suburb of Miami. To draw a comparison, it may have been a Summit, N.J. as it relates to New York City or a town on the Main Line as it relates to Philadelphia. It was a well-to-do community. There were no such things as diners in Coral Gables. That would have been too déclassé’. On the other hand, there was a large restaurant that catered to families at all three meals of the day. It is suspected that this fairly lively restaurant did not serve alcoholic beverages. It was a nice place to hold a luncheon for a bridge club, for example. It would not be the place that beer drinking construction workers would seek out at the end of the work day.
So Christmas, 1942 was approaching just as the end of our training was in sight. The men in our class ranged in age from 20 to 22 years. At that age, no one thought that once we left Embry Riddle, we might never see each other again. No one gave much thought to the fact that Aerial Engineers are shot at and some of them lose their lives. If there ever was a case of dealing with each day as it came without much thought to the morrow, this was clearly the outlook of the youngsters at Embry Riddle.
And so this lovely Sunday morning came upon us. We were tired of Army food which is easy to do. Checking our finances and with a rare day off, six of us decided to eat breakfast at this restaurant, whose name now escapes me after all these years. The hostess made us feel welcome. As is often the case, when men like each other as we did, they begin to tease each other. If a man had made a mistake on the flight line, he would have heard about it at our breakfast. All of the joshing was done in fun. There were no jealousies or ill feelings. Remember, we all liked each other.
Memory is a funny thing. Some 63 years later, it is my belief that our table included Ted Werre, a ranch hand from South Dakota. There was Ralph Tuttle, a wise-cracking truck driver from Chicago. There was Jack Anderson from Rome, Georgia. When our troop train blew through Rome, Jack cried. There was Jack Botcowsky, a dock-walloper from Brooklyn. Jack wanted you to know that he was a Jew and if you had any question about that fact, Private Botcowsky would settle the matter forcefully. Then there was a Jewish fellow from Harlem. I don’t recall his name, but he said his family had lived in Harlem for more than a century to escape persecution in Spain. This young man was as gentle as Botcowsky was confrontational. The two New York Jews got all over the gentiles at our table because we did not know about matzos and knishes.
We could kid each other without cutting. The New Yorkers were temporarily thwarted when it came to baseball as the Cardinals had beaten the Yanks in the World Series of 1942. My home, of course, was in St. Louis.
Suffice it to say that we all got along very well. We simply liked each other. Not so bad for 20 year olds.
It is fairly certain that the good-natured hilarity at our table that served six soldiers was noticed by other diners. My recollection is that we were the only military people in the restaurant.
As we were finishing our meal, a man from another table approached our six soldiers. To the best of my recollection, he said, “I’d like to pay for your meal.” He surprised us greatly. Perhaps if that gentleman had simply called our waitress over and paid our check, we would have never known about the stranger’s generosity. But that is not what he did. He offered to pick up our check.
We were 20 year-olds with no great life experiences. We must have acted like it. We stumbled and muttered among ourselves at this offer. In fact, we were trying to say that we appreciated his gesture, but what came out was something like, “That’s OK. We have some money.” That is not what any of us meant. Our response must have come out in non-responsive or negative tones. At least we had the foresight to thank the man. We all would like to believe that was the case, but the civilian may not agree on that point, at all.
We were young and inarticulate soldiers who were taken by surprise by the other diner’s generous offer to pay for our breakfast. He offered and we blew it. But that is no excuse for our conduct. Given a second chance, all of us agree that we could have done much better. Even if we did not allow the fellow from the other table to pay for our meal, we could have stood up and shook hands or even hugged him. For nearly 63 years that failure has been in my mind. There are few second chances, as we found out. Given a second chance, we would have done better. But second chances did not happen in this case.
Perhaps that is the overriding lesson from this little incident of long ago. It taught all of us, particularly me, that second chances are elusive and often don’t exist at all. So all is not lost when a lesson is learned. And that lesson was learned and has stuck with me for all these decades.
That fellow who offered to buy our breakfast is now approaching 100 years, if he is alive at all. If he could be located, it would be my pleasure to tell him we apologize for the misunderstanding and to tell him that he inadvertently taught us a life-long lesson. Second chances are few and far between.
E. E. CARR
June 5, 2005
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I think the fact that this bugged Pop for the rest of his life says volumes more about his character than initial failure to thank the guy. Good on him!