The barrack's door downstairs opened and my friend Scott, who was also "Pass-less in California," yelled out my name as he came up the stairs. He suggested going to Monterey, so we stepped smartly into my 55 Olds hardtop, waiting for the guard jeep to pass.
Next small question: How do we go anywhere without a pass?
I'd heard about an AWOL gate, located at the end of a dirty, narrow road by the firing range that slipped oh-so-easily onto Hwy 101. It was so named because being caught on it without a pass was a shoe-in for the stockade. In unison we said, "We go!" as the song "Sh-Boom" played brightly on the radio.
Minutes later we found ourselves taking in the bright lights and sounds of Monterey. The city's main street was littered with many bars that stretched south about four blocks from the wharf. Dodie was the owner of the Oasis and was never without an unlit cigar in his mouth. He greeted us with a Happy New Year. Sonja the barmaid welcomed us as well.
Scott was holding a crumpled piece of paper and asked if he produced a "Dear John" letter could we get a free drink, as was the custom. After reading a few lines of the letter, Dodie looked over his bifocals and shook Scott's hand, poured two Falstaff beers and then plunked a shot glass of whiskey in each and said, "There-this will make it all better!"
With great fortification we headed out into the night. Spotting a couple of MPs, we ducked into a doorway and then into a dinner house with a long bar and music playing. We announced ourselves to the bartender with a hearty "Happy New Year" and "one bourbon neat, one scotch neat and one package of Rolaids." With that, the three of us laughed, to which I added, "My friend has an ulcer."
So there we were, New Year's 1957: Scott is sipping bourbon and chewing Rolaids, and I nurse a scotch and sketch on napkins. Scott at this point had wadded up his perfume-less letter into a bite-sized chunk, and he was telling us about his ex back home in Indiana and how he met her in college while in ROTC. He said by now he would have been a first lieutenant, but added, "I'd still go AWOL with ya, Lehman!"
If that didn't make us laugh, watching Scott laugh with a mouth turned white from chewing Rolaids really made us roar.
A young lady came in and joined us. Noticing my sketches, she asked if I was an artist. Because of my shyness, Scott answered yes for me. Soon the four of us were having the best time possible, considering the circumstances.
While whispering to Scott privately that my money gauge was running on empty, the young lady's friends entered the establishment. She introduced everyone and showed them my napkin art, declaring that I was an artist.
That was my cue. I asked if I could speak to her alone in private, Scott shushing me all the while. I thanked her very much for the company and told her we were soldiers; I even clanked my dog tags. I added that we were tapped, down to nothing but four Rolaids.
She took them from my hand and said, "You join us or I'll take these!" Oh no, not the Rolaids! So we joined them.
What a great time we had over dinner and more drinks. That New Year's Eve was the best in my short Army career. Most of the folks I met that night were from Carmel, and later I visited them at Carmel Beach whenever I got the chance.
Happy New Year, everyone!
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