Six months of discouragement, six long months of faded dreams, hiding
from the world’s laughter and literally running away from himself, was
what Lefty had undergone since that eventful November afternoon in New
Haven’s great sports stadium when a football game had changed the entire
course of his life.
He wandered from city to city and job to job, meeting with some success
momentarily until the usual thing happened—someone recognized him and he
again became the center of ridicule.
It would always be the same: The minute his true identity would come to
light and the first mention made of the day he had ran backward, Lefty
would fly away from it all, disappearing to some other city, burning his
bridges behind him, watching his dreams fade while he strove to build
new air castles elsewhere.
May found him in Los Angeles and broke. Jobs were scarce and meals, few
and far between.
All at once, the Marine Aviation recruiting poster, pasted upon the wall
of the little wash room in New Haven, came to his mind.
“The Marines Make Men!” he repeated, quoting the poster’s caption,
verbatim. “Well, I’m going to give them a real test this time!”
He searched for the nearest recruiting office, successfully passed
through the preliminary examinations and in less than a week, found
himself at the aviation base at San Diego, where he was put through the
final paces and then told to wait in the reception room of the Senior
Medical Officer’s quarters for the news of his acceptance or rejection.
An hour passed, and still no word was forthcoming from within the office
of the S.M.O.
Lefty paced up and down the shiny, waxed floors of the spotlessly white
reception room, unmindful of everything about him save the purpose
behind his detention in that room and the probable outcome of his
attempt to enter the air service.
Just behind the narrow aisle traversed by Lefty, was an information
desk, piled high with charts, behind which sat a mite of a girl, attired
in the regulation nurse’s uniform.
Her abundance of thick, black hair, her soft skin, tanned from the
California sun and her large, vivid dark eyes were a direct contrast to
the spotlessly white uniform of the service.
She endeavored to center her mind upon the large volume of work before
her, though the tall, nervous figure of this man, pacing back and forth
in front of her desk, fascinated her and she could not but help looking
up in his direction every so often.
Of course, she had seen thousands of these worried boys pace the floor
in this very same room, waiting the pleasure of the Senior Medical
Officer in charge. She was used to their nervous anxiety—it was all part
of the regular routine of things—but there was something markedly
different about this boy: his manner, appearance and the way he would
stop and cast his eyes hungrily in the direction of the major’s office.
For the first time in her professional career, Nurse Elinor Martin found
herself enveloped by the personality of a passing medical subject with
just more than mere professional interest.
As for the boy, under normal circumstances, he was by no means a poor
judge of feminine pulchritude. Twenty-four hours earlier, he would have
welcomed being left alone for over sixty minutes in the company of a
lovely bit of femininity, but now, with the possibilities of really
beginning life over again, women were the farthest thing from his
thoughts.
Perhaps it was this indifference toward her and his apparent lack of
interest in her sex that fed Elinor’s imagination and made her mind so
active regarding this man, who he might be and what his chances in
passing were.
His monotonous pacing back and forth before her desk was beginning to
prey upon the girl’s nerves and she ventured at length to interrupt.
“Would you mind sitting down?” she asked in a crisp fashion, pointing to
a chair. “You’re making me so nervous, I can’t work.”
Lefty looked to the floor, shamefaced and acquiesced by slipping into
the chair designated by the girl, glancing up at her sheepishly as he
nervously toyed with the brim of his hat.
As their eyes met, Lefty was greeted by a generous smile that seemed to
give him confidence.
Elinor returned to her work while the boy sat staring at the ceiling and
pulling nervously at his hat.
Completely forgetting his offense, he rose and again began to pace the
room, from left to right.
Elinor dropped her pen and shook her head just as their eyes met again.
“How terribly alone he seems?” she thought at that moment, and her whole
demeanor changed to one of friendliness and warmth.
This gave Lefty confidence. He studied the girl intently for a moment
and then, slowly crossed to the front of her desk, looking down upon her
with anxious and hungry eyes.
“Does it look like there’s anything the matter with me?” he questioned
earnestly, “anything that might keep me from passing this flying
examination?”
“Well—er—nothing but your actions. You seem a trifle overanxious.”
Lefty fumbled with his fingers and smiled nervously.
“I—I am,” he admitted, pointing to the door leading into the major’s
office. “How long does it usually take them to make up their minds
whether a fellow does or doesn’t?”
Elinor, somewhat amused and decidedly interested in this clean-cut,
good-looking boy, suppressed a smile and replied bromidically: “Yes!”
Lefty, failing to catch on to the girl’s trend of humor, took a step
closer, earnestly pressing his questions.
“My eyes are perfect. I’m not color blind,” he announced, gazing down at
her in a manner that made the nurse uncomfortable. “You’re eyes are
green—sure they are—and they’re pretty—too!”
Elinor, slightly taken off guard, though good-naturedly embarrassed,
fussed about the desk, attempting to be preoccupied as Lefty continued
to demonstrate his physical fitness.
“My teeth, my lungs—why, I’m kayo! I’ve played foot— I’m in great
shape—splendid heart action—great——”
Elinor, unable to restrain herself any longer, interrupted the boy in
his serious discourse with a gay ring of laughter.
“Honest—Miss—Miss——”
“Nurse Martin!” she interrupted tactfully.
“Nurse Martin!” he repeated after her. “Why are they keeping me here so
long? They’ve passed all the rest!”
“I don’t know,” she replied, reaching for her pen and proceeding to
write out a report card. “I do wish, though, that you would sit down and
calm yourself!”
Lefty walked back to his chair and followed out the girl’s wishes in
mute obedience, just as the buzzer from the major’s office startled them
both.
Elinor rose and walked to the door bearing the shingle of the Senior
Medical Officer.
As her hand fell upon the brass knob, she turned for a fleeting moment
and cast a warm, well-wishing smile in Lefty’s direction that seemed to
strengthen the boy’s self-confidence.
When Elinor entered the private office of the Senior M.O., she found her
superior, a genial, old four striper, with laughing gray eyes, seated
before his desk, surrounded by the Junior Medical Officer and two other
aides.
From the drift of the conversation, the girl grasped the fact that these
men had been discussing Lefty’s possibilities and, as yet, had not
reached a definite agreement.
“No, Doctor, I agree with the flight sergeant in Los Angeles,” the major
announced. “Your argument is well founded, but simply because a man runs
backward in a football game is no sign that he will continue to run
backward for the rest of his life.”
The Junior Medical Officer reached for a cigarette, lighted it and
walked toward the window, paying no attention to Elinor who stood by the
door, taking in their words with surprising eagerness.
“I grant you are right, sir,” the Junior M.O. conceded, “but the man is
inclined toward over-anxiety. Is it safe to pass such a person for
flying instructions?”
The major smiled broadly as his eyes twinkled with tolerance and
self-assuredness.
“It has been my experience that overanxious men such as Phelps make good
flying material. When they do go forward, they usually accomplish great
things. Admiral Dewey was that type: Impressionable, nervous and quick
to act without thinking. Mark my word, this boy is the kind the
government will either award a Congressional Medal or else bury in
Arlington.”
The two officers standing over the major’s chair looked at each other
and shook their heads, signifying their views were in harmony with those
of the Senior Medical Officer, while the Junior M.O., still gazing out
of the window, merely shrugged his shoulders as a sign of complete
indifference.
“Miss Martin,” the major announced, handing Elinor a health record, “we
have passed this man Phelps, Have him report to the Commanding Officer.”
“Yes, sir!” she replied coolly, though her heart beat furiously for joy
and she found it difficult to control her emotions.
In the outer office, Lefty was still pacing up and down the floor,
stopping every few seconds to cast his eyes in the direction of the
white-tile clock that hung on the wall.
As the door leading from the major’s office opened slightly, the boy
hurried to his chair and sat down, attempting to appear indifferent to
whatever tidings Elinor might bring.
Entering the room, Elinor walked to her desk without speaking. Not the
least bit blind to Lefty’s sham indifference, she was tempted to prolong
his anxiety by withholding the happy information.
A minute or so went by and the boy, no longer able to retain his assumed
composure, jumped from his chair and darted across the room to where
Elinor sat.
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” he pleaded. “Tell me that I failed so that I
can get over with it as quickly as possible.”
The boy’s words completely took her off guard. Her eyes looked up into
his anxious face as her mouth slowly parted.
She would have loved to reach up and take this great big, clumsy boy in
her arms and mother him but her better judgment prevailed. Transfixing
her eyes to the health card, she said, somewhat absently, “You are to
report for instruction immediately!”
Lefty was so overcome with joy that he found it impossible to speak.
With a great display of effort, he collected himself and managed to say:
“You mean—you mean I passed? Gee, that’s great—and thanks a million,
sister!”
Elinor did not venture to reply but proceeded to place the official
stamp on Lefty’s physical report card, going through the regular routine
course of the service in a trained, mechanical fashion as the boy now
centered his attention upon a large likeness of Lindbergh that hung in a
gilt-edged frame over her desk.
“Great fellow, isn’t he?” Lefty said, his eyes still transfixed upon the
portrait of the national idol.
Elinor smiled as she held out the card for Lefty, replying in an
encouraging and ambiguous manner, “Yes, and he started just like this!”
The boy was quick to grasp the double meaning behind her comparison, and
as he proceeded to button his shirt sleeve, the thread broke and the
button flipped off, rolling across the desk.
“Just like a man!” she announced, taking his arm and joining the shirt
cuff with a paper clip. “If I wasn’t so awfully busy, I’d sew it on for
you!”
Now that he had passed the examination and was on the road to begin a
new and promising existence, Lefty once more found time to devote to the
opposite sex.
At the sign of encouragement visibly apparent, he leaned far over the
desk and looked longingly at the lovely girl who sat smiling up at him.
“Are you always busy?” he asked.
Elinor hesitated for a brief moment and then casting her eyes down upon
the pile of papers resting on her desk, replied: “Not—always!”
“How about to-night?” he urged.
“You’ll find the Commanding Officer’s quarters in the first building to
your right,” she announced indifferently, “and please close the door as
you go out!”