and Coffee on 23rd Street and Tenth Avenue. The meal arrived at the table approximately three hours into his dayshift driving for Vets. Stemkowsky had been looking forward to the food all through his first dreary hours on the road.
Harry Stemkowsky almost always went through the same exact thought process while he was devouring breakfast at the Dream…
It was so unbelievably good to be out of that piss and shitting hole Erie VA Hospital. It was just so goddamn tremendous to be alive again.
He had a valid reason to keep going now, to get really psyched about his life…
And it was all thanks to Colonel David Hudson. Who happened to be the best soldier, the best friend, one of the best men Stemkowsky had ever met. Colonel Hudson had given all the Vets another chance. He’d given them the Green Band Mission to get even.
Later that same morning, as he slalomed through the I deep slush of Jane Street in the West Village, Colonel I David Hudson thought he might be seeing apparitions. He I finally leaned his head out of the half-rolled Vets taxi window. His green eyes sparkled intensely against the street’s I murky gray.
He shouted ahead into the cold driving rain, the dripping winds ripping and grabbing at his face. “You’re going to
rust
out there, Sergeant. Get your pitiful ass inside.”
Harry Stemkowsky was solidly perched outside in his familiar, battered aluminum wheelchair. He was huddled zombielike against the drowning rain, right in front of the Vets garage entrance.
I It was an incredibly moving sight, probably more sad I than weird, Hudson thought. A true retrospective on what was ultimately accomplished in Viet Nam.
There was Harry Stemkowsky, as poignant as any journalist’s picture taken of the wounded in the Southeast Asia combat zone. Hudson could feel a tightening of his jaw muscles, and the beginnings of an old rage. He fought against it. This wasn’t the time to allow himself the luxury of personal feelings. This wasn’t the time to wallow in old, pointless anger.
Stemkowsky was grinning broadly by the time David Hudson finally jogged to the weathered door of the Vets garage.
“You’re section eight for life, Sergeant. You’re out of your mind,” Hudson said firmly. “No explanations accepted.”
Actually though, Hudson was beginning to smile. He knew why Stemkowsky was waiting outside, knew all of the Vets’ Sad Sack stories by heart now. He was betting everything on knowing the Vets at least as well as he knew their military histories.
“I-I wha-wanted to be ri-right he-here. When, when you got in. That-that-that’s all it was, Cah-Cah-Colonel.”
Hudson’s voice softened. “Yeah, I know, I know. It’s real good to see you again, Sergeant You’re still an asshole, though.”
With an audible sigh, Colonel Hudson suddenly bent low. He then easily scooped up the hundred-and-thirty-seven-pound bundle of Harry. Stemkowsky with his powerful good arm.
Since the spring offensive of 1971, Stemkowsky had been a helpless cripple. Harry Stemkowsky had also been a violent, totally incurable stutterer ever since he’d been splattered with seventeen rounds from a Soviet SKS automatic rifle. A pitiful wreck, right up until a few months ago, anyway.
As he pushed his way to the top of the cramped, mildewed stairway inside Vets, Hudson decided not to think about Viet Nam anymore. This was supposed to be an R&R party. Green Band was a rousing operational success so far.
George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone” blared loudly from the room above. Good tune. Good choice.
‘It’s me Colonel himself!”
As he stalked inside a large, drab yellow room on the second floor, Hudson heard shrill hollers and shouts all around him. For a moment he was embarrassed by the clamor. Then he thought about the fact that he’d given these twenty-six veterans another lease on their lives, a purpose that transcended the bitterness they had brought back from Viet Nam.
“The Colonel’s here! Colonel
Harry Stemkowsky almost always went through the same exact thought process while he was devouring breakfast at the Dream…
It was so unbelievably good to be out of that piss and shitting hole Erie VA Hospital. It was just so goddamn tremendous to be alive again.
He had a valid reason to keep going now, to get really psyched about his life…
And it was all thanks to Colonel David Hudson. Who happened to be the best soldier, the best friend, one of the best men Stemkowsky had ever met. Colonel Hudson had given all the Vets another chance. He’d given them the Green Band Mission to get even.
Later that same morning, as he slalomed through the I deep slush of Jane Street in the West Village, Colonel I David Hudson thought he might be seeing apparitions. He I finally leaned his head out of the half-rolled Vets taxi window. His green eyes sparkled intensely against the street’s I murky gray.
He shouted ahead into the cold driving rain, the dripping winds ripping and grabbing at his face. “You’re going to
rust
out there, Sergeant. Get your pitiful ass inside.”
Harry Stemkowsky was solidly perched outside in his familiar, battered aluminum wheelchair. He was huddled zombielike against the drowning rain, right in front of the Vets garage entrance.
I It was an incredibly moving sight, probably more sad I than weird, Hudson thought. A true retrospective on what was ultimately accomplished in Viet Nam.
There was Harry Stemkowsky, as poignant as any journalist’s picture taken of the wounded in the Southeast Asia combat zone. Hudson could feel a tightening of his jaw muscles, and the beginnings of an old rage. He fought against it. This wasn’t the time to allow himself the luxury of personal feelings. This wasn’t the time to wallow in old, pointless anger.
Stemkowsky was grinning broadly by the time David Hudson finally jogged to the weathered door of the Vets garage.
“You’re section eight for life, Sergeant. You’re out of your mind,” Hudson said firmly. “No explanations accepted.”
Actually though, Hudson was beginning to smile. He knew why Stemkowsky was waiting outside, knew all of the Vets’ Sad Sack stories by heart now. He was betting everything on knowing the Vets at least as well as he knew their military histories.
“I-I wha-wanted to be ri-right he-here. When, when you got in. That-that-that’s all it was, Cah-Cah-Colonel.”
Hudson’s voice softened. “Yeah, I know, I know. It’s real good to see you again, Sergeant You’re still an asshole, though.”
With an audible sigh, Colonel Hudson suddenly bent low. He then easily scooped up the hundred-and-thirty-seven-pound bundle of Harry. Stemkowsky with his powerful good arm.
Since the spring offensive of 1971, Stemkowsky had been a helpless cripple. Harry Stemkowsky had also been a violent, totally incurable stutterer ever since he’d been splattered with seventeen rounds from a Soviet SKS automatic rifle. A pitiful wreck, right up until a few months ago, anyway.
As he pushed his way to the top of the cramped, mildewed stairway inside Vets, Hudson decided not to think about Viet Nam anymore. This was supposed to be an R&R party. Green Band was a rousing operational success so far.
George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone” blared loudly from the room above. Good tune. Good choice.
‘It’s me Colonel himself!”
As he stalked inside a large, drab yellow room on the second floor, Hudson heard shrill hollers and shouts all around him. For a moment he was embarrassed by the clamor. Then he thought about the fact that he’d given these twenty-six veterans another lease on their lives, a purpose that transcended the bitterness they had brought back from Viet Nam.
“The Colonel’s here! Colonel
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