the island seemed to be reflected in the close knit feeling of brotherhood shared by everyone. No matter where she went, she was welcomed by genuine warmth. To her, Guam was like a big campground community from her youth.
Her assignment was Andersen Air Force Base (AFB), located in the community of Yigo, about eight miles from her apartment. She enjoyed the ride to work every day in her recently purchased “Guam Bomb.” It was a 1976 Toyota Corolla with more than 250,000 miles on it and a see-through floor board. Laura would have died if she could see her best friend now.
It was the tradition of military personnel to come to the island without a vehicle. The newcomer would then purchase one from out-bound personnel and continue the recycling process by selling it again upon departure. The salty air literally rusted away the floor boards, leaving most of the island cars looking somewhat like Fred Flintstone mobiles. One of the strongest attractions to these cars was their seemingly perpetual stamina. They just kept running and running for hundreds of thousands of miles. Equally attractive was the assurance that the owner could leave the keys in them, because no one was going to steal a Guam Bomb. Given these qualities, the Guam Bomb was said to be the best automotive bargain in the world.
It had been a wonderful time on the beautiful island. But not all was perfect. Dale pulled her trusty Guam Bomb into her apartment complex parking lot; it had been a very long and fruitless day. Just a few months into her eighteen-month tour, she found herself facing the most difficult case of her career, and in many ways it broke her heart. The facts were straightforward enough to her, but proving them was going to be close to impossible. She opened the door and set out immediately to review the file, again.
Fourteen-year-old Steven Pierce was rather large and mature in appearance for his age. He stood six feet tall and weighed close to two hundred pounds. He possessed a premature, but very healthy growth of facial hair, and a baritone voice that enabled him to pass for twenty-four. It was a virtue for a minor wanting to buy beer; a disadvantage for one such as he, abused by an adult.
Yet Steven was still very much a little boy. A shy young man on the cusp of adolescence, he could be moody and a little smart of the mouth, but for the most part he was a good kid living in a difficult family situation.
Steven’s father was an airman at Andersen AFB and his mom was a civilian employee at the base bowling alley. When things were good between them, life was sweet for Steven, but those times became rarer with each passing day. As his father started drinking more, his mother came home later and later each night. Rumors had her in the arms of another man one day, another woman the next – neither of which was true. But that did not matter to Steven’s father. Finally the fight between the two grew so loud one night that the neighbors called the police. That was the last night Steven had spent at his parents’ home.
The confused, angry, hurt child had moved in with his Aunt Becky and Uncle Joe. They were also a military couple, but had never had any children, nor did they want any. In short, they just did not care much for kids. But Steven was family with nowhere else to go, and the Chomorros’ values influenced the couple enough to take him in. So they converted a spare room into Steven’s bedroom and in he moved. Neither adults nor child were quite sure of what they should do next.
Uncle Joe decided that Steven needed some guidance but, feeling ill-equipped to provide it, he had Steven join a club for boys known as Club Champ. The Club’s slogan was “Every boy is a champion.” The Club Champ leader was Airman First Class Matt Phillips, one of Joe’s co-workers and friends in the aircraft maintenance shop. Matt was well-known for the miracles he worked with wayward boys. So Joe felt that this was the ideal solution for
Her assignment was Andersen Air Force Base (AFB), located in the community of Yigo, about eight miles from her apartment. She enjoyed the ride to work every day in her recently purchased “Guam Bomb.” It was a 1976 Toyota Corolla with more than 250,000 miles on it and a see-through floor board. Laura would have died if she could see her best friend now.
It was the tradition of military personnel to come to the island without a vehicle. The newcomer would then purchase one from out-bound personnel and continue the recycling process by selling it again upon departure. The salty air literally rusted away the floor boards, leaving most of the island cars looking somewhat like Fred Flintstone mobiles. One of the strongest attractions to these cars was their seemingly perpetual stamina. They just kept running and running for hundreds of thousands of miles. Equally attractive was the assurance that the owner could leave the keys in them, because no one was going to steal a Guam Bomb. Given these qualities, the Guam Bomb was said to be the best automotive bargain in the world.
It had been a wonderful time on the beautiful island. But not all was perfect. Dale pulled her trusty Guam Bomb into her apartment complex parking lot; it had been a very long and fruitless day. Just a few months into her eighteen-month tour, she found herself facing the most difficult case of her career, and in many ways it broke her heart. The facts were straightforward enough to her, but proving them was going to be close to impossible. She opened the door and set out immediately to review the file, again.
Fourteen-year-old Steven Pierce was rather large and mature in appearance for his age. He stood six feet tall and weighed close to two hundred pounds. He possessed a premature, but very healthy growth of facial hair, and a baritone voice that enabled him to pass for twenty-four. It was a virtue for a minor wanting to buy beer; a disadvantage for one such as he, abused by an adult.
Yet Steven was still very much a little boy. A shy young man on the cusp of adolescence, he could be moody and a little smart of the mouth, but for the most part he was a good kid living in a difficult family situation.
Steven’s father was an airman at Andersen AFB and his mom was a civilian employee at the base bowling alley. When things were good between them, life was sweet for Steven, but those times became rarer with each passing day. As his father started drinking more, his mother came home later and later each night. Rumors had her in the arms of another man one day, another woman the next – neither of which was true. But that did not matter to Steven’s father. Finally the fight between the two grew so loud one night that the neighbors called the police. That was the last night Steven had spent at his parents’ home.
The confused, angry, hurt child had moved in with his Aunt Becky and Uncle Joe. They were also a military couple, but had never had any children, nor did they want any. In short, they just did not care much for kids. But Steven was family with nowhere else to go, and the Chomorros’ values influenced the couple enough to take him in. So they converted a spare room into Steven’s bedroom and in he moved. Neither adults nor child were quite sure of what they should do next.
Uncle Joe decided that Steven needed some guidance but, feeling ill-equipped to provide it, he had Steven join a club for boys known as Club Champ. The Club’s slogan was “Every boy is a champion.” The Club Champ leader was Airman First Class Matt Phillips, one of Joe’s co-workers and friends in the aircraft maintenance shop. Matt was well-known for the miracles he worked with wayward boys. So Joe felt that this was the ideal solution for
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