On the 52nd anniversary of the 30th of July

It’d been fifty two years

and a day since the last time

I was at the Frankfurt airport.

But here we were, on the final leg

of our journey home from Africa

I never miss noting that day

on the calendar, July thirtieth.

Because that was the day

in 1973 when I left the Army.

The journey started the day

before with a dozen of my pals

gathered along some tables

shoved together at the base

snackbar to see me off.

I had my final Davy Crocket

burger. That’s a cheeseburger

with a slice of fried bologna

on top of the cheese.

I’d had many of them over the

previous seventeen months;

the chow at the mess hall 

lived up to the the military’s

reputation for mediocrity.

This was in the early 70s and

the Army had a lot of discontent

within the ranks, with an unpopular

war still grinding on and still quite

 a few draftees. So they wanted

to make some regional and

ethnic-themed menus. Most

of which were predictable.

Like spaghetti and meatballs

on Italian night. With that

dry Parmesan cheese that

comes in a can. Mexican night

featured chili beans with

ground beef and taco shells.

Southern night did not feature

fried chicken. The prime entree

was chitlins, black-eyed peas and

cornbread. The mess hall smelled

like hog piss from the chitlins.

I tried them. Once was enough,

so I stuck to black-eyed peas

and cornbread forever after.

Or headed to the snack bar for

a Davy Crocket and iced tea.

Some years, when July 30th

rolls around, I make a Davy

for old times sake. My final 

processing out of the Army was

at Ft Jackson, South Carolina.

We arrived at 4:30 on Friday

afternoon, so they said it was too

late to start processing, go find

a bunk in these old wooden WW II

barracks and come back on Monday.

It was 98 degrees and steamy.

No air conditioning, no breeze

no fan, no nothing, no relief for

two days and three hot nights.

Where’s the snack bar and the

bowling alley and the movie theater?

Maybe I could stay cool til midnight

between those three locations.

The movies were a double bill:

Enter the Dragon with Bruce Lee

and Soylent Green. I saw them

both four times. It occurred to me

that we might have been eating

soylent green back at the mess hall

in Germany. Just a feverish thought

at 3 a.m. in the stifling barracks.

Yesterday I was at the store looking

over the meat selections and picked up

a sealed package that was labeled

“flap meat”. I was pretty sure it was

beef but I never knew that cows

have flaps. Is that like Buffalo wings?

Decided to try it, it grilled beautifully

on the barbecue, very tender and

flavorful, kind of like my other recent

favorite, hanger steak. I don’t know

what part of the cow that’s from either,

something that hangs?