It was the early 60s. I was on active duty in the Marine Corps--stationed on board the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Coral Sea which was, at the time in dry dock at Hunter's Point in San Francisco undergoing repairs. Marines stationed aboard Navy ships are not allowed to have civilian clothing--going ashore on liberty or leave, we were dressed in uniform.
So here I am, a Marine, roaming the streets of San Francisco. It's late, and I don't have to be back to the ship until the next day. I am alone. I see a hotel, the rooms are cheap--$4 or $5 I'm thinking--and I get one for the night. Nice to sleep in a real bed in a room rather than in the 3-storey bunk among 50-some-odd other Marines.
Some time in the night I wake to see, in the dim glow from the street lights, a stranger sitting on the bed beside me, gently patting my leg.
"Hi," he says. "You left your key in the door."
"Oh," I mumble. "Thanks."
He stands and looks at me for a moment.
"You're welcome. I guess I'll go."
"Yeah," I say. "You need to go."
I lock the door behind him.
Jeez . . . .
So here I am, a Marine, roaming the streets of San Francisco. It's late, and I don't have to be back to the ship until the next day. I am alone. I see a hotel, the rooms are cheap--$4 or $5 I'm thinking--and I get one for the night. Nice to sleep in a real bed in a room rather than in the 3-storey bunk among 50-some-odd other Marines.
Some time in the night I wake to see, in the dim glow from the street lights, a stranger sitting on the bed beside me, gently patting my leg.
"Hi," he says. "You left your key in the door."
"Oh," I mumble. "Thanks."
He stands and looks at me for a moment.
"You're welcome. I guess I'll go."
"Yeah," I say. "You need to go."
I lock the door behind him.
Jeez . . . .
