That is my father, with the mohawk ( natural) sitting next to Stormin’ Norman, son of the chief investigator in the Lindbergh kidnapping case. His sister went to Smith. Long line of soldiers here. They are at that airborne school in Georgia. ( Yes, I lived in Georgia. Once.).

While one cannot see it in this photo, our last name fits very nicely on a helmet, 4 letters, this works. Dad told me that Norman’s almost had to wrap around his helmet twice. Army joke.

I met Sgt. Rock the day before my 18th birthday. My roommate, who latter became mad as a hatter, was trying to steal the boyfriend of one of our friends. I was, as usual, saying, well, this isn’t any of my business. But she did not want to go to that library at Amherst alone. I was, like, ok, I’ll go with you.

The minute that we entered that library, she dumped me, for the first but not the last time. I was wandering around the stacks, for I love libraries, and I was hit by a bolt of lightening.

It was one of those moments that can occur in one’s life, I know exactly what I was wearing, I know what he was wearing, I can see him before me now, chomping on an oatmeal cookie ( I later learned) , on the floor, leaned up against the stacks, I fell in love before he even said a word to me, in the most heinous of ways.

I was hit by a thunderbolt, the evening before I would turn 18.

I spent a year, making a fool of myself, embarrassing him, but I could not let him him go.

When I came back to college, my Junior year, there was a letter for me, from Rhodesia ( long time ago, Heh ?), from Sgt. Rock. I could not believe what I was reading, I thought that it was a joke. I called one of his good friends at Amherst ( now a big fancy pants lawyer) and asked him if he knew anything about this. He did not.

In my hands, I held a letter from my thunderbolt, saying that he was now a mercenary in Rhodesia. And that he loved me.

I wrote him reams of letters, about anything and nothing, simply so that he would have mail. His fellow soldiers would elbow him when he received yet another fat missive. But he always had mail. Mail is really important to a soldier, far, far away. I have always known this.

We spent 7 years trying to make things work out. They never did. I ended up saying if you can’t be with the one you love,love the one you’re with. And that he would rather face bullets then me.

I met him in 1975. In 1980, we went on a trip to England. We backpacked. I am not a child of nature. He kept saying, two more miles and we can get a pint. I met a lot of interesting mercs, stayed at fabulous, ancient homes owned by their families.

We had this tiny tent, and it was the wettest summer in England in about 400 years. We pitched our tent in Salisbury one day. We needed a ride and Sgt. Rock is very personable, he struck up a conversation with these Dutch lads, who had a car : we wanted to see the Cathedral. I stayed in the tent. I am not personable.

Do you see where this is going ? Do you know who the Dutch lads were ?

Rock and I wanted to make a dash to Normandy beach, it was almost the anniversary of D-Day. We arranged to meet up with the Dutch chaps a few days later in Oxford, Rupert Brooke and all.

We missed D-day by a few hours, but saw that dreadful beach, at low tide.

Back at Oxford, we saw the Rupert Brooke stuff and went to some concert with the Dutch guys of some group that we had never heard of before. It was someone from Genesis.

I left England first. Rock promised me that he would come *home*, that we would sort things out, together ( did I mention that we were once engaged ?).

I cried when I left him.

Back in MA., I waited and waited, for months to hear from him. I didn’t. I applied to Grad Schools and went to the one that offered me the most money. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

At that Grad school, in about October, Rock’s Father called me. He must have found my mother, somehow and she sent him on to me. This wonderful, wonderful man ( he was once a second string for the New York Yankees) was all but in tears. Do you know where Rock is ? He asked me. I said, no. I don’t. But if I hear anything, I will call you right away. And I loathe telephones.

Rock had signed up as a Merc in Namibia.

We both wrote to the Dutch guy.

In about 1981, Rock came back, went back to Amherst. I appeared at his dorm room one day. We tried. We really did. But I always knew that I would never be first, those distant drums, that call of romance would always be more important to him than I could ever be.

I could not settle for second place.

Lost in 1982, I ran away to my parent’s home in Italy. Mummy told me to bring a friend, to keep me company. What about that Dutch fellow ?

That Dutch fellow made very sure that Rock was no longer an option in my heart. Very honorable. I moved in with him about 6 weeks later and have been with him for almost 30 years.

And Sgt. Rock has become the best friend that I have ever had.

Imagine that.