Dad watched several “war” shows when I was a kid. “Combat!” was probably his favorite. Years later I watched “The Rat Patrol.”
Greg got an “army” outfit when he was three or four. It consisted of a plastic World War II style helmet, a rubber knife and a green plastic canteen and belt. He wore the helmet cocked to one side like one of the characters on the show. Greg wouldn’t go anywhere without his helmet and canteen – including to the Bon Marche shopping with Mom. I am sure he embarrassed the hell out of Mom, but when push comes to shove a mother sometimes lives with the embarrassment of her children.
Our backyard was mostly grass, but as with any good farmer, he carved out a nice sunny area for a vegetable garden. I mostly only remember the rectangular shape and the location, but I also remember we grew a lot of different things.
Our “army” adventures traversed the neighborhood. As with most boys when we didn’t have a toy gun we used a stick. Rocks made great grenades when pine cones were not available – plus there was little doubt when the grenade struck the target – usually with crying and running home as the key indicator. Greg showed promise as a baseball player when he skillfully placed one grenade between Randy B’s eyes and the blood poured from his nose.
As often happens with boys, we did not keep good track of “our stuff.” Moms know that even adult “boys” can’t find what they are looking for – half or more of the time. Our army gear was frequently scattered about the yard.
One day Leo Montague, my dad’s friend and boss at Boeing at the time, was looking for a new International pickup. Dad dragged his two young boys with Leo to car dealers looking for the right deal.
That summer day was particularly hot. Cars generally did not come with air conditioning beyond a good crank window and the hot air blowing on our faces was little relief from the trudging from dealership to dealership.
Fortunately early that Saturday morning, Greg had thought to grab his canteen. While I don’t recall the exact search tactics he used – a crisscross grid pattern or “where were you when you last had it?” (Also known as the Mother Shortcut – Moms usually know where you left something because they’ve bugged you to pick it up). But Greg found his green plastic canteen lying in our vegetable garden, quickly filling it up with the outdoor faucet before we left on our adventure.
The kid was obviously smarter than he looked because the canteen of water was a lifesaver that day. We strolled the hot parking lots of cars, all four of us drinking sips, quenching our parched throats. We toughed out the desert heat of North Africa – rationing our water supply to the last drop – until the small banana slug made it to the canteen opening. We looked at each other with shock, knowing full well we all had consumed from the canteen. I don’t recall who won the prize that day, I am sure my brother does.
- Craig
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My name is John Montague and my father's name is Leo Montague. My wife was bored and found this blog by searching for her father-in-law's name while I was upstairs trying to bring some order to his files.
Leo is at least temporarily in an assisted living facility near his home. We copied all the pages of this blog onto my mother's laptop and took it up to him the next day (he doesn't have Internet access in his room.) He remembered Duane of course, and we started to tell him about the truck buying trip. As soon as we mentioned the canteen, a smile appeared on his face. He didn't recall all the details, but he remembered the punch line long before we finished the story. As he has the energy, I'm sure he will read all the chapters.
I didn't know Duane well, although I remembered the name immediately. I'm sorry to say that I didn't even remember that he had children (i.e., you). I remember the International pickup truck, since it was the vehicle in which I learned to drive a manual transmission. First gear was so low that modulating the clutch wasn't really an issue. The starter motor would move the truck forward even with the emergency brake on. And after the "Positraction" rear-end sheared the ends off the axles, Leo paid more money to have it removed than it cost as an option on the new truck. It was the first (and possibly only) brand-new vehicle he owned.
Anyway, despite the fact that my mother says you all visited us on the "farm", my only memory of Duane was the after-effect he had on my father's Aunt Zenna. Aunt Zenna was a lively seventy year-old in Palo Alto, California when I went down to attend Stanford University in 1967. Sometime after that, our fathers came to the Bay Area on a business trip and our mothers tagged along. They wined and dined Aunt Zenna (and me? I don't remember.) and I think the five of them went on an overnight trip to somewhere. Before they left, Duane convinced her that she needed to unplug all the appliances and lamps in the house and turn off the gas so that the house wouldn't burn down while she was away. Of course, she had lived in the house for at least twenty-five years without any problems, but for a while after that she remembered his advice and unplugged everything. Fortunately, it was a very small house. I think I finally convinced her that it wasn't necessary. She lived in the house until she was well into her nineties and the little house was fine until after her death when it was torn down and replaced with a much larger one. But I'm sure that if everyone did that every time they left home, the world would be a safer place.
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