Summer of 68

By Bryan Mooney

In 1968, young Tom Murphy left the small farming community of Willard, Kansas, to travel to Europe. The nineteen-year-old college dropout decided that he wanted to see the world before going to fight in the jungles of Vietnam. So, he packed some clothes, shoved four hundred dollars into his jeans, threw a rucksack and sleeping bag over his shoulder, and headed for Europe. He wanted to see the world in what little time he had left before he goes off to war.

Hitchhiking through Europe, he slept in hostels, in open fields, in the caves of Crete, and on the rocky beaches of Spain’s Costa del Sol. Along the way, he endured the riot police in Paris, wild wolves in Belgium, scorpions in France, and the secret police in Yugoslavia. While traveling through fourteen countries, he made many great friends from around the world, but there was one girl he would never forget. Over the years, she drifted back into his consciousness until ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryan Mooney
• Release date: Dec 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463647868

Bryan Mooney

Bryan Mooney is the author of Christmas in Vermont, Once We Were Friends, Love Letters, A Second Chance, and other romance novels, as well as the Nick Ryan thriller series. He spent years traveling the globe for both business and pleasure, and he draws upon those experiences in his writing. Originally from the Midwest, Bryan now lives in sunny South Florida with his childhood sweetheart and longtime wife, Bonnie. When he’s not penning romance novels and thrillers on the beach, he and his wife love to travel. Connect with Bryan at www.bryanmooneyauthor.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

Topeka, Kansas

People always joked that Topeka, Kansas, was a great place to be from… rather than a great place to live. I come from the small town of Willard, Kansas, population ninety-two, a far distant suburb of Topeka. Now, that was a place to be from.

~

Saturday, May 18, 1968-

Thomis Murphy was only nineteen years old. He had a secret. But now he was running out of time. He had to tell them. Today.

Yes, today is the day, Tommy thought, as he joined his parents in the kitchen for breakfast. Focus Tommy. Do it now. He cleared his throat, but as he began to speak, his father spoke first, Tommy, his father said, leaning across the kitchen table, and staring at his young son. Like hell, you’re going to Europe! he bellowed bluntly.

They know? How did they find out I’m going to Europe? Tommy was nervous but sat and listened, his hands and fingers twitched.

You’re only eighteen goddamn years old, his father continued, his voice echoing off the walls of the small kitchen.

Nineteen, Tommy murmured, without looking up.

That’s right, Hal, his mother said, interjecting her comments from the other side of the table. Remember, Tommy had his birthday two weeks ago? He’s nineteen now.

I don’t care, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, who cares? It doesn’t matter. Janey, he’s not going to Europe.

I agree but…

It was apparent his father was furious. The veins in his neck and forehead were bulging, and his face had turned a bright shade of purple. Then came the expected onslaught of objections and questions. Tommy was ready, primed for their interrogation. The young would-be traveler remained silent. Wait, he told himself. He had been preparing months for this very moment. He knew more was coming. Wait.

What about school? What about work? his father asked, his voice rising in urgency. What about the draft? What about the Army? Vietnam? He paused to survey his young son’s reaction before continuing his barrage of questions. What about Diane, your girlfriend? You know she’s going to have a lot to say about this. He looked to his wife with a triumphant grin. Well? he asked, his tone demanding an answer.

His wife placed her hand on his arm and gave him a quieting look. Tommy, answer your father, his mother whispered. We’re both very concerned. I got a phone call from Sam’s Army Surplus store over in Maple Hill, and they told me they were going out of business and wanted you to come by and pick up the things you had on layaway. Something about a rucksack, a sleeping bag, and some other stuff.

So that’s how they found out.

She continued, Then, an hour later, Pan American Airlines called to say they rescheduled your flight from New York to Ireland. It’s now leaving two hours later, and they wanted you to know. His mom looked across the table and murmured, This is the first we hear anything about a trip to Europe, Tommy. I was a little disappointed you didn’t share any of this with us.

That hurt, more than anything. Tommy never wanted to hurt his mother, never. His dad could take the news but his mom…

Tommy? his mother questioned.

Finally, he answered, Mom, I was afraid if you found out about my trip, you’d both try to talk me out of it.

Damn straight we would have, said his father, almost shouting, taking in a deep breath before he continued. After working for the railroad for the last twenty-five years, Hal Murphy was accustomed to being in charge. He was the regional operations supervisor for the Rock Island Railroad. His men always said he was tough but fair, but no one ever crossed him. Tommy, you’ve never been more than fifty miles from home. And another thing—

Tommy interrupted, Yes, I have. I’ve been to visit Uncle Mike at the VA hospital in Wichita last summer, and… we go to see the holiday displays in downtown Topeka at Christmastime every year.

Thomis Aloysius Murphy, don’t you dare interrupt your father, his mother said sternly, upset, and trying to quiet her trembling hands.

His father seemed surprised at her outburst, but he continued. Europe? he roared as if it were a question which required no answer. Using his fingers, he began to count out his objections. One, you’ve never been on an airplane before. Two, you don’t speak any other languages. Three, you don’t know the customs in Europe, their food, their money, or anything else. Four, you’ll be thousands of miles away from home. We won’t be there to help you should you need it. Five, you’ve got the draft hanging over your head. He paused, then leaned closer to his son, No, this is out of the question. I forbid it.

His father stood to leave, but once again, Janey’s quieting hand soothed him to sit down. She rose to get the coffee pot to pour more coffee for the three of them.

Your father does have a point Thomis. We’re just concerned about you that’s all. What are you going to do about school? She smiled her understanding smile, which compelled him to answer.

I’m not going back to school. It was a junior college, and most of the guys attending there just wanted a college deferment to dodge the draft. Besides my grades weren’t that good. And I didn’t enjoy it. I’m not going back. He paused to let the information sink in before saying, I let them know three weeks ago.

Quit? You dropped out of school? his father shouted. His eyes were swelling, but then he sat back with a look of defeat on his face, saying in a much softer tone, Tommy, we had such high hopes for you to finish college, get a good job, …maybe even take over my job at the railroad one day. Then get married, settle down, have a family and make something of yourself.

I will, Dad, just not right now. I’ll have plenty of time to finish school. Young Tommy had decided that he was going to Europe, and nothing was going to stop him. He was going. One way or another I’m getting out of Willard and never going to get stuck here. No way. He was getting out.

His parents began again. What about the draft? his father asked. Once they know you’re no longer in school they’ll draft you into the Army—and then it’s off to Vietnam. His mother gasped at the sound of the word. Vietnam—another word for a torturous hell.

I know. I already went to the draft board on Monday. I submitted the paperwork to officially inform them that I quit school. Mrs. Shepard works there. When I told her what I was doing, she helped me fill out the forms and said she would take care of submitting them for me. She told me it usually takes three to five months from the time she files the paperwork until the Selective Service sends out the draft notice for the army.

Jane Murphy waited until he finished. Of course, we remember Mrs. Shepard, how could we ever forget her? You were named for her son, Thomis Shepard, the firefighter.

Thomis Shepard was considered a local hero in Willard, Kansas. He was a Shawnee County volunteer firefighter who years before had rushed inside the fiery flames consuming the Murphy home, saving Jane Murphy from certain death. He died two days later from his injuries.

But Tommy, this is serious—this is the draft. His mother’s slight frame shook every time she mentioned the word draft. Did Mrs. Shepard try to talk some sense into you? asked his mother.

Well…she asked if she could come with me.

Damn troublemaker, his father said under his breath.

Hal, you be quiet now. We owe a great deal to the Shepard family. Hush. As tears formed, his mother left the room, in search of a tissue.

His father leaned in close across the table to whisper. Son, do you understand exactly how the draft works? Well, let me tell you. He looked over his shoulder to make sure his wife was not within earshot.

Hal Murphy continued. Without your college deferment, the government will require you to report for duty to an Army processing center. They’ll shave your head bald, send you to that hellhole Fort Leonard Wood for eight weeks of basic training, show you how to fire a rifle and then ship you off to Vietnam and… He made his point but stopped as his wife rejoined the discussion. His father knew that Tommy understood the ramifications of dropping out of school—but he just wanted to remind him.

His father continued. What about your job… and Diane? You remember Diane Russell, don’t you? Your girlfriend? Right?

I gave notice at work on Tuesday and talked with Diane yesterday. She broke it off.

See, what the hell did I tell you? I always said that girl had a good head on her shoulders. You should marry her, settle down, and finish school; that’s what you should do.

Tommy could tell from the questions that his father was getting desperate. The tension in the small kitchen was building, and he could feel it.

If you go, what are you going to live on in Europe? asked his mother.

I’ve been saving my money and working two jobs for a couple of years. I have saved almost seven hundred dollars.

His father let out a deep sigh saying, Tommy, first we let you get that guitar. Then when you turned sixteen, we allowed you to buy a motorcycle.

His mother muttered under her breath, I hate that smelly, noisy thing…it’s so dangerous.

Hal gave her a look, nodding in agreement, That was something we didn’t agree with either, but we let you buy it, hoping it would help you make some friends… help you come out of your shell and get to know people. Maybe get you out of your room and away from all those damn books. But this is something different. This is Europe, thousands of miles away from here.

Tommy swallowed, I sold my motorcycle … and my guitar to Nick Malden, Derek’s brother, Tommy said, shrugging his shoulders. Tommy sipped his coffee and said, I have enough money to last me for three to six months.

Six months? his mother gasped.

Or maybe just three months, he hastened to add. It depends on how long it takes them to process my paperwork at the draft board.

His mother sighed, then retrieved the pot of coffee from the stove and refilled their coffee cups on the table. She ran her hand through her son’s rumpled sandy blond hair, and then patted him on the shoulder as she walked by.

Janey, don’t do that, you’ll just encourage the boy, his father admonished her.

Hal, he’s a man now, whether we like it or not. He needs to make his own decisions. Good or bad. He’s the one who will have to live with them, she said after sitting down and taking a sip from her coffee cup.

Seeing his mom sitting across from him caused Tommy to waver, lost in thought. Am I making the right decision? Good or bad? Never thought about the bad. What’s bad? What could be so terrible about going to Europe? Stick with it, Tommy. Don’t be tricked or swayed; don’t doubt yourself.

Hal, I’m sure Tommy knows all about the military coup in Greece, the uprisings in Spain, the turmoil in Yugoslavia, and the bloody student rioting and strikes in France. Right, Tommy?

Of course, Mom. He lied. What coup? What riots?

Tommy, why do you want to go to Europe? That’s what I’d like to know, she asked.

He turned to his father, Dad, you and I used to watch planes take off at the Topeka Airport, and I remember you saying they were going to all these exotic places like London, Paris, Hong Kong, or Tokyo and how much you wish you could see those places. Remember? Well, it made me want to travel. Made me want to see the world.

He saw his father lower his head without saying anything. I don’t want to be stuck here in Willard like him. He travels only where the rail lines take him in Kansas. I want to see more. I want to see Europe.

His father took in a deep breath but held his silence.

Tommy trembled then told them both, I don’t know what the future is going to bring me, but I want to see Europe before I die, or grow old, or get married and have kids. That’s all. Mark down on Holden Street is already married, and his wife Julie is expecting—and he just turned eighteen. The tremble left his voice and he took a more serious tone. I’ll be in Europe for two or three months … just until I get my draft notice. Then I’ll come home and go into the army. But by then I will have seen some of the world. His parents looked at one another.

Thomis, his mother sipped her coffee then asked him, Who’s going with you on your trip?

He was shocked. Trick question. He never expected it. A simple question. He stammered, searching, looking for an answer. Who was I going with? Who? He sipped his coffee to stall and buy himself some time. Simple question, but if I told them the truth and said I was going alone, they would both explode, and my defenses would crumble. The trip would be off. Who, Tommy? Who are you going with to Europe? Who? He took another sip of coffee and found his answer. He saw the O‘Connor Coffee container on the kitchen counter. Yes, he had his answer.

Chuck O‘Connor, he said, lying.

Oh, do we know him? That name sounds so familiar, his mother asked, looking relieved.

No, you don’t know him, Mom. He lied again

She took another sip of her coffee and said, Very good. That’s a relief. We’d like to meet him.

Now what? Not again. Not another lie. Not to mom. He didn’t anticipate an interrogation from his mother. He thought the onslaught of questions and objections would come from his father. Now he was faced with good cop, bad cop. They were both very tricky. Stay the course, Tommy.

Well, I met him at school last year. He lives in Chicago, and his dad’s in the military, and they travel a lot. He’s going to meet me in New York on the plane. More lies.

Oh, she said, I guess that’s all right then.

Janey! his father said interrupting the conversation. The end was coming; he could tell from the tone of his father’s voice that the questioning would soon be over. His father stood and said solemnly, Thomis, we’ve decided…you’re not going to Europe, and that’s the end of it. If you want to go when you’re older, okay, but not now. Go back to college and let Mrs. Shepard at the draft board know that you’re returning to school so you won’t be drafted. All right? Do you understand what I’m telling you?

Yes, sir. I understand what you’re asking.

And now, this discussion is over. Do you understand me, over? He stood, then left the room, leaving Tommy and his mother alone.

Tommy watched his father leave. Done! It was over. Whew.

His mother stood up and walked to her son’s side. Your father and I are just looking out for your best interests Tommy. That’s all. You have always been special … very special … to us. You know that … don’t you? She smiled, brushing the hair away from his forehead, something she always did since he was little.

Over the next week, Tommy found items stashed inside his rucksack. His mother hid cans of Spam, Vienna sausage, tuna fish, a bag of chocolate bars, and other goodies inside. He returned it all to the kitchen without her noticing. She also left him a journal, and a pack of stationary and envelopes with a note on it, Love you! Don’t you dare forget to write me. And keep a journal of your trip.

He smiled when he saw her distinctive handwriting, but he hated to write letters. He hated all the loops, the irregular shapes, and sizes—nothing was ever uniform. To his eye, his handwriting was very disorganized and not level in height at all. When forced to write anything, he would use his mom’s typewriter and type it in all caps. That way every word was unvarying, all the same size and height, so neat and tidy. Just the way he liked it.

For years Tommy had dreamt of traveling. Now, he knew the time was right. Tommy had read the works of Karl Marx, Jack Kerouac, Franz Kafka, Mark Twain, John Steinbeck, and his favorite—Ernest Hemingway, they inspired him, and fueled his desire to see the world beyond Willard, Kansas.

He smiled, then thought to himself, it won’t be long now. Europe here I come!

Chapter Two

Saturday, June 1, 1968-

Tomorrow was the big day. Europe! He was excited; he lay in bed; he had not slept that night or the night before. Tommy had been waiting years for this day, and now the time was finally here. Wow! I’m going to Europe! Three glorious months. Off to Dublin! London! Paris! Marseille! The world. Like Derek said, taste the wine! Kiss the girls! Drink the beer! Eat the food, see places, and hear all the different languages.

Breathing deep he looked around his bedroom. The walls in his room, lined with faded knotty pine, made him feel comfortable. Parts of the aging wood were dark, almost the color of caramel. A deep, rich brown and dark vanilla color. Knots in the wood seemed to grow darker each year.

His room was the smallest in the Murphy three-bedroom home, but he didn’t mind. Years ago, to make room for the arrival of the twins, his parents converted his mother’s sewing room into a new bedroom, just for Tommy. It was small, but at the back of the house, where it was quiet and cool.

Low-slung bookshelves lined the walls and overflowed with books, with more stacked on the floor around his bed. Tommy loved to read. It was his world. He traveled the globe by opening a book. But now he wanted to see it for himself.

He threw off the sheet and stood, grabbing his old lifeguard t-shirt, swim trunks, and tennis shoes. A book fell from his bed to the floor. It was his favorite, Hemingway’s novel, A Moveable Feast.

Tommy again read the epigraph from the book, "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." Tommy loved the book, having read it many times over the four years since its release.

Paris! Yes, I want to go to Paris, he thought, then reminded himself with a grin, No… I am going to Paris. And soon. He could hardly wait as he placed the book on the bookshelf.

When Tommy wasn’t working as a yard boy or part-time mechanic pumping gas at Miller’s Garage, he worked at the railroad yard just off East Railroad Street, on the edge of town. Two summers before, his father, a regional supervisor for the Rock Island Railroad, helped him and Derek land part-time jobs with the railroad working at a local freight warehouse.

Their job was loading and unloading bags of grain, concrete, and feed corn from freight trains. The bags were heavy on his shoulder and back as he hoisted them off the conveyor belt, and carried them in and out of the warehouse. The 95-degree summer heat felt like 130 broiling degrees inside the hot, steamy storeroom. They were long days and hard work, but his arms and back grew stronger each summer as he filled the cigar box under his bed with money for his trip.

Tommy! He heard his mother shout from the kitchen. Breakfast is ready. Come and get it while it’s hot.

Okay Mom.

He glanced at his green rucksack in the corner of the room and swung it to the bed to make one final check of its contents. It was something he had done at least twice a day for the last week; just to make sure he had not forgotten anything and to make sure his mother had not slipped anything else in it to weigh him down. Everything was in order and ready to go.

Tommy could not wait to leave on his trip. He wanted to be away from boring Willard. He hated the boring summers, the nosy small-town neighbors, boring cornfields, rolling thunderstorms, tornadoes, and the stifling summer heat. Yet, he loved the wonderful summer barbecues.

The weekly American Legion chicken barbecue dinners were always the highlight of the week in Willard. All the boys loved to watch the young college girl waitresses who served the crowds wearing their skimpy short shorts and tight blouses. The girls especially liked to bustle around the tall local boy with the broad shoulders and cute grin. They would smile at him, brush up against him, lean over him with their tops struggling to stay buttoned with flashes of a bra bursting through the sheer cotton fabric. In past summers, he had always enjoyed going there, but not this summer, tomorrow he was off to Europe.

The house was quiet, unusual for a Saturday morning. His younger siblings, the twins, Josh and Jeremy, were staying the night at his Aunt Ginny’s house in Silver Lake, near Topeka. She was a doctor’s widow with a big old house and large swimming pool and enjoyed the company of the two rambunctious teenage boys. She had servants to fulfill their every wish. They were in heaven at Aunt Ginny’s. Next week they would leave for summer camp by the lake.

His mom hollered, Thomis, don’t make me call you again.

Be right there, Mom, he said in reply walking the twenty-eight steps towards the kitchen.

Years before, he had watched a late-night movie about a young boy blinded in a freak accident. The boy in the film learned to count his steps to make his way through everyday life. He counted everything; it became the boy’s obsession. The number of steps to the bathroom. To the kitchen. To the basement. Now Tommy also practiced the same routine, just in case something like that ever happened to him.

Thomis Aloysius Murphy, your breakfast is on the table waiting for you, and it’s getting cold. You won’t be eating three hot meals a day like this when you’re in Europe. This is the last time I’m going to call you and… she did not finish but instead began to cry when he appeared in the doorway.

Morning mom, he said cheerfully, hugging her then leaned over to give her a good morning kiss. His mother had his coffee waiting for him, just the way he liked it, a little fresh cream, a touch of cinnamon, and a dab of nutmeg.

She turned away to dry her tears. She looked at him, tussled his wavy blond hair and said, Sit down and eat.

That night his father visited him in his room. All packed? he asked, sitting on the bed his hand tracing the lines of the rucksack.

Yes sir.

Say your goodbyes to everybody? The boys? Diane? Derek?

Yes. I talked to Diane’s mom. She said Diane was washing her hair and would call me back. Never did. And Derek told me he enlisted in the army. Goes in next week.

What?

Yep. Said he didn’t want to wait for the draft. Wanted to get it over with.

Humph. Always was impetuous.

He told me to write to him and drink lots of beer.

His father laughed.

Tommy could tell his father was searching for words. Wanting to tell him something.

His dad’s face changed and breathed deep as he always did before making a pronouncement, then said, I’m concerned for you Tommy. Both your mother and I are concerned for you. But I … just wanted to tell you … I love …

Tommy hugged him tight and said, I love you too, Dad. He looked at his father, I know you’re not happy with my decision, but I’m going to Europe. I have to do this. He could hear his mother sobbing behind them as they all stood there holding each other in a bear hug.

Just be careful, Okay? And write your mother, he told him, wagging his finger in his young son’s face.

Early the next morning, as he boarded the plane, he saw them standing there at the gate, his mother clutching onto his father’s good arm as if Tommy was going off to war. His father waved his cast in the air to say goodbye. The twins stood next to them, each giving him the thumbs up and waving goodbye.

For once, Tommy wavered, wondering if he was making the right choice. This was not as easy as he thought it would be. Who was going to cut the lawn with Dad’s hand broken? Josh? Jeremy? They are going to camp soon. Since mom doesn’t drive a car, who’s going to drive her to the store for groceries, to the hairdresser, to bingo or to church? Do I really want to do this? Maybe I should reconsider the whole Europe thing. Is this the right thing to do and what about…?

Welcome to TWA, he heard a young female voice say as he wandered aboard, he looked up. She was blonde and pretty.

Tommy turned around and waved goodbye to his family who were standing at the tall glass windows inside the terminal. Too late now, he thought and took in a deep gulp. What the hell was I thinking?

Chapter Three

New York

What can one say about New York City? The city that never sleeps, that never slows down and is a constant source of amazement. Cute girls. Beer. So much to see with so little time. Love it!

~

Sunday, June 2nd, 1968-

The numbing noise of the airplane’s propellers coursed through his body during his flight from Topeka. TWA flew mainly propeller planes, but the flight to Europe the next day was on a Pan Am jet, thank God.

In the coach section, the stewardesses served a breakfast of two eggs, pancakes, toast, marmalade and a selection of milk, coffee, or orange juice. Someone in the row behind him said that in first class they had white napkins, shiny silverware, and a choice of steak and eggs or ham and eggs. First class, now that’s the ticket. But it cost twenty dollars more.

He leaned against the window and tried to sleep but was too excited and instead just looked outside to watch the passing clouds drift by. He didn’t want to miss anything, Stay awake, Tommy. His eyes closed and in what seemed like minutes later, he heard an announcement, Good morning ladies and gentlemen. In preparation for our approach and landing at John F. Kennedy International Airport, we would like to ask you to please move your seats forward to their full upright position and ensure that your seatbelts are securely fastened. The captain would like me to inform you that we may encounter a little turbulence as we land so it may be a bumpy landing. But we’ll get you there safe and sound.

They circled over New York City. The skyscrapers rose high to greet him. So many tall buildings, so many people. The city stretched as far as he could see. Unbelievable.

The plane rocked back and forth a few times from the wind, but the ride soon became smooth and calm, and the runway came into view below them. From the seat pocket, he pulled the blue leather-bound journal his gave him and began to write:

June 2, 1968—I can see the New York City skyline out the airplane window as we make our landing. I’m excited to begin this journey. I can’t wait to see and experience the big city. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the food, the drink, all of it. Wow, I’ll be able to buy myself my first legal beer in New York since the legal drinking age is eighteen. Can’t wait. They said at the travel agency that a bus would be waiting just outside the baggage terminal to take me downtown to the YMCA. Bus #74. Check-in time at the YMCA is 12:00 o’clock and it’s now 9:30. I think they said it would cost… The runway bumped and bounced the plane as the tires hit the pavement and then it was over. His first airplane ride.

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying TWA and welcome to New York. Please check your seat and the area around you to make sure you have all your belongings. Have a nice day.

When he entered the airport terminal, it was overwhelming. He confronted New York City at its finest and busiest. Masses of humanity. People were rushing everywhere. He grabbed his backpack from the luggage carousel and headed for the street and encountered a row of fifty buses waiting to pick up passengers. People in lines were everywhere. It looked like hundreds!

• • •

He made his way to what he thought was his bus, but two busses listed the number 74. He looked closer, and one banner said bus 74A—The Bronx and the other said 74B—Manhattan-JFK Limo. A big, older heavyset man, wearing a sweat-stained blue chambray work shirt was loading the luggage into the storage bin underneath the bus.

Tommy walked up behind him and whispered, Downtown bus?

Without even looking up, the man responded, Where you goin’ bud?

He unfolded his reservation sheet that he received from the travel agent confirming his stay and said, Looking for the Sloane House, 356 West 34th Street. It’s a YMCA, I think.

One of the biggest. Toss me your bag and hop aboard. Stay on until the very end, and then you’re just a few blocks away. I’ll put your rucksack in first since you’ll be getting off last.

Thanks.

Grab a seat inside. Be right there. A large pile of luggage on the sidewalk kept the man busy until he loaded the last piece and closed the luggage side panel on the bus. When he slid behind the wheel, Tommy then realized he was also the bus driver. The ride through town was fascinating. The impatient bus driver honked at slow moving cars and trucks and made threatening gestures with his hands to most of them. He shouted at the slowest ones and honked at the imprudent ones making their way through the city streets. The bus made the journey in less than forty-five minutes even after making multiple stops at hotels along the way.

As he walked to the hotel, he was amazed. More people, cars, buses, trucks, taxis, than he had ever seen before in his life. And the people! All sizes, shapes, and colors, dressed in everything from business suits to sandals, to turbans, dresses and all in a hurry to get somewhere. Street vendors sold everything from hot dogs, to purses, watches, and belts.

He had prepared for everything, except New York at its busiest. The clamor ranged from a dull roar to a high-pitched buzz filled with people noises, car sounds, buses, horns honking, diesel trucks and people in yellow taxis constantly on the move. He loved it from the start. It was an exciting place.

And the bus driver was right; the hotel that he had booked for that night was two blocks from the last bus stop. The YMCA was an impressive, red brick building, some twenty stories tall with over sixteen hundred rooms according to his Frommer’s guide. He remembered the driver saying it was the largest YMCA in the country. The sign on the front door stated Welcome to Sloane House.

When he walked inside, he admired the terrazzo floor. Light poured inside through a row of blue and yellow windows over the front entrance door. He saw the tall two-story lobby and a group of backpackers in a long line, waiting for the podium to open to check in for the night.

The building had gold inlay mosaics covering the wide wall behind the podium. It was a scene from the Industrial Revolution, featuring trains, planes, and workers looking towards the sun. It was massive and quite impressive.

Is this the line for check-in? he asked two young travelers at the end of the line as he swung his rucksack to the tiled floor.

Yeah. Everybody’s waiting. They don’t open check-in until twelve o’clock. We hitchhiked here from San Francisco. On the road for a week and I can’t wait to take a shower and flop in a clean bed. Got an early flight to Amsterdam tomorrow. He smiled and held out his hand. I’m Rick, and this is my brother Ian.

Hey, I’m Tommy. Just flew in from Topeka. I leave for Shannon tomorrow.

Ireland?

Yeah. It was the cheapest flight I could get to Europe.

The line did not move. Minutes dragged on. Tommy looked at his watch, it was few minutes after ten A.M., and his stomach was grumbling, again.

This is my second trip to Europe and Rick’s first. Ian smiled a friendly but tired smile. Funny, but you don’t see a lot of Midwesterners going to Europe. But you’ll love it there. Especially the further south you go to, like Spain, Italy, Greece, and Portugal. A lot cheaper.

Hmmm, I was planning to go south to France, Spain and Lisbon.

Spain’s has warmer weather and better food with bigger portions. Once you travel south it’s cheaper.

He looked around the lobby filled with people. Everyone appeared to be waiting to check in. There were at least fifty students ahead of him, waiting in line.

Is there any place around here to get something to eat? It had been two hours since he had last eaten on the plane. He was hungry, again.

There’s burger joint two doors away, called Mike’s, and then there’s a deli a couple blocks down the street on West 34th. You can’t miss it. Epstein’s Deli. I suggest you try the deli rather than Mike’s if you don’t want to get sick.

You guys going to be waiting here? he asked looking down at his rucksack.

Yeah sure, you can leave it here. We’ll keep an eye on it for you. We ain’t going anywhere fast. They don’t open check-in until twelve. And the last time I was here they were late checking everybody into their rooms.

Thanks, guys, he said as he walked past an ever-growing line of people waiting to check in.

The onslaught of noises struck him again as he walked out the door onto the sidewalk of the bustling city. Horns honking, people rushing by as he tried to take it all in. He walked one block, then two, then four and just when he was about to give up he saw a neon sign–Epstein’s Deli. Seven hundred and twelve steps from the YMCA.

A busy place. Tables and booths to the left, a long eat-in counter on the right. Mirrors on the wall behind the counter made it appear bigger. An antiseptic black and white tile floor. He waited for an empty seat and then grabbed one at the counter when someone left. He ordered a big breakfast of three fried eggs, ham, toast, and a side order of onion hash browns with a stack of pancakes. With milk and a cup of coffee. He was hungry.

As he ate, he watched people buzz around him ordering from the same efficient gray-haired waitress who waited on him, the one with a week-old faded ketchup stain on the front of her apron. She took everyone’s orders, barked them to the unseen short order cook in the rear while she answered the phone to take phone-in orders. Customers picked up their takeout bags at the front counter then paid her for their meals. She never made eye contact with anyone until she gave them her usual tip smile. She was efficient and pleasant. It was the best breakfast he had ever had in his life.

When he was finished eating, he stood and looked at the bill, eight dollars. He paid with nine dollars saying, Keep the change.

She made eye contact, looked at the tip and turned away expressionless. Thanks, she smirked, cleaning off the counter. He glanced at his watch and saw it was eleven fifteen. I’ll be back in plenty of time to check in, he thought.

Pushing open the front door of the YMCA, he was shocked at the transformation. The deserted lobby appeared as if there had been an evacuation fire drill. Gone was the line of students waiting to check in. Gone were the two brothers from California. And gone was his backpack, along with everything else he owned and needed to make his trip to Europe. He thought he was going to be sick as he approached the man seated behind the check-in stand.

Excuse me, Tommy said.

Name? he asked.

Murphy. Thomis, Tommy… Murphy. What happened here? I thought you didn’t open check-in until noon?

Boss said to open it early. The line was too long, and crowded up the lobby, said the man peering over his glasses checking his list. Ah yes, here we go. Thomis Murphy, one-night, private room. Ten dollars.

He was in shock as his mind churned looking for a solution. Where’s my bag? He kept asking himself. His eyes scoured the waiting areas, the chairs, and sofas scattered about the lobby. No rucksack. Help!

His voice cracked, I… I was here earlier, he said to the man, and went to get something to eat. I left my bag here with two brothers, Ian, and somebody else from California. But they’re gone and so is my bag.

The tall man turned his attention away from his check-in register and peered down at him over his reading glasses. You left your bag, here, unattended? With two guys, you just met? he asked with a tone of disbelief obvious in his voice.

Yes. But I left it with two brothers who are staying here tonight.

Son, we got over fifteen hundred students here. Most from California.

He was speechless. How stupid can I be? Yeah I guess it was a pretty dumb thing to do and … his voice drifted off.

The man took in a deep breath and exhaled, Green nylon rucksack, metal frame? Back support? Heavy?

His face brightened, Yeah that’s the one.

Hold on, son. Wait here. He locked the podium desk and vanished from sight behind a door at the rear of the lobby, soon reappearing and carrying Tommy’s green backpack. Is this it?

Yes, that’s it. Oh, my God. That’s my bag. Thank you.

Listen, kid, don’t ever do that again. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

Kansas? How’d you know I’m from Kansas?

Figure of speech, kid. You’re lucky I found it. Your bag sat right there on the floor, in the middle of the lobby. You can’t expect people to look after your gear; that’s your job kid. Okay? Got it?

Yeah, thanks.

Ten bucks for the room. In advance.

He paid the man and made his way to his room on an old creaky elevator. Twelfth floor. Small, clean bed, closet, television, sink. The shower was a communal one down the hall. A stack of fresh white towels at the foot of the bed. He turned on the small black and white television that was hanging on the wall above the chair—it worked. Local weather. He swung his bag into the closet, brushed his teeth to rid himself of the onion taste leftover from his meal at the deli. The bed looked comfortable. He laid his head on the pillow. Felt good. He closed his eyes for ten seconds but when he awoke, it was nearing four o’clock. Time to go exploring.

Tommy loved to walk. His whole life he would rather walk somewhere than ride a bike, his motorcycle, or hitchhike. Once he walked ten miles to go fishing on a Saturday morning during the summer. Then later, he walked home. He liked to walk along the railroad tracks, gave him time to think and be by himself.

He walked down West 34th Street to the Empire State Building. The super-fast elevator delivered him to the top in record time. Impressive. The view was glorious from 102 stories at the top of the world overlooking the grandest city in the world. He walked around the observation deck and wondered about the magnificence of it all. Huge buildings were everywhere he looked. One taller than the next. It was breathtaking. He did not want to leave. But he had other sights to explore.

He was loving New York City. After grabbing a hot dog from a street vendor, Tommy walked up Broadway to the Metropolitan Opera House then to Rockefeller Center before ending up at the center of the universe—Times Square! If New York City was a boxing match, then Times Square was the main event. Busy everywhere. Lights. People. Traffic. Sounds. Horns. Smells. Taxis. Noise. Trucks! All assaulting his senses at the same time. It blended together like an amazing crazy quilt of sights, sounds and smells. It soon became routine but exciting all the same. He loved it. Maybe I’ll just stay here in New York and never leave? he wondered to himself. This is great!

As he walked the streets, munching on a freshly baked giant pretzel he bought from a street vendor, he saw a crowd around a man with a improvised table. In front of him, on the table were three playing cards.

The skinny kid in a torn t-shirt proclaimed loudly to the gathering crowd. Money card is the queen of diamonds. The lucky lady. Five dollars. Get ready to place your bet. He sported a huge smile and had flashing hands wearing fingerless gloves. He moved the cards around fast, so fast that the eye could not follow them. He stopped moving the cards when a girl put a five-dollar bill on the table at the card she chose. The young man picked up the card and shouted as he showed it to the crowd. No, that’s the two of clubs. He swept the money into his pocket.

The crowd grew larger. Tommy leaned in and carefully watched the young man’s hands as they moved about the table. His hands were quick, but Tommy’s eyes were quicker. He knew where the red queen was hiding. His eyes followed the cards, faster and faster as they moved about the impromptu stage, but he knew where it was. The center one, yes it had to be the center one. He knew it! As he reached inside his pocket to place his bet and claim his winnings, someone behind him tapped him on the shoulder. Hey, buddy. Is that yours? said a middle-aged man in army fatigues, pointing to a ten-dollar bill lying on the ground at his feet.

Ten dollars! Wow!

Yes… I guess it is. Must have fallen out of my pocket, Tommy said, marveling at his luck and the kindness of a stranger. New Yorkers were all so kind he thought. As he went to reach for the money, it suddenly disappeared into the hands of the kind stranger. An invisible retractable wire quickly returned to the man’s hand. The man and his friend both laughed at what had just happened and began pointing, waving at Tommy.

Tommy was embarrassed, he felt two feet tall. Now everybody was laughing—at him.

Suddenly, a whistle blew, and the police arrived on the corner as the card man quickly folded up his table and made a speedy getaway. The crowd disappeared. But Tommy got the last laugh. He still had his five dollars safe and secure in his jeans pocket. He never betted on the location of the card on the table thanks to his new, laughing friends. Now he was tired as he walked back into the empty lobby of the hotel, past the lounging security guard sitting near the entrance. It had been a long day. His first day on the road.

Back in his room, he pulled out his journal and made his next entry.

June 2, 1968

New York is a magical place. I have never seen so many people in my whole life! What a city! The hotel is huge, and I am glad I got a private room all to myself. I’ll need to share a room in Europe when I am in a hostel, but that can wait. Must be careful and watch people. I must focus and think for myself as I embark on this journey. Tomorrow I fly to Ireland. The Emerald Isle. I can’t wait.

He slid the journal back into his bag and flipped on the television as he got ready for bed. While brushing his teeth, he heard the beginning of a foreign film on the television. It was about to begin. He had never heard of the movie before, in French with English words printed at the bottom of the screen, titled, Children of Paradise. The story of a beautiful courtesan in France pursued by four different men, including one who was a mime.

He settled into bed and began to watch the intricacies of the plot and the interactions of the actors. The film was mesmerizing. Three hours later the movie was over, and he closed his eyes. Wow. What a movie! We don’t have shows like that in Topeka. He dozed off to sleep, ready for the next day and his new adventures.

The next morning, the shuttle bus to the airport was almost full, he took the last seat in the rear. It headed south towards Manhattan making stops along the way. As they approached the Brooklyn Bridge, traffic slowed, and another bus pulled up next to them. On that bus were young boys about his age with fresh new military haircuts, in dark green uniforms. They all looked scared. One of them waved the peace sign to him as the bus pulled away.

It took hours to cross the bridge with one lane closed due to an anti-war demonstration. He stood to watch and tried to listen to their chants as the traffic backed up for miles. As they neared the end of the bridge, he could see police arresting some of the long-haired demonstrators. Others held up their signs, which read:

STOP THE WAR.

BRING OUR BOYS HOME.

STOP THE DRAFT!

BAN THE BOMB!

MAKE LOVE NOT WAR.

He chuckled, he agreed with the last one—make love not war.

Another lone protester held up a handpainted sign which read:

Poor kids go to Vietnam

Rich kids go to Harvard

Once off the bridge, the bus drove quickly to the airport as he checked his bag at the international desk and got his boarding pass from the lovely attendant. What do you have in this thing? It’s so heavy, she asked with a sweet smile. She was kind of pretty and a few years older than Tommy.

Mainly clothes and books, he said shyly. I’m going to Europe for a few months’ visit.

Are you coming back through New York on your way home? I could show you a night on the town, some museums, a Broadway show. It’s hard sometimes to find a cheap place to stay in New York and … you could stay at my place…if you like.

He blushed. She was at least six years older than him but very cute. He did not know what to say.

On a blank luggage tag, she wrote down her name, phone number, and handed it to him. What’s your name?

Tommy Murphy, from Topeka.

"I’m Melissa. Call me when you get back. Okay? Have a safe flight. Bon, voyage!" She smiled and waved goodbye.

There are some gorgeous girls here in New York, and it is a friendly town, he thought. I could live here and never go home.

He made his way to his boarding gate on the international pier. It was three hours until his flight. Better early than late, his mother always told him. Time for something to eat, he thought, even though the waistband of his jeans was already too snug. But he was hungry, again.

A hot-dog kiosk was selling foot-long hot dogs and sodas. The seller looked like the picture of someone you would see from India or Pakistan. He had a small red mark in the center of his forehead, but the hot dogs were delicious. When he finished eating, he sat and did what most New Yorkers seemed to do with their spare time. He watched people going by, while he drank his Coke.

He laughed at the ones running at full speed to catch a flight. Rushing here to there. One middle-aged man wearing a suit carrying a briefcase and raincoat was running, but tripped over a piece of luggage in the aisle. He went tumbling down. Tommy guessed he would miss his flight for sure. He chuckled to himself.

Tommy finished his soda, ordered another and continued to watch as people walked by. When he turned his head to look at a young couple kissing one another—it was then he saw her. Tall, windblown blonde hair, cut short above her shoulders. She had a flashing smile, nice clothes, snug bell-bottom blue jeans, sandals, and a laugh that made his heart stop. He could not take his eyes off her. She was beautiful. No, she was gorgeous. When she laughed, it was like fireworks and a sunset at the same time, so wonderful.

She was with a small group of girls standing fifteen feet away. They were joking and laughing. Then she turned and looked at him. Their eyes met, and she just stood there, looking at him until she finally looked away. She turned back around and began walking towards him. A broad smile covered her lips growing larger the closer she came to him. His heart beat faster.

When she was five feet away, she stopped. Not knowing what