Whispers of Yesterday: Echoes of a Forbidden Love

By Robert A. Crothers

In the quiet corners of a small neighboring town in Massachusetts, a love story unfolded that would leave an indelible mark on the heart of its narrator. This tale is one of young love, chance encounters, and the enduring power of affection. It all began during the tumultu

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert A. Crothers
• Release date: Jun 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9798892281249

Robert A. Crothers

Robert A. Crothers is an author with a penchant for storytelling, drawing inspiration from his own life experiences and military background. Born in Hanover and raised in Abington, Massachusetts, he has been crafting autobiographical fiction stories that expertly blur the lines between truth and imagination, memoir and satire.Crothers' literary journey has been a tapestry of emotions, memories, and life-changing encounters. His writing has found its way into the pages of various magazines, where he shares gripping narratives of his military experiences and personal struggles. His candid approach to storytelling is characterized by a raw honesty that resonates deeply with readers.

Book preview

1.jpg

Copyright © 2024 by Robert A. Crothers.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without a prior written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review, and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by the copyright law.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2024908595

ISBN:   979-8-89228-123-2   (Paperback)

ISBN:   979-8-89228-125-6   (Hardcover)

ISBN:   979-8-89228-124-9   (eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Dedication

Forward

Unlikely Rebel

From Fields to Friendship: A Journey of Growth

D’Amatos: A Journey to Emploment

Bagging Groceries and Bagging Hearts: A teenage Romance

In the Glow of the Porch Light: A Love Story Unfolds

Chilled Nights, Warm Memories: Papa Gino’s and Drive-In Delights

Romancing the Rails: A Love Story at Edaville Railroad.

Lincoln Park

Our Love for The Beach

The Friendship Ring

Returning to Massachusetts

Traveling to Arizona

Arrival at DM

Second job and Exploring Tucson

Christmas War TDY

Pam Finding Work

New Place to Live

Strange Noises

Our Puppy

Leaving for Thailand

Coming Back from Thailand Linebacker II ends

Hawaii, Here We Come

April TDY

Peanut Butter

Buying our First Home

Living Life Without You

Problems at Work

Going it Alone

Suicide Thoughts

The House on Mormon Drive New Year’s party

Midnight Shift

Starting to date others

TV Extra

Changes in my Life

Healing Pews: Finding Solace in the Congregation

The Final TDY with the 100th

Return to D-M

Moving from Tucson

Leaving Arizona for Massachusetts

Donut Shoppe: Rekindled Romance

The Farm

About the Author

Dedication

Mr. Norman Marchant, you taught and guided me through seventh grade, allowing me to go forth and not have to go backward in a grade. You taught me how to study and what to look for in reading to learn the subject. You took that extra time with me that I so needed. You were a God sent! I also learned from you that when you have to count seconds while in detention, it gives you the illusion of a longer time. Thank you!

Mr. Paul D’Amato, you gave me that second chance to work in your store, proving that I was no longer that teenager from two years earlier stealing products. Your guidance and no-nonsense work teachings helped me grow into a helpful teenager and adult that year at your store. You took that chance that I had changed from our first meeting. I worked for you from January 6th, 1966, to December 5th, 1967, which made me a better person.

To all my former crew chiefs and specialists stationed with me at Davis-Monthan with the 100th OMS and the 99th SRW in Thailand from August 1973 to December 1974, thank you for being tolerant of me during that period. I am incredibly grateful to the following who stuck with me during my darkest days at D-M, SMSgt. Williams, MSgt. Frederick, SSgt Motes, TSgt Henke, and Sgt Miller. And to those others, I may have forgotten, you were there when I needed you and the help you provided to me in overcoming a challenging time.

To that incredible woman who brought me new life during those dark days from October 1973 to December 1974. Life was worth living after her!

And to my parents and siblings who had to endure those early years with me as your son and big brother.

Robert A. Crothers

Forward

Whispers of Yesterday: A Forbidden Love Journey,

Is an autobiographical fiction that delves into the depths of past love, forbidden desires, and the transformation of two teenage sweethearts navigating their tumultuous relationship. Set against the backdrop of the sixties and seventies, this tale evokes nostalgia while unraveling the complexities of love considered forbidden or toxic at times.

As the story unfolds, we witness the struggles of trust and jealousy that plague their teenage romance, leading to their inevitable parting ways when he enlisted in the military. Returning home from his second tour in Vietnam, he grapples with the challenges of readjusting to civilian life, clinging to the belief that time stood still for those he left behind.

However, upon his return, he discovers that life has moved forward for himself and his former love. Despite the complications introduced into their relationship, she remains steadfast by his side, supporting his journey even as he reenlists in the military.

Years pass, and just as he begins to rebuild his life without her, an inexplicable urge drives him back to Massachusetts in search of her. A chance encounter reignites their connection, prompting them to confront the lingering questions surrounding her departure and the true nature of their love.

Yet, amidst the fervent rekindling of their romance, he grapples with the haunting memories of her absence and the unanswered questions plaguing his mind. Is their reunion a testament to enduring love, or are they embarking on a journey fraught with forbidden love?

© 2019 Robert A. Crothers

Unlikely Rebel

In June 1962, an unexpected shift thrust me into the precarious realm of seventh grade, dangling the promise of promotion but threatening a demotion back to sixth if I failed to measure up. It was a pivotal moment, where my academic fate hung in the balance, and my parents’ insistence on more significant effort only added weight to the burden.

But it wasn’t merely academics that shaped my destiny; it was the silent rebellion within me, fueled by the loss of my most cherished possession: my trumpet. Deprived of its solace, I found solace in defiance, envisioning myself as a renegade, a James Dean of the suburban streets.

My quest for rebellion led me to the doorsteps of the local troublemakers, seeking acceptance into their fold. Yet, my initiation demanded a test of criminal prowess: stealing snacks from the neighborhood supermarket. With a mixture of apprehension and determination, I embarked on this clandestine mission, navigating the aisles with the stealth of a novice delinquent.

At Gates Supermarket, a chance encounter threatened to derail my plans, forcing me to hastily snatch a snack I despised and concoct a flimsy excuse to evade suspicion. But it was at D’Amato’s. admimst towering aisles and dwindling daylight, that I embraced the role of the thief, stuffing my oversized coat with illicit bounty, each item a symbol of my defiance against the constraints of expectation.

While from within the shadows of the supermarket, burdened by the weight of my stolen loot and the gravity of my choices, I couldn’t help but wonder: would this act of rebellion solidly my place among the outcasts, or would it unravel the fragile façade of defiance I had so carefully constructed.

While committing this crime of passion, I did not realize that one of the store managers was watching me. What I did wrong was not look up toward the back of the store, where there was a row of windows with a mirror tint. Behind those windows sat one of the managers, just watching me.

Soon, I felt this hand being placed on my shoulder. I continued taking more items and putting them in my coat pocket. When I turned to look, I saw that it was Paul, one of the store managers. Paul was the youngest of the brothers who had taken over the store’s operations since their parents retired. His hand started clinching my left shoulder, and as it did, I heard him ask me, ‘Who is going to pay for all those snacks I had just watched you put in your coat pocket.’ Then he asked, ‘Did you intend to just walk out of here with them and not pay?’ I said, ‘No, sir,’ and told him, ‘My mother was at the back checkout register waiting for me,’ thinking he would never question that and just let me go. Not Paul! His hand firmly grasping my shoulder now and taking control, he guided me to the back register, where the only person there was Mrs. Rodgers, the clerk. I knew Mrs. Rodgers, as her daughter, is a classmate of mine. I knew I was in trouble when I saw her and no one in line at the register. Paul asked her if my mother was through the register. When Mrs. Rodgers said no, Paul quickly turned me around, and we returned to the aisle we had just left. He told me to remove all the snacks I had taken from his shelves and return them to the same shelves as I found them. He was then pointing me toward the store entrance door. And being somewhat nice about this incident, he asked me never to return to his store.

After being caught stealing from D’Amatos, I realized that getting in trouble, the possibility of spending time sitting in a police station, or, worse yet, having my father find out about my stealing was not what I needed. I knew I had to straighten my life out.

I began spending more time alone. I spent long hours riding my bike to other towns and out to the ballfields, where I saw myself with a vision of playing in the major leagues. Then, one day, I rode past this store window that had these cars on it. When I entered the store, I saw several oval tables and kids standing next to them as if they were controlling something. Slot cars started to come of age.

From Fields to Friendship: A Journey of Growth

After completing seventh grade and being promoted to eighth grade, with the guidance of my science teacher, Mr. Marchant, I was granted the opportunity to join the school band. I met Paul, a fellow band member who shared my passion for slot car racing there. Our shared interest sparked a deep friendship that endured throughout high school, bringing newfound joy and camaraderie into my junior high years.

However, indulging in our newfound hobby required funds. In the summer of 1963, I initiated my entrepreneurial journey by mowing lawns. In the winter, I would shovel snow at fifty cents an hour. However, that wasn’t profitable as in some driveways, it only took a half hour, and I would only receive 25 cents. Not even a tip! Then I discovered that newspapers could be recycled, so I experienced that, only to learn that my dad was not into my entrepreneurial spirit. I could not convince him to gather the papers in the family car and drive to the recycling centre.

By the summer of 1964, at fourteen, I found employment on a vegetable farm in the neighboring town. Working on the farm taught me the value of diligence and exceeding expectations. Through hard work and dedication, I earned the respect of my peers and supervisors, gaining more responsibilities and opportunities for advancement.

One memorable experience involved training new workers on pea picking, showcasing my leadership skills and commitment to excellence. As the summer transitioned to fall, I was entrusted with tasks such as mixing cement and laying blocks for the farm’s expansion, extending my employment and earnings.

At the end of the growing season, the farm owner hosted a celebratory gathering for all of us kids who worked in the store and field. Together, we improvised a diving board from an old piece of wood we had found in the field, demonstrating teamwork and creativity in using the piece of wood as our diving board into the irrigation pond.

The irrigation pond had a steep entrance, and jumping in from the shore was difficult. We found this old piece of wood, about 12 inches wide and maybe 12 feet long; the owner had no use for it and told us we could have it. We extended it over the irrigation pond as far as we could to the deep portion. On the opposite end of the board, we needed something to hold the board in place as the kids jumped off the other end and into the middle of the irrigation pond. At first, we thought we would just put a few of us on the back to hold it as one of us jumped off it. That didn’t work. As soon as the person tried to dive off, we who sat on the back end were lifted up and off the board, and the swimmer fell into the pond, followed by the diving board.

We saw this large boulder and thought several of us could move it, but we barely got it to budge. Our Superman strength just wasn’t enough. Then, one of the older kids in this group went up to the barn and brought a tractor down with forks on the front. We could move that boulder with that tractor and our lightweight muscle power. We placed it on the end of the board, allowing us to walk out and jump off and into the water without the board coming down with us.

As the seasons changed, so did my endeavors. From raking leaves to collecting old newspapers again, I embraced various challenges to supplement my income. Despite setbacks like increased competition and changing circumstances, I persevered, learning valuable lessons along the way.

Returning to the farm in the spring of 1965, I continued my journey, gaining new skills such as tractor operations and agricultural knowledge and work ethic did not go unnoticed, leading to a promotion to stockboy in the farm stand.

In the spring of 1965, I was asked to help with the planting and returned to being a farm field hand.

While working the weekend during the spring, I was shown how to operate a tractor. Mr. Clayton was very good at allowing us kids to drive farm vehicles. But soon, I was handed a hoe and began weeding the rows of young plants. I had to learn the difference between weeds and plants. At first, everything looked like a weed. Each weekend, until the plant developed, I weeded rows and rows of vegetables. Come on, picking season!

One morning, late in August, while I was picking peas, the lead farm hand drove out to where I was and told me to go and see Mr. Clayton. I was unsure why Mr.Clayton wanted to see me and hoped it was not bad news. Mr.Clayton was a gentle giant with a stern look about him. As I approached him, he called out to me. He said, ‘Son, I like how you work and are always early, and you seem to help others even when it doesn’t benefit you.’ Before I knew it, he promoted me from field hand to stockboy working inside the vegetable stand.

My job has taken me from field hand to stockboy. I was to take the vegetables picked by those in the field, wash them, and place them in their proper bins for sale. I was taught how to dress them in the bins for the customers the way the owner wanted them. His thought was that if they looked good, they would sell faster. When a customer wanted a vegetable not out in the stand, I would go out in the field, pick what they wanted, and bring it to