Chapter 2

Father O'Brien knocked on the West's apartment door. It opened to revealed an inebriated women in a bathrobe. He was struck by the smell of alcohol and cigarettes. " Waddaya want?" She greeted him. He quickly explained the trouble her son was in and suggested the Army would be the best option for him at this time if only she signed the paper. "Well, what do I get for raising that bastard all these years so the Army can have him for free?" You should be arrested, O'Brien thought, glancing over at the closet where they had no doubt imprisoned the boy. "You mean you don't care if your son goes to jail? " the Priest stammered. "No skin off my nose" she replied with a shrug. Desperate for a solution O'Brien fished in his pocket. He didn't carry much money but came up with twenty-five dollars. She snatched it out of his hand and scrawled her name on the paper. As he descended the stairs she screamed after him "You tell that little bastard never to come back here!" "I'm sure he won't" O'Brien said to himself wondering how anyone could sign away their son for the price of a few bottles. Still he felt triumphant, He had wanted to get the boy away from those terrible people from the beginning. Now he hoped it wouldn't be to late.

The allure of gangsterism made it the highest aspiration of most of the boys in the neighborhood. After all, they had all the respect, nice cars and broads. Unfortunately for West there was no room left in the organization. You had to either know someone or be in certain family's. This side of town was dominated by Italians. Unfortunately for West he was Irish. Punks like him ended up in the river when they stepped on the toes of higher hoodlums. That was just what West did when he planned the truck hijacking. He'd grown cleaver enough to get others to do his stealing for him. West led his own loosely knit gang. As it turned out most of them were to stupid not to get caught. They were only to happy to point West out when questioned by the gangster goons.

By the time the screws came to get him West was ready to climb the walls. They took him to the police Chiefs office and sat him in front of the desk. Police Chief Murphy was a good friend of Father O'Brien. They had convinced many boys that were in trouble to join the military. They thought perhaps they would have a better chance than in the slum. "So, we heard the Italians were out to get you" began the Chief. How do the cops always know everything? West wondered. His friends were all blabbering backstabbers, He thought bitterly. "You know" continued the Chief. "You are to be charged as an adult and probably go to prison. They have plenty of gang members inside. I give you less than a week before you get it." West hadn't figured on this. "So what, I can take care of myself!" West smirked. "Look son," Murphy said leaning foreword, theres a way out. You can join the Army and make a new start. Your Mother has already signed the paper." "I'll bet she did!" West said. He also hated it when people called him "son." He stared at the floor, the walls seemed to close in, he broke out in a sweat. "You can't trick me like this!" He sneered, glaring at Murphy. "You don't know me from nothing." "Have it your way" shrugged the police Chief. "But you know they've got the finger on you. It wouldn't be that bad in the army. You could get paid to see the world. Just stay out of trouble, it could be your last chance." West's mind raced. The only long term plans he had made for himself was to not get his fool head blown off as an Army patsy. Well, maybe he could work this racket somehow. "My mother, she wouldn't be getting any of my pay will she?" "Son," Murphy said, Here we go with the "son" again thought West. "Don't worry about it, you've made the right choice, just keep your nose clean and your big yap shut. And for God's sake wipe that insolent smirk off your face! Any trouble from you and it's right back to the slammer with the Italians!"

So it was back to the holding cell. He was brought a meal that he gulped down barely tasting. There was no way out of this and it was his own fault. Maybe he should have cut out back at the school and taken his chances. But where would he go? He was seventeen without a cent in his pocket. Between the cops and the mob they would find him. The cell door opened and the "Witch doctor" entered. He had seen the Priest around since he was a kid. The way he looked at him made West nervous. He was always trying to engage West in conversation. Something about it was creepy. He would cross the street to avoid the "Witch doctor." Now, trapped in a room with him he was forced to hear what the old man had to say. "Arthur, I wanted you to know that your grandfather was one of my good friends. I don't know if your parents ever told you about him." West shook his head. "I was a Chaplin in The Great War. Your grandfather was in a gas attack. Even though he was blinded and choking he helped other men to safety. He had to move to Arizona before you were born for his lungs. He passed away about five years ago. I wanted you to know you were from a good family. Your grandparents wanted to raise you but your parents kept them away. I'm sorry all this happened to you. Please take my card, If ever you have any trouble call me. I still know a lot of people in the army." West took the card and absentmindedly put it in his pocket. Seeing he wasn't in the mood for conversation the Priest stood up to leave. "Good luck Arthur and god bless you" he said. "Thank you" West quietly replied. None of what the "Witch doctor" said meant anything to him now while he was locked up like a rat in a cage. He always knew his parents were garbage and they had tried to make garbage out of him too.

West was escorted to a train full of Army recruits bound for the processing center at Fort Dix New Jersey. The policeman handed West an envelope. He found it contained twenty dollars and a note from Father O'Brien. "If you should have need of anything, god bless you." Father O"Brien. West couldn't believe it, he never had this much money without having stole it. At the processing center he was issued a uniform. Shorn of his unruly mop of hair, given shots, batteries of mental tests and dentistry, which was a whole new experience for him. He really hated people touching him or telling him what to do. He endured it thinking of the alternative, Getting his throat sliced or worse in a jail. He was assigned to a basic training company located at Fort Roberts California.

West enjoyed the train ride across the country. He'd ridden the subway a lot but never a train. Since he hadn't been out of the city the landscape fascinated him. There was so many kinds of people. Being from the largest city in the world he had seen a lot of ethnicity's but you didn't really leave your own neighborhood unless in a group, say to go to Coney Island. There were gangs of all ages with boundary's not to be crossed. West hadn't seen many Americans from different regions. It was interesting to hear them talk. He had only seen or heard these kinds of people on radio or movies, usually caricatures of Southerners or Westerners. He used some of the money the Priest gave him to buy some food and a book for the trip. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad he thought.

West's drill Sergeant was a friend of Father O'Brien's and one reason he finagled West sent as far away from the city as possible. The Sergeant had some of O'Brien's delinquents thru his program before and knew how to handle them. They couldn't be motivated with intimidation but by showing them what they can accomplish. He paired West with a big Nebraskan as a bunkmate. He would have to be crazy to give a guy that big any trouble. Jeff Simpson was a tall lanky farm boy with chestnut brown hair an easy smile and friendly blue eyes. Very perceptive, he could find humor in almost any situation. He'd recreated the bars and pool halls of Omaha and was certainly no hayseed. Recognizing immediately West was "dark" Jeff gave him plenty of room. He liked mean dogs and horses and was always able to win them over. Early in their friendship he would gently tease West about his cynicism. In the city that kind of verbal attack would call for an immediate violent reaction, ignoring it would make you look weak. West, still full of teenage rage would loose control and call his bunkmate every obscenity and slur he could think of. The big Nebraskan would smile wider, confident in his size. Experience had made him wise. The few fools that dared to attack him or his friends while out on the town were easily slapped down regardless of if they had a knife or billy club. A lifetime of farm work had made Jeff incredibly strong. If West ever went to far he was given a playful shove that would send him sprawling across the room. Eventually he was able to make his sullen bunkmate laugh and they became the best of friends.

At least one thing West could get used to in the Army was regular meals. He really appreciated the Army food. His old lady had never cooked for him. As a kid he learned to rummage thru the garbage cans behind stores and restaurants. If you were discriminating you could get everything you need to survive. With the unlimited supply and variety of food and exercise West filled out and even grew an inch taller. Everyone called him Arthur there instead of Artie. He decided to drop his nickname to make it harder for the mobsters from the neighborhood to find him. The training schedule was rigorous from 5:00 - 10:00. Learning to use a Garand rifle, to disassemble clean and assemble in the dark. Use of the bayonet, grenades, rocket launchers. How to dig foxholes, hand to hand combat, how to work together as a unit etc. In the beginning West would be exhausted at the end of the day. Jeff was unaffected by the stress of training and occasionally helped West out when he was struggling.

West had always hated school. He couldn't understand the reason for learning most of the material. It all seemed like a waste of time. As a kid he thought students got answers by some kind of magic they knew but he did not. It grew into a deep resentment for a normal life that would forever be beyond his reach. In truth he was hopelessly behind from his parents keeping him home. He never forgot his embarrassment when on his first day of school he didn't know how to write his name like the other children did. The Army training seemed to make more practical sense. The reasons for knowing the material were always clearly explained. He learned he was smarter than most of his peers.

Away from the intensity of the city there was a lot of quiet times to think. West didn't have to plan the next days survival strategy, he bored easily so would read to pass the time. He started out with comics and pulp magazines which soon became tiresome so he graduated to novels and newspapers. A change began to come over him. Previously he applied all his new knowledge to how it could fit into a racket when he got back to the city. Then, as he listened to the other men discuss their future goals they seemed more realistic. While there was the usual talk of cars and broads they also talked about the educations they would get thru the GI bill and professions they could go into. After a while West began to think of other things besides returning to the city. Jeff had invited him home on their holiday leave. He noticed that West never wanted to talk about his family like most of the men did. Jeff thought it might be a sore spot so he never asked about them. They were truly opposites but had become good friends. West had also garnered the respect of the rest of the men by his encyclopedic knowledge of almost every kind of con, cheat, clip joint or cheap hustle you'd likely encounter in most cites. Growing up on the street and keenly observant nothing had escaped his attention. He was the youngest recruit in the barracks so it really impressed them. His warnings allowed his new friends to avoid the pitfalls new recruits fell victim to while on leave.

West found himself looking foreword to his holiday leave with Jeff's family. He'd never had a "normal" Christmas. His parents would go particularly crazy during the holidays. He had learned not to go anywhere near the apartment at that time of year when his parents were awake, even if it meant sleeping out on the cold hallway until they passed out. He wondered what it would be like without all the drunken screaming. That is why he was so disappointed when the call came down that they were to be shipped overseas to a place called Korea. He had read about it in the paper, no bigger than an American State. No one thought anything over there could last long.