Maggie.”
“And good morning to you, Dutch,” she said with a sheepish look. “I’m sorry about that. I’m just not used to having someone in the office with me…but I like it. Let me get you some coffee.”
When she returned, I had the list written out, and handed it to her. Sitting on the corner of my desk, she had other news for me. The friend that had helped her buy her Buick was going to help me find a car. He would be calling her back later in the day.
As she sat there, talking about cars, I realized again how beautiful she was. Her makeup looked natural and, while her figure was full, she tastefully disguised it. She was just the opposite of Carole Lane, for Maggie was elegant in both dress and manner. That remark the Colonel had made about men and the ‘amorous way’ kept racing through my mind. I just couldn’t understand it.
“Oh,” she remarked, “the Colonel said you would need some help with the photography. How’s it going?”
Holding the camera in my hands, I told her about Chief Malone and the lessons he’d agreed to give me. She was surprised to hear of his talents, and pleased that he would help. That, in turn, brought up the subject of the supplies and accessories I would need, and how I could get them.
“Simple” she said. “You give me a list of what you need. I’ll type out a requisition form and send it to Headquarters. They’ll send it to Supply, and Supply will send back what you need, or a voucher so you can purchase it locally.”
“And how long will that take?”
“Usually two or three weeks.”
“That won’t do. The Colonel wants me shooting by next weekend. Guess I’ll just buy what I need, for the next few weeks. I’ll wait on giving you that list until I see what Chief Malone suggests.”
“That’s what most of us do. When the Colonel and I first started here, it took four weeks to get three typewriter ribbons. Now I order them in case lots and have over fifty ribbons in my desk. If you need some cash, I can help out.”
“No, I think I’ll be all right…but thanks for offering. But I will need to open a bank account. Any suggestions?”
Right after lunch, Maggie’s car guy called and told her he’d found two possibilities. One was a 1940 Ford four-door sedan with 23,000 miles, for $1,250. The other was a 1939 Chrysler Royal two-door coupe with just 9,000 miles, for $1,300.
He said the Chrysler had been stored in a garage since 1940 and still smelled new. Seems the owner had been a pilot with the Air Corps but had been killed at Hickam Field on December 7th. His parents had kept the car in storage and only agreed to sell it when they found out that another solider needed it.
I was definitely interested in that coupe.
After lunch, Maggie and I both talked to Colonel Ford on the phone. She passed on the information I had written out, and I asked him if there were any further instructions for me. He just kept going on about my photography and how important it was for me to be ready for the USO event. I assured him I would be prepared.
After talking to the Colonel, Maggie drove me to a local bank, where I opened a new account. Using the last of my Ketchikan fishing money, I transferred just over three thousand dollars from my savings account in New Jersey to my new checking account. The next stop was Western Union, where I wired Uncle Roy, asking for another three thousand and giving him the banking information. I closed the telegram with a smart ass comment: ‘Being an officer is getting expensive. Look at the money we could have saved!’
Our last stop was my apartment, where I asked Maggie if she would like to come up, see it, and have a beer.
With a funny look on her face, she said, “I don’t think so, Dutch. Maybe some other time.”
I had the urge to reach out to her and ask again, but I didn’t.
The next morning, when I arrived at the office, I found a very large man sipping coffee and talking to Maggie.
“Good morning, Dutch. I would like you to meet John Craft, my friend that helps me out with cars. John, this is Lieutenant Dutch Clarke, your customer.”
When he got up from his chair, I was astounded by his size. He was enormous, standing well over six foot ten, and he looked to weigh well over three hundred pounds. He had no neck and his face was round, with a rough complexion and a dark beard that hid his chin.
He extended his hand. “Hello, Lieutenant. Nice meeting you.”
Taking his hairy hand, I was amazed by the sheer size of it. He was dressed in a business suit that had seen better days and, when he talked, the whole room filled with his low, gravelly voice.
“Good morning, Maggie. And hello, Mr. Craft. Did you bring the car?”
“Sure did, Lieutenant. It’s out in the parking lot. Would you like to see it?’
“Sure.”
My first impression of it wasn’t the best. The car’s color was Marine green, or maybe Army brown, or somewhere in-between. It had black-wall tires and black rubber running boards on both sides. Its shape was small, with a pointed front end and tapered back. In short, it was a funny looking car.
But when he opened the door and I slid behind the driver’s seat, my impression changed. It did smell new, and the soft cloth upholstery was as clean and fresh as it must have been on the showroom floor. The front bench seat was big enough for three, and there were two small jump seats behind the front bench.
John handed me the keys and told me to start it up. It started on the first crank, and the motor ran as smoothly as warm butter on hot toast.
He launched into his best car pitch. “She’s a real honey. Power assisted steering, power windows -- hell, even the dash lights turn colors. From zero to thirty, they’re green, from thirty to fifty, yellow, and after fifty, red. It’s a stick shift with what they call ‘overdrive’ for highway performance. That’s good, with gas rationing. It’s as straight as an arrow, Lieutenant.”
Turning off the engine, I walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. It was big enough to carry not only the spare tire but also any camera equipment and duffle bags I might have. Moving to the front, I opened the hood to find a flat head six engine so clean that the spark plug wires still had a factory sheen.
The car salesman in Mr. Craft just couldn’t stop. “With the war on, you just don’t find cars like this. Chrysler only made four thousand of this model. It might be a 1939, but ’39 was the best year Chrysler ever had, and with these low miles you should get years out of this baby. What do you think, Lieutenant?”
There was no point in being coy. “I’ll take it.”
We went back into the office, where we did the paper work and I paid Mr. Craft.
After he left, I said to Maggie, “Thanks again for your help. I love the car. That Mr. Craft is an unusual guy, a real giant of a man. I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley.”
“He’s not what you think. Truly, he’s the gentlest, kindest man I’ve ever met. Our first perceptions of people aren’t always correct.”
Looking
