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The Lucky Find

My nephew, Stephen Michael Lambert, told me this story:

Jack Lambert
Jack Lambert

In 1963 my father, Jack E. Lambert, then a captain in the U.S. Air Force, pulled a tour of duty in Vietnam. He was assigned to Tan Son Nhut Air Base near Saigon and was quartered in a hotel in the city. He usually rode a bus to work.

The bus stop was just a few steps from the main entrance to his hotel which made it easy to show up a little early, be first in line – and get the best seat.

This was the first stop on the route and the rider who was first in line got to sit beside the front door of the bus. The driver left that door open to get some air in the bus, a little breeze to give riders some relief from the heat and humidity.

* * *

Capt. Jack E. Lambert
Capt. Jack E. Lambert

As dad waited, a friend happened by who was excited about a coin he had bought from a shop down the street.

“Perfect for my collection,'” he told dad. It was a lucky find, especially so far from home.

In deference to riders who had queued up behind him and out of respect for his friend, dad stepped out of line to look at the coin. Another bus would be along in a few minutes.

Dad and his friend stood there, talking, while the bus dad had been waiting for came and went. But it didn’t go far.

Half a block later a motorbike pulled up beside the bus and someone threw a satchel charge through the open door. It exploded next to the seat where dad would have been sitting.

NOTE: That was not Jack’s only close call.

Coming Monday: You Can’t Make Me

Her Sad Wish

The words that caught my eye were on back of an envelope in a display case in the rotunda of the North Carolina state capitol in Raleigh.

Vietnam Memorial on the ground near North Carolina's state capitol.
The Vietnam Memorial on the North Carolina state capitol grounds.

The envelope was part of an exhibit of items left as tokens of love and respect at the base of the Vietnam Memorial on the grounds outside.

It seemed obvious that the note was written on the spur of the moment –the women had gone into her purse and found a pencil and a torn envelope that had contained a bill.

She scribbled a note on the envelope and left it at the memorial.

Her note said she missed him still.   She said she had married and had a daughter.  And then, about her daughter, she wrote: “How I wish she could have been ours.”

Every time I think about it, that hastily scribbled note it makes me sad for her.  And for her husband.

NOTE:  My father, a solder in the U.S. Army, landed in France 101 years ago today.  He told me that when he got there Kaiser Wilhelm II immediately threw up his hands and surrendered.  I know, that’s not true.  It’s not even a fact.  Wilhelm II abdicated on Nov. 9, 1918.

Coming Friday: The Lucky Find