I am on the deck early, enjoying coffee and thinking about the coming few days in the company of Old Sol, a sometimes friend and often a nasty companion. It is 82 degrees at 5 AM and promises to be a mid 90’s day with plenty of humidity to ice the cake. My thoughts have drifted to the times when I was unbearably hot, marveling at our ability to adjust and survive.
I spent several of my early years in places like rural South Carolina and Okinawa. Both locales will dish out plenty of heat, but when you are a kid, it makes little difference. Growing up leaves little time to worry about the weather, and my memory of those years is dim. In another trip down memory lane I recall several occasions when I seriously wondered if I was going to make it.
I began my Army service with basic training in a sand trap in July. Sorry, but that is how I remember Ft. Polk, La. July and August of 1969 were hell on earth with heat indexes off the charts, a matter of passing concern for the US Army. We were face down in the sand for calisthenics at day break, sweat pouring off you and consuming a steady diet of salt tablets. Our uniforms were covered in sand, sweat and the white residue from the incredible amount of salt deemed healthy back then. We cooled off by marching to some training area in the company of Old sol, thirsty but alive. One blistering day found us in a line, arms bared walking between two medics nailing you with those pneumatic vaccine guns popular in that era. A number of my contemporaries passed out, not a popular thing to do under the circumstances.
Another memorable experience was climbing into a Cessna 162 with my instructor, building time and gaining experience. There are two tiny air vents on the side windows of these little jewels and it was so oppressive, my instructor, a super pilot named Jeanne’, thought to bring iced towels in a cooler to lay on our necks. Really small airplanes are like greenhouses when you are buttoned up in them.
My listing is not inclusive, however two other occasions had me at my survival limits. As a young trooper, I was called to an accident on I-70 involving a car full of folks, a Buick, turned upside down in a ditch with the makings of a picnic lunch all over them. It was nearly a hundred and there was little air down in that ditch as we extricated these folks through a back window, not seriously hurt but covered in potato salad and beans. Obviously it didn’t kill me, but I am sure St. Peter was standing at the top of that ditch just in case. We wore long sleeve, wool shirts in those days.
Finally, I vividly recall an outdoor wedding feast in the Florida Keys, a beautiful evening, however: the Keys were under an excessive heat advisory. Need I say more? I soaked through my tropical attire……and lived to tell the story by way of ice water poured on my wrists discreetly under the table.
We all are here, better for the experience. A famous man once quipped, “If it doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger”. Old Sol has tested all of us at some point and I take pleasure in your presence to read these remarks. We beat him…..now is not the time to quit.
SR
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