Dress Blues
Suzi Walls
as told by Lee Walls

THE BOOK

Lee’s young life is riddled with insecurities. His father walks a fine line between abusive and demanding. When tragedy strikes, abusiveness wins. The rift between Lee and his father escalates, until Lee decides that the best thing for him to do is get out of town before he commits murder. He studies the posters on the Post Office wall and is drawn to the jarhead in the Marine Corps dress blue uniform. That’s it! He thinks he will look distinguished and handsome in those dress blues. Little does he know, how that poster will affect the rest of his life.

Not just another Vietnam story, Dress Blues is chock-full of emotional, true stories told simply and courageously by Lee; written by his wife, Suzi. Imagine waking from a tonsillectomy to find you've been mistakenly circumcised or believing that you accidentally killed the class dunce. Lee's childhood experiences are so absurd they are downright, gut-busting hilarious. Then, what if the love-of-your-life is nearly murdered and it's your fault? How would you feel? Yes, the action in Vietnam is vicious, realistic and graphic, but the lighter moments of his life will soften the tears with laughter. When the mental monster from Nam, called PTSD, nearly destroys Lee, love saves him. A sprinkling of forbidden romance adds a little spice to the experience of Dress Blues. Death, destruction, and drugs are overcome by love, faith, and sharing. It is written - it is true. Come, look into the kaleidoscope of his life and enjoy!

SAMPLE OF THE HORROR

I wiggled my toes inside damp jungle boots and they squished like I was walking on sponges. My helmet channeled the rain down the back of my neck and I shivered. I'd been sloshing around in this monsoon shit for weeks now and was chilled to the bone.

We were in the last few days of a recon mission when we entered the village in search of Charlie. The only sound was the driving rain. The CO gave us the hand signal to split up and sweep the vil. We were too late; the VC had already swept through this village. I easily kicked open one door after another and then burst inside like Dirty Harry, scanning the area with my weapon locked and loaded. I stepped over slaughtered babies and nudged bodies lying in their own shit and blood, rolling them aside with the toe of my boot.

This job made my skin crawl. I blocked out the horror with thoughts of Aunt Lizzie's homemade bread. I breathed deeply, imagining that soft smell. Suddenly, screams brought reality back and the bread faded.

Following the sound, I rushed to a small hut and burst through the door. Several of our American soldiers held a wide-eyed Vietnamese girl spread-eagle on a table. She struggled. Her torn shirt draped mockingly across her small breasts; her trousers were gone.

"Where's VC?" The Lt. shouted, spitting in her face.

She screamed and fought against her captors. They laughed and held her tighter.

"Goddamn it. Where's VC?" His stinking breath felt hot against her cheek.

She didn't understand. Terror glazed her eyes.

"You're gonna answer me one way or another." The Lt. slapped her and her head wrenched sharply to the side.

I watched in horror as the leader punched her and blood splattered from her nose and mouth. Her blackened eyes swelled into narrow slits. (………………continued in chapter 4)

A LITTLE LIGHTER SAMPLE

"Batta, batta,batta….swing…….batta, batta…..swing."

"He can't hit it……….he can't hit it. Strike three…………….you'll be out!"

Hard as they tried, they couldn't distract me. I chewed my tongue; my brow was furrowed by concentration. I was the best hitter in the 1959 fifth grade class. So what if I was from the wrong side of the tracks. That only meant I was poor, not that I couldn't play good baseball. I practiced by tossing rocks in the air and swatting them with a stick. I knew I was good the day I whacked old lady Ford's cat with just one stone fired like a missile off the tip of my stick. Old lady Ford never did find out who killed her cat. Someday I'll show 'em all though; someday the Phillies' scouts will notice me. I fiercely wanted to play in the big league one day.

I eyeballed the pitch…..ball one. I stepped back, tapped the bat on home plate and took a couple of practice swings. Right there, baby. Put that ball right there. I danced from foot to foot and spit in the dust. Here it comes. Looks like a good one……..CRACK! I tossed the bat and sprinted for first base as fast as my young legs could carry me. The toe of my sneaker touched the base and I was on a beeline for second, when I heard the shouts.

"Hey, Lee, you killed Stinky Walton!"

I glanced over my shoulder and my heart leaped into my throat. Killed Stinky Walton - no way! Stinky Robert Walton (they called him stinky for obvious reasons) was the butt of everybody's jokes. His father was the town drunk and his mama was a baby-making machine. He had nine brothers and sisters and they were all called "Stinky" something or other, depending on what their first names were. But poor Stinky Robert was the unluckiest of all the kids; he had a harelip, crossed eyes, and everyone said he was retarded.

I made a sharp turn at second base and cut across the pitcher's mound at a flat-out run. Stinky lay unconscious across home plate with a hole the size of a summer squash smashed in his head. A bloody geyser turned the dust into a syrupy chocolate-looking puddle. Quickly, I gathered him up and ran awkwardly toward the school. Stinky's body bounced limply in my arms and blood splattered my face like freckles.

"Mr. Eyer, Mr. Eyer," I shouted, "I didn't mean it! It was an accident. You gotta' help him!"

The principal tossed the double doors wide open and he grabbed Stinky from my arms. Quickly, he tossed the mops from the janitor's sink and with a quick twist of his wrist, turned the water on full blast. He stuck Stinky's head under the spigot and flushed the wound. The cold water brought Stinky to consciousness and he leaped from the sink. He ran crazily throughout the hallway convulsing like a chicken with its head cut off. He left a trail of red splatters.

He shouted loudly in his worst nasal-sounding lisp, "I know ya din't mean it, Lee, I know ya din't mean it!"

I chased him, but Stinky managed to side step my grasp every time; finally, Mr. Eyer pounced on him like a cat on a mouse and pinned him to the floor. He stuffed a rag into the gaping wound and held him still until the ambulance arrived. (oh, yes, there's more in chapter 5)

DEDICATION

We'd like to dedicate this book to our precious grandchildren:
Josh, Britani, Victoria, Rhett, and Mason.
They gave us the encouragement we needed to complete this project.

THE AUTHOR

For many years, Lee has told his stories in the redneck-humor style of Jeff Foxworthy. Finally, Susan has taken her husband's stories and turned them into a memoir with something for everyone. She has been writing short stories and poetry for the past thirty years. She has had several poems published in Treasured Poems of America, winter 1994 edition. It wasn't until 1994, as a "mature" returning student at the South Hills Business College in State College, PA, that her teachers convinced her that she had a flair for words and should seriously consider writing professionally. She graduated with high honors and presented the closing speech at her 1994 graduation.

Susan's favorite endeavor is acting out her poetry for church presentations. She has a flair for bringing her audience to tears and then drying those tears with laughter. She continues to be generally creative with writing, painting, and designing clothes. She designed and manufactured hunting clothing for Ted Nugent of Rock'n'Roll fame from 1989 until 2001. Susan now works for Murata Electronics in State College, PA where she is the Administrative Assistant in the Marketing Department.

Susan and Lee have been a team since 1972 when they... well, it's in the book. You'll have to read it to know all the sordid details. (tee,hee,hee) They have evolved from restless young lovers into mature grandparents who shower their grandchildren with love. Lee and Susan live in rural central Pennsylvania where, no doubt, they will spend eternity together.

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