Quarantined. Yes, you read that correctly, I was quarantined. Flashback to the summer of 1988 and I was working at Camp Algonquin as a counselor for a program that was sponsored by United Charities of Chicago. This camp provided a week away from the city for single moms and their children who were under stress due to poverty, violence (domestic or otherwise), or life in general. As a camp counselor, I had been exposed to chicken pox … again … in my life, having alluded this disease on numerous occasions throughout my childhood where every little bug bite or hive would be assumed to be the outbreak – finally – only to send me home one day and return the next, having been fooled once again by in itch that was not of the chicken pox variety. The camp nurse – surprised and shocked to hear that I had not contracted this common childhood disease all these years decided that I should be quarantined because I had several red bumps and had been exposed to a miniature camper that had to have his summer fun ended and was sent home to fight off the virus and avoid scratching. So, here I was … quarantined in the nurse’s quarters. What to do? … hmmm … well, there was no TV, no radio, a few outdated magazines, and the latest Chicago newspapers. I don’t remember having a book with me so I began to read the Chicago Sun Times more voraciously than I ever had since that seemed to be my only source of entertainment. I came across the Dear Abby column which I read from time to time. Her current prose was not advice to the lost or lovelorn but rather a plea for letters and correspondence for military personnel who were stationed in isolated duty outside of Alaska. My interest was piqued!
Little did Dear Abby know but I was raised quite military proud as I had two uncles who had served in World War II. My father was also supposed to serve but when a mastoid in his ear was discovered, he was sent back home. One uncle – my Uncle Ernie – had attended Officer Candidate School and eventually became a captain in the US Army, serving his country proudly while designing bridges and etc. and leading his company. My other uncle – Uncle Ed – had served as a Lieutenant in Japan and the Pacific and never really talked about his time there as he had truly seen the horrors of war on the front lines and first hand. Uncle Ernie, however, had fueled my romanticized version of the military and that time period; he had stayed in close contact and with many of his army “buddies”, often attending reunions and get togethers. He kept a duffle bag packed with his uniform and things — a uniform that now sits in the back of my closet — ready to serve his country at a moment’s notice. As a child, I spent hours in his lap, listening to his tales of his time abroad and his service to our country – all the time regaling stories to me of army life and life in England.
I wrote a letter to an unknown serviceman (or woman) and sent that letter to the address outlined by Dear Abby. I asked the nurse for a stamp and put it in the camp mail (or rather the nurse did because, yes, I was still quarantined!). A day or so later, my red, itchy bumps were deemed to be mosquito bites and I went back to my young campers and fellow friends and counselors and soon forgot about my quarantined stay in the health center.
Fast forward to the Fall of 1988, I was back at Blackburn College and busy once again with life as a college student – classes, teaching observations, tutoring, and of course a little partying (what?! All work and no play made Carol a very dull girl!). Mail (yes, the snail mail variety – the only one of its kind at the time) was the number one day brightener. Imagine my surprise when I received a letter from a Coast Guardsman named Phil Lombardo who was stationed off the coast of Midway Island at a place called Kure Island. He was stationed along with 20 other Coast Guard men (only men) on this island, monitoring LORAN equipment and enjoying island life. Apparently, Dear Abby had done such a good job recruiting support and letters for the isolated duty military off the coast of Alaska that some of the letters got routed to Phil’s station. Amongst all the letters, he picked mine out – along with a couple of others – and sent a letter.
I wrote to Phil throughout the rest of my college years, detailing the mundane things one does as a college student and sharing with him some of the American life moments he might have missed while away and he shared the details of his military life and life as “Gilligan” as he was stranded on an island thousands of miles away. Via the mail, we became fast friends and while, yes, I had romantic interests and thought he did as well – until I found out he was also writing to a few other girls at the same time 😉 – the friendship was what was most important. As my uncle Ernie had passed earlier in 1988, I am sure a huge part of my draw to Phil was the conversations we had that reminded me of happier times with my uncle. Because of my uncle’s stories and experiences, I always had a huge admiration for those who served in the military. Phil would share not only words but several pictures that he developed himself while on the island. Images of birds and wildlife were captured. He had sent me a picture of himself in his Coast Guard dress uniform and of course, I was smitten. These images brought his written words to life. Mail was a tricky thing for him as it came and went only once a week via a helicopter. I admired his hard work and dedication; his positive attitude and willingness to serve our country. He had shared stories with me of other Coast Guard stations he had served at including Martha’s Vineyard and outside of New York City. Again, fuel for fire of the familiar connection I once had with someone who was near and dear to my heart.
The rest of the story, as Paul Harvey used to state, is that young Carol went back to Camp Algonquin once again the next summer (Although no chicken pox scare as she finally contracted them during Spring Break a year later and missed a trip to build Habitat for Humanity houses with former president Jimmy Carter!) and she finally graduated from Blackburn after a study abroad trip to the country her uncle shared so many stories about. Yes, she did get to see the daffodils in the springtime as they dotted the English countryside. She and Phil did finally meet, got engaged and were married. She had captured the heart of the young Coast Guardsman whose picture travelled with her to home … to across the ocean … and back. That story may not have had the final happy ending originally hoped for – however, three beautiful children, now young adults, is not too bad of story that is still in progress!
For those of you who have served, who love someone who is serving or has served you, I salute you! The sacrifice to keep our shores – and beyond – safe is larger than any word can say. Thank you … thank you all … for your service and sacrifice!
Two freeways diverged ... 