Dear people who are still convinced Ron Paul is good for America,
Ron Paul isn’t gonna win. I’m not saying that because I’m part of any kind of media pushback. I’m speaking as a regular citizen with a casual interest in American presidents and I also reads the news every single day. Honestly, it doesn’t take much to see how obvious it is that Ron Paul will never, ever be president.
How I met Comedian Ashley Huck (@pervityoldman)...
Ashley asked people on her facebook to make a comment on how they met her. I figured we had such a great story, I’d share it here. Enjoy folks.
I met Ashley at the Croydon Airport in London in the winter of 1945, only months after the last bombs fell. She was on her way to Estonia to stay with her Uncle Koil, who had been very sick ever since the Russian invasion. I, myself, was on my way back home to San Francisco with a wounded right arm and a purple heart on my chest.
I hadn’t seen much battle, bouncing around the Eastern front for 2 years. Which might be why I didn’t see the sniper just outside Caen in Northern France 2 days after the war was declared over.
Ashley came up to me at the baggage carousel and asked if she could help me with my ruck sack. I told her that I had carried heavier on much less rest, but she wouldn’t take no for answer. She grabbed my bag and carried it over to a small table. A young black waitress came over and poured us coffee.
We talked about the war, and how it had affected her immediate family back home in Wisconsin and her Grandparents, Aunts and Uncles in Estonia. She talked about her brother Jeffrey, who never made it off the beaches of Normandy, much like so many of the young men I called friends.
She had a sadness in her eyes, and a shakiness in her voice. She knew she was going to miss her parents farm back in Wausau, and more importantly the neighbor boy Gerald, who was 3 years her junior, but had managed to steal her heart the previous summer.
We finished our coffees, and I asked her when she had to leave the airport. She said, soon. I promised her I’d say hello to her Ma and Pa if I ever passed through the upper mid-west, but being a California boy, I knew it probably wouldn’t happen. I had seen the sunset in Paris and the sunrise in Dresden, but I’d never even been to Nevada.
She smiled though, the thought of a nice soldier boy, in his dress blues, stopping by to visit them, much the way Jeffrey never would be able to, made her feel good. It made her feel home sick, but in a nice way.
A man who worked for the airline made an announcement that the 6pm flight for Tallinn was about to board, so I paid for her coffee and we said our goodbyes.
For nearly 66 years she was simply a memory from a past life. I have several memories from that life I wish I could forget, but Ashley was never one of them. I even attempted to look up her parents in the early 60’s when my late wife Catherine and I were driving across the country on our big move to New York City. I got 2 hours outside from Madison before I realized I never knew Ashley’s last name.
My grandson Eli helped me set up this damned facebook thing, but once I figured it out, I really started to enjoy it. I reconnected with friends from the war, like Brandon, Marc & Luke. Guys I’d drink for hours with on those cold German nights. Toasting our fallen friends and trying to forget that it could be us next.
Then, in the spring of 2011, I got a friend request on here. From an Ashley Huck-Toome. I didn’t recognize the name, but I could never forget the face when I saw the picture. She still lives in Estonia, with her husband of nearly 50 years Kristjan. The two of them had 6 children, 4 that lived and gave her 14 grandchildren and 6 great-grand children.
I got old, but somehow she looks the same as the day I met her. Although the sadness is gone. Someday I’d like to visit her, have her show me around Europe without all the bombs and blood. But we both know that will never happen. Maybe in the next life.
Anyways, I’m rambling like an old fool, but that’s how I met Ashley.