It’s fall of the year, a season I always love and October has flown by even faster than usual.
Today is Halloween and Halloween always reminds me of the night I arrived in Corpus Christi to begin my married life. This year, Halloween is on a Sunday, just as it was sixty-seven years ago, The night of my arrival in the huge Greyhound bus station was on Saturday night and the Halloween celebration was in full swing with the building reverberating with celebrating sailors who were there either waiting for their special arrivals or perhaps waiting for their bus to take them away on their leave.
As I disembarked into the sea of white caps and shouting voices, I had a few qualms about my future life, for the surroundings of the moment were not what I was expecting, although to tell the truth, I don’t know exactly what I was expecting. I was seventeen, had completed one year of college, had worked one summer at a pilot training field and was presumably ready to meet the world head-one, but this mass of sailors and their shouting was not the world I expected.
Then I saw him; that special sailor I had made the trip to marry on the following Monday, November 1, 1943, and all was well.