My parents had driven me to the Army base in New York, along with my three month old son, Michael. An army transport plane was to carry us, along with a slew of other army wives and children, to join our husbands at various bases in Germany.
My husband, Tom, had been a member of ROTC in college, and after our marriage in January of 1953, followed by his graduation in June of that year, I went back home to live with my parents while he went to basic training at Camp Pendleton. After a brief ‘mini-moon’ that September, I had a sudden craving for the proverbial pickles. Shortly thereafter, Tom and I reported for duty at the Army War College in Pennsylvania where he would be part of the post adjutant in the Finance Corp. The next April, he was given orders to go to Garmisch Partenkirchen, Germany.
It was the policy of the U.S Government that army wives could not fly after seven months of pregnancy, so once again, I went back home to live with my parents, and Michael was born in June. Three months after giving birth, we were on our way to New York.
I had tried to nurse Michael unsuccessfully and had to resort to bottle feeding. How envious I was of the career wives who seemed to have a monopoly on breast feeding. Awaiting our orders to board the plane, I noticed hordes of babies and youngsters (some old enough to be cavorting on play gyms,) being called to their mothers’ bosoms for lunchtime.
I had made six bottles of formula. Certainly enough to get me to New York, and then Germany in a little over twenty-four hours; however, our flight was delayed before take-off, and my baby who weighed in at nine pounds two ounces at birth, and at three months was a little behemoth, gulped down two bottles. Well, I still had four.
We boarded the plane amidst a cacophony of crying babies and distraught mothers. I remember one mother who stood out amongst all the other wives for she was sobbing continuously as she carried her little three month old. Another mother informed me that she hadn’t seen her husband in over a year and a half, so he was certainly in for a giant surprise.
By the time we were airborne, Michael was hungry again. Another bottle. Three left.
Sometime into the flight, I looked out my window which was over one of the wings to see sparks coming out of the left engine. We were told quite calmly by the captain that “we were about to make an unscheduled landing in Newfoundland.” After landing safely,, we were stationed in the barracks overnight until another plane could be flown in for us. Time for another feeding and I still had overnight to go. Down to two.
Early in the morning, yet another bottle, and I was beside myself. I carried Michael outside, pacing back and forth trying to figure out just what to do. Crying, I must have looked pretty miserable, for suddenly, a jeep pulled up and a man rolled down the window and asked if I was all right. Sobbing, I told him of my plight, and he said “Get those empty bottles and hop in–I’m the army chaplain.” I ran inside, grabbed the bottles, and with that, he drove to a little store off base, and pounded on the door at 6:00 a.m. on that Sunday.
Evidently he knew the proprietor who lived upstairs, for he let us in, and the chaplain told me to get what I needed to make formula. Then he drove quickly to his trailer, saying “You make up the bottles and I’ll be back after the service.”
I can stiil remember thinking “This is not going to be sterilized; he has never had whole milk before; he’ll surely die.” Having no choice, I quickly washed the putrid-smelling bottles in cold water, poured the strange milk into them and did a quick boil in water for a couple of minutes. True to his word, the chaplain picked us up, rapidly drove back to the base, and within the hour, we were airborne.
One of my life-long regrets is that I never inquired his name, and could not repay him for his time, the milk, his calming words, and his kindness. I did learn that sometimes, you have to have faith in the human race. I found that if you cannot repay the person, the least you can do is ‘pay it forward’.
I also discovered that germs won’t kill your baby, and from then on, I let my children eat dirty food that had fallen on the floor, diapered them occasionally with dish towels if the laundry had fallen behind, and allowed them to drink out of public fountains.
I let them splash barefoot in muddy water, twirl around with their cherubic faces uplifted in warm spring rains, and I looked the other way when they picked their respective little noses.
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