Thursday, March 26, 2026
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I was in school with Steve and his sister Debbie, I believe since the third grade. I remember us playing softball, at recess.
Later, around the fourth grade, I played Pee Wee football, then Junior High, then Varsity football. Can’t remember the earlier days, but do remember Steve playing in the Varsity.
Not sure how much we interacted, in those times, but we did know each other.
Come 1971, the Vietnam War was still going on, the draft lottery had given me a low (not a good thing!) number. National Guard called and offered to take me. Later, in the fall, I received orders, from the Army, to board a flight to Columbia, SC. Steve was also on that flight.
Flying, at that time and that charter, was not a smooth experience. It was a big prop plane, believe a Martin 404. Because I had flown once, as a child, to the west coast, in a very similar plane, I thought I was experienced. Never mind I had become nauseated and thrown up on that flight! The entire airframe vibrated, especially on takeoff. I kept telling Steve it was all normal, since I had so much experience! Later, during the flight, I noticed fasteners jiggling loose, on the engine nacelles. Small streams of what looked like oil were coming out from around them. I brought this to the attention of the crew, but was told it was all normal. Not very reassuring!
I believe we arrived at Ft. Jackson on December, 27, 1971. We, the recruits, seemed to be some of the few people on base. Basically, we were told to hang out, don’t leave the buildings, until the facility was operational. At night, we had to take turns walking the building on fire patrol. The tranquility of the night, would occasionally be broken by Puerto Rican guys walking around carrying a portable record player, playing loudly, Oye Como Va, by Santana!
Steve and I were in different platoons, but our barracks were close by, during basic training. We shared the same pains of long marches, endless waiting, questionable food and longing for home. Home never seemed so good, as then.
After basic, we were both sent to Ft. Gordon, GA for AIT training. Around that time, we were allowed to have a private car on base. I couldn’t bring one, but Steve did. He asked if I wanted to ride back to the base with him. He had a 1971 metallic green Camaro, with a vinyl top. Near Atlanta, Steve made the mistake of asking Predmore if he wanted to drive. At the time, it was the nicest, fastest car I’d ever driven! Smooth and fast, we easily passed every car we approached. Suddenly another car passed us. Not sure, but may have been a Pontiac GTO. Full of other military guys, they wanted to race! We both passed other cars, averaging more than 100 mph. Then I saw blue lights behind us! A trooper pulled over us and the GTO at the same time. The trooper talked with other cars and then walked up to us. Some of us had uniforms on (good thing!). I thought we were going to jail! The trooper gave me a warning ticket which noted he clocked us at 110 mph! Sure wished I’d saved that warning ticket!
Once back home, Steve and I would see each other for Guard summer camps and monthly meetings. I stayed in for the minimum of 6 years, Steve much longer. We’ve visited in recent years and reminisced about those old times.
Steve had a good life and built a successful HVAC business. I only wished we’d had more time, the one thing that none of us has any control of. Reach out to your old friends, while there still is time.
Godspeed, my friend. You are in a much better place.
