Class Of 69

Eddy had been unconscious from the moment the plane had hit the first tree. Blood ran down his face from a deep gash over his eye, dripping from his chin and spattering the interior of the plane. Larry couldn’t help looking at Eddy. Despite the plane’s rapid destruction, he was distracted at how odd Eddy looked; a man his size bouncing around the cockpit, like a puppet.

 

“Goddamn it, Eddy, wake up” was the only thing Larry could scream as the plane crashed through the trees. In a panic and not knowing what else to do he had seized the steering control; as if he could regain control of the plane and raise it out of the trees just by grabbing the wheel. He finally lost his grip trying to fend off the loose instruments, broken plastic and other fragments of the plane that flew around them like missiles inside the cockpit.

 

He watched in horror as the wings disappeared, as pieces of the fuselage peeled away and the windshield shattered. There was nothing he could do but scream; scream for help; scream for God; scream at Eddy to wake up.

 

"Shit, Eddy, you're missing the ride of a life time," he tried to shout.

 

This was something they never considered when they left; dying in some remote jungle treetop.

 

Tree limbs shattered. Leaves and debris and startled wild life rushed by. The plane jolted, shuddered, paused a few wrenching seconds and then groaned to a brief stop, before it resumed its downward plunge. The wreckage shot through the treetops, frightening monkeys and startling birds that shrieked and fled the mechanical monster that had suddenly pitched into their world.

 

Below, Indians heard the noise and bolted to see shredded pieces of the plane raining down, littering the dense jungle floor with thousands of metal fragments. Dodging larger bits that continued to fall they collected the small pieces in astonishment.

 

As he slumped, dazed in the wreckage of the plane, Larry remembered hearing stories of how people’s lives flashed before their eyes, like a side show, in the last moments of their life. He'd never believed it, thinking instead that it was the product of someone’s overactive imagination.

 

The plane quivered, and then continued to plummet through the trees. The sounds of screeching metal, screaming wildlife and breaking limbs began to fade into a muffled backdrop of noise. His pain became something like a numbed tooth. The chaos gave way to a mixture of shadowy calm before Larry slipped into happy images from his short life: vivid snapshots of family, school, friends, holidays and the flickering memories of half-forgotten dreams.

 

He now found himself in that phenomenon of watching as his life flipped rapidly before him. Until this moment, it hadn't seemed real. Then, as if the film was ending and there was no more life to watch, the performance stopped abruptly. The curtain fell and the lights dimmed and went out in his private theatre.

 

Larry was born and raised in the busy social and economic environment of Chicago’s towering urban society; the only child of a middle-class family. There had been very few kids his age living in his lofty apartment building. School was his only source of friends. From his view high above the city, he wondered what was beyond the tall buildings, the lake, and other cities visible in the distance.

 

He devoted his spare time to the exploration of the museums of the city and what he saw there fired his imagination.

 

The endless exotic collections that stuffed the rooms and corridors of the Field Museum captured his growing curiosity. But it was the colorful, mysterious South American exhibits where he lost himself.

 

He consumed hours fascinated by the relics of crude, deadly weapons, brilliantly-colored head pieces, rudimentary jewelry and body ornaments, and shrunken human heads. The religious practices of mysterious tribes, still hiding somewhere in the unexplored Amazon jungles, thrilled him.

 

It was the gruesome practice of cannibalism and the custom of shrinking heads to the size of an orange that he found most interesting. Larry became obsessed with South America. In school his detailed and illustrated book reports were eagerly anticipated by his teachers and classmates.

 

Larry devoted more time than most kids his age to reading and he studied carefully, exploring everything he could find about the mysterious world of continental jungles. He was considered by his teachers and classmates to be one of the brightest students of his class and it wasn’t long before he became class president. His descriptive essays and reports got him elected to the school’s journalism club where he also became president.

 

Although tall and athletic, Larry cared more for academia than sports. Not overtly handsome, he had good looks and an easy charm. He became popular with girls who shared his academic interests. After school, he spent his spare time camping, hiking, and discovering new places with the Boy Scouts.

 

In contrast, Eddy was born and raised on a small Arizona ranch where he lived independent of city luxuries. He was an accomplished ranch hand. He helped his father break horses, herd cattle, mend fence, and tend to the many duties required of ranch living.

 

Eddy became an expert model builder at an early age. He enjoyed putting together working models of small-engine airplanes and boats, often making all of his own parts. Sometimes he would take them to school and, when given the opportunity, proudly show them off as they circled around and around in the swimming club pool, leaving shallow ripples in their wakes. He entertained and amazed students and teachers with his skill of duplicating the boats in such minute detail.

 

Besides model building, Eddy loved sports; camping, football, and hiking, almost anything, as long as it was outdoors. His grades were good enough to keep him active on school teams. He was built for the rough sports of football and soccer and, if time allowed, he joined the swim team. He was short, compared to Larry, with a well-defined muscular body and steel-blue eyes. His sun-bleached hair gave him the popular “surfer” look.

 

Working out in the gym each day enabled him to withstand the effects of contact sports. During school vacations Eddy enjoyed long canoe and camping trips, inviting friends for outings rather than joining in organized programs. He preferred activities without group rules; activities that allowed him to control his time.

 

When the Korean War began, Larry’s father was transferred to Aberdeen Proving Ground research center and Eddy’s father was sent to Baltimore to manage a shipping company. It was then that the boys met. Eddy’s parents preferred the small community life and chose to live in Aberdeen, not far from the base. Because there was one high school, it was inevitable that the two boys would meet.

 

Before long, students and teachers discovered Eddy's unique talents. Despite the town's small size, the high school was larger than the school he had attended in Arizona, so he didn’t quite become the dashing all-star hero that he had hoped to be. Nonetheless, sports made him popular. Girls wanted to be seen with him and boys felt compelled to be his friend.

 

Larry was a model student, well-liked and, because he was ahead academically, more than willing to tutor students who wanted to improve their grades. So it was only a matter of time before Larry met Eddy.

 

Larry found he rather enjoyed sharing in Eddy’s popularity as a good-looking athlete who attracted girls. It wasn’t long before both boys found they enjoyed many of the same activities. The boys thrived. Larry learned model making and Eddy became a scholar of South America.

 

Their high school years passed quickly, lost in a rush of good times. The Korean War ended, both boys graduated with honors and they spent the summer discussing plans for college. They were inseparable by then and, with their parent’s approval, decided to attend the same school and to share an off-campus apartment.

 

Because of his childhood fascination with South America, Larry thought about studying anthropology. He dreamed of spending some time studying in the remote regions of South America where the stain of civilization had not yet intruded. Eddy’s hope was to be a pilot, own his own plane, and fly cargo to exotic, interesting places.

 

College graduation came at last. They partied and celebrated for days, drinking, laughing, crying, sleeping and waking to party again. On the last day, those seniors who dared got painful rite-of-passage tattoos on their arms, their graduation date "1969" in bright blue numbers centered on the school's gold crest. Eddy and Larry were spared heartbreaking farewells to each other. After the parties ended and classmates went their chosen ways, Eddy and Larry remained in their apartment.

 

The days following graduation passed almost as quickly as did their hangovers. Larry applied to graduate school and secured a grant to continue his studies in anthropology. Eddy, following his dream of being a pilot, acquired school loans for flight school. To help cover their expenses, Eddy took a part-time job waiting tables and delivering pizzas, and Larry continued tutoring.

 

Eddy finished flight school and was soon earning a modest living as a beginning pilot for a local airfreight service. Larry excelled in his studies. His tutoring was helping both boys make new friends and stay ahead of everyday expenses.

 

One night after school, Larry rushed into the apartment and threw his books down on the couch where Eddy sat eating leftovers.

 

“Guess what happened today?” he blurted out.

 

“Got me, but if you don’t take a breath I know what will happen.”

 

“Today was my last day in school and I’ve finished with everything except my thesis. And, boy have I got a plan.”

 

Larry paused long enough to grab a Coke and piece of cold pizza. He was shaking with excitement as he continued, “You know I’ve been savin’ some money for a long time; for something special.”  He paused for a swallow of Coke.

 

“Come on, Larry, slow down.”

 

“Mom and dad approve and they gave me some cash to help out with expenses.”

 

“Approve? Expenses for what?”

 

“Well, I’ve finished everything I need for my graduate degree except my thesis.” Larry stared at Eddy, expecting him to show some excitement too, but Eddy was waiting for the rest of the story.

 

“Well, I think you and I are going to take a trip, if you want,” Larry said.

 

“So what’s the big deal about a trip?”

 

“Not just any trip, Eddy, the trip of a lifetime; a chance for us to do what we’ve always wanted to do; for you to fly to an exotic place and me to study and write about the unexplored Indians of the Amazon.”  Larry gulped down the rest of his Coke and pizza. Eddy stared in disbelief or surprise; Larry couldn’t tell which one.

 

Larry had finished his studies with honors and passed the qualifying exams, leaving only his thesis to complete. It hadn’t taken him long to engineer plans for an adventure that would earn him a reputation in his field. During his studies, he had learned of a little-known, rarely-seen tribe of Indians in the remote western regions of the Amazon. “So what do you think, Eddy? Think you can handle an airplane over the Amazon?”

 

Eddy began silently mouthing words, but Larry didn’t need to hear what he was saying. He knew. Without hesitation, Eddy agreed, sharing Larry’s excitement at the prospect of a real adventure.

 

“First we fly into Lima, then to the northern Peruvian city of Iquitos and charter a plane that can land on the river, purchase equipment for a month-long expedition, and brush up on Spanish.”

 

“I don’t know what to say,” Eddy stuttered. “This is a dream come true. It’s finally happening. I’ll find us a plane that will do what we need. Make a few phone calls, see what I can do.” 

 

They quickly set about the serious task of mapping a plan of action. After years of sharing the apartment, studying, and saving what money they could, this trip was their reward. And so they spent the money with cautious excitement and anticipation, like two kids preparing for their first camping trip.

 

By early May, everything was finally organized and the long flight to Iquitos began; from Miami to Lima and then on the late-night flight that would take them over the Andes and into that isolated city on the Amazon River.

 

Looking out the plane’s window, the two men watched as treetops flashed past, lit up by the plane’s landing lights, the only lights penetrating the jungle's darkness.

 

Eddy was the first to awaken the following morning, eager to locate a plane. He left the room quietly and found his way to the brown river that was the Amazon. He looked at the small dug-outs tied to stilted shacks below. It was hard for him to imagine that just a few hours before he had been in Miami and now he stood on the muddy banks of one of the world’s longest rivers. He wandered the busy narrow streets into the marketplace filled with freshly butchered meat, chicken, fish and spices—he smelled them all. The pungent odors were unlike anything he had ever experienced.

 

When he returned to the hotel, he found Larry in the mahogany and thatched restaurant bent over coffee and toast. He rushed in, dragged a chair to the table, sat down across from Larry and almost shouted, “I found the perfect plane and it’s a real beaut!”  Eddy explained that he had managed to charter a seaplane from a local oil exploration company.

 

“That’s great, Eddy."  He downed the rest of his breakfast and followed his keyed-up friend into town.

 

On the way to the docks Larry insisted that they explore the city. They tried their Spanish on curious vendors while bargaining for small trade stuff to take upriver. Both were anxious to embark on the next chapter of their adventure. Eddy urged that they cut short their wandering in favor of a walk to the river.

 

As they elbowed their way through the crowd of dockside merchants, Eddy grabbed Larry’s arm and pointed with satisfaction to an oil-and exhaust-stained orange plane floating nearly motionless in the muddy water.

 

Larry looked at the crusty 1951 Cessna seaplane, then at Eddy, and for the first time had a different sense of appreciation for his friend. He saw how focused Eddy could be and watched how he looked at the plane. It was the same look he’d seen on Eddy’s face the first time he saw him catch a football. At that moment, Eddy was important enough for someone to throw the ball to; someone recognized as a valued member of the team.

 

Now, Larry saw the romance between Eddy and the plane, in the way he looked at it, the way he caressed it with his eyes. For Larry, it was Eddy’s passion for flying that meant success in this adventure and Larry could only guess at how much Eddy might mean to their survival.

 

Incredibly, all their equipment arrived on the same day they did. Even more miraculously, nothing was missing, not exactly a common occurrence on the Amazon. The day before they were to leave, the plane was fueled and a careful flight check made with the oil company’s pilot. They checked each piece of cargo, then stowed it carefully to balance the plane’s weight.

 

Before the sun rose the next day the two men climbed aboard, the plane’s dock lines were untied, the engine sputtered to life in a cloud of gray smoke, and the plane roared down the river to the west. The sky turned pink as they climbed above the treetops and the city disappeared from sight behind the tall jungle trees. Their spirits rose with the plane.

 

On the first day they reached a jungle missionary outpost about 800 miles upriver where they rested for the night. They left the next day for the spot on the map Larry had chosen. The locals said it was about a thirty-five-day walk. Eddy translated that to mean—assuming you can walk five miles a day in the jungle—175 miles, more or less.

 

The morning fog cleared early as the plane roared and splashed its way up the Amazon, leaving behind a cloud of blue smoke. It rose slowly above the river and into the thin, white clouds above the trees. Eddy remarked that the jungle looked like an unending field of broccoli, split in two by the brown ribbon of the Amazon, and too dense to see through. Every so often, a thin spiral of smoke rose above the canopy revealing a village somewhere below. Then it all suddenly changed.

 

Larry awoke in unbearable pain. He could make out some light and shadows, even though his eyes were swollen shut. Worst of all, he could not move his body. The stinging smell of wood smoke nearly choked him. Something was cooking, smelling like the market in Iquitos. Strange voices speaking an unfamiliar language faded in and out. He tried to say something, but his throat hurt as though it was filled with sand. Then everything went dark again.

 

The next time Larry awoke the voices were gone. He sensed that he was alone, lying on a rough-woven mat, his head on soft animal skin and naked. The pain was terrible. He lay there motionless as his mind tried to evaluate his condition. His eyes were firmly swollen shut. His mouth was agonizingly dry and he was certain that his nose was broken. There was a terrible pain above his eyes and his entire face felt bruised and puffy. He thought maybe his jaw was broken. He felt with his tongue and found that his front teeth were missing. The others were badly chipped.

 

Before he could explore any more, blackness overcame him again. Each time he regained consciousness, he discovered another injury and more pain swept over him. Once more he passed out and when he awoke, he tried to recall what had happened. He remembered falling, time slowing down, seeing treetops close in around them, and watching as the plane disintegrated. That’s all he could remember before the blackness returned.

 

Larry opened one eye, just a small slit. He saw that he was lying in the center of a round, thatched hut with the remains of a fire nearby. He could make out the blurred features of a tiny, round, painted face; a young naked Indian girl was kneeling next to him and smiling. She placed a wooden spoon between his lips and forced him to drink a thick, bitter-tasting broth. She seemed very young; maybe thirteen or fourteen. He wasn’t sure, but felt embarrassed by her nakedness and self-conscious of his own lack of clothing. Then he lapsed once more into a deep sleep.

 

As the days passed, his embarrassment and pain eased, and he could finally halfway sit up. At least his back wasn’t broken, for which he was grateful. His left arm was badly damaged, both legs broken, and various cuts and bruises covered the rest of him. His other eye was now only partially shut with a small opening between the eyelids. He was exhilarated that his eyesight was not affected; that he could feel some excitement at the girl’s nakedness, forgetting that his own clothes were gone. Each day the young girl put something sticky on his wounds and fed him the bitter-tasting broth, after which he would sleep.

 

He learned each day new bits of sign language and, combined with his broken Spanish, he was able to ask the girl about his friend. She told him that Eddy was in another hut being tended to by her sister.

 

In a few days, Larry was able to coax the girl to retrieve his notepads, pencils and other supplies from the plane’s wreckage. To show his appreciation he gave her mirrors, a couple of knives, and other trade trinkets picked up in Iquitos. Occasionally, men would peer inside the hut, make a slight gesture to the girl, smile at him, and go about their business. He began writing down his observations—a few words of the girl’s language he had come to understand, some of their customs, the food he was eating. He made many crude sketches of the girl whose nakedness was a pleasant distraction. So far, under the circumstances, all seemed well and he felt good about being assured each day that Eddy was under the care of her sister. A proper thesis was in the making, despite his injuries.

 

Before each meal, Larry would empty his food bowl and study the contents to determine the health benefits, if any, of the diet he was being fed. He had not yet identified the Indians taking care of him and Eddy, but he felt certain they were the ones he had hoped to find. Despite the accident, living with them was a bonus. Days went by, and Larry was finally able to sit up and feed himself easily. Each day he would ask how his friend was getting on and each day the girl assured him that he would see Eddy soon; that Eddy was getting well.

 

He enjoyed her cooking because she did it herself. She used lots of yams, something that looked and tasted like carrots, sometimes capybara meat, which was sweeter than the others, and a sweet, tapioca-like dessert. One day his meals consisted of monkey and yams; the day before it had been chicken and beans. Wild pig was particularly tasty but rare because they were hard to catch. Today the girl was bringing him his favorite meal; her favorite, too, she said.

 

His wounds were healing and he was feeling better, even cheerful about the way things had turned out. What a wonderful thesis he would write.  But he was worried about Eddy.

 

As Larry imagined the excitement, envy, and popularity he would face when he returned to school with a thesis like none other, he picked up his crude wooden bowl and spoon and began to eat. It wasn’t the taste but rather the appearance that grabbed his attention. On the surface of the meat was a gold crest over which he could plainly see the faded blue numbers of 1969.