Alan LuninThese video oral histories, and the accompanying story below was done by Andrew Tuggle for the Storyteller Project.
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Andrew Tuggle
Storyteller’s Project
The Spitfire
The Triumph Spitfire sat dormant in the garage. So much potential spunk and energy is wasted in a dead Spitfire. The car stares at Alan defeated, like a stallion that has just been castrated.
Alan wonders why he ever bought this car. It spends more time sputtering in the garage than it ever does working. Perhaps the return home to America after being stationed in Korea for so long clouded his judgment a bit. Perhaps he was so ecstatic to be back in the states that he fell for the first pretty face that he saw. And who can resist the charm of a name called Spitfire?
Today was Alan’s turn to buy the wine for the weekend. The boys would throw him out if he showed up again without any alcohol and another excuse about his car. But what could he do? Images of weekends full of red wine, candles, and music, all forbidden by Army policy, blew through Alan’s head as he thought. Perhaps Major Marman would let Alan borrow his car. It was worth a try, anyways.
Highlands, New Jersey sat on top of a mountain and therefore was always a little bit colder than it should have been. Perhaps that’s why those enlisted at the base were always drinking: to keep warm. It was a drastic change from the mugginess of Korea. Though he was glad to be home, Alan felt out of place in the cool fog of New Jersey after months in Korea. Alan began his walk to Marman’s office, trying to move quickly to avoid staying in the cold for too long.
It was when Alan was feeling the most unwelcome when Major Marman called him into his office months ago. Alan had just returned home and was assigned to supplies at the base. It was fine work; nothing he could get excited about, but nothing he could complain about either. But when Major Marman requested his presence, Alan felt his face flush. Did he hear about the nights Alan was spending on the weekends?
Major Marman was about 5’6” and built like a truck. If one were to imagine what the typical West Point graduate was, one would probably come up with Marman’s image exactly. Whatever he wanted, Alan was sure it wasn’t good.
Marman sat behind his desk, which was spotless and free of any clutter, and eyed a folder with his name at it.
“Lunin, you’re Jewish aren’t you?” Marman looked up at him without a trace of emotion to read on his face. Alan felt his stomach clinch.
“Yes, sir.” He wondered if Marman considered that a good or bad thing. Marman put down the folder and folded his hands.
“Good. Me too. You’ll work for me.” And with that Alan was dismissed. He was confused but smiled anyway as he left.
The wind had picked up as Alan was walking, so he began to jog as he passed Marman’s garden. Over the months Alan and Marman developed a sort of fondness for each other. It helped that they were both Jewish, of course, but Major Marman reminded Alan of his dad in a way. Whenever the Spitfire decided to work, Alan would always make sure to drive by this garden to see if Marman was tending it that day. It was funny how much Marman looked like Alan’s dad, at least from behind. They were the same height and build, and they both liked to work outside. And both men tended to tolerate things from Alan that other’s wouldn’t. Alan thought back on the days of marching around Washington D.C., holding signs and demanding attention and freedom. Perhaps his nights out with the boys were some kind of continuation of that rebellion.
Marman wasn’t gardening; it was a bit late to expect him to be anyways, so Alan continued to jog to the office. The sun was setting over the horizon and Alan’s eyes were burnt by orange rays smothering his face. Luckily the office was only around the corner from here.
Marman sat at his desk exactly like the day he called him in several months ago. Alan always seemed to be interrupting him while he was reading through a folder of some sort. Another officer stood in front of the desk, apparently discussing the contents of said folder.
Major Marman looked up and smiled when he noticed Alan. The other officer turned around.
“Hey Dad, can I borrow your car?” Alan laughed.
Marman laughed at the joke. The other officer, however, widened his eyes into a glare.
“Sure, go ask my driver to take you wherever you want.” Marman smiled at him. Alan could still feel the other officer’s glare and didn’t smile back.
“Thanks,” Alan paused. “Sir.”
Alan left the office with the two men’s competing looks. Outside, the sun had set and the temperature was dropping ever faster than before. Alan felt a presence behind him and turned to see the glaring officer behind him.
“Lunin, what you did back there was incredibly inappropriate. You do not talk to an officer like that.” The officer’s wide glare had sharpened into an intense, thin stare. “Don’t ever let me catch doing that again.”
Alan frowned, because the officer could never have known what bond Marman and he had. He couldn’t have guessed the way that Marman tended flowers like his father, or the way they chatted like together like Alan was his son. He couldn’t have imagined that “Dad” was a term of so much more love and respect for Major Marman than “sir” ever would have been.
But Alan couldn’t say any of this, so he just replied, “Yes, sir.”
And with that Alan left to find “Dad’s” car so that he could have another weekend of red wine and music.
Storyteller’s Project
The Spitfire
The Triumph Spitfire sat dormant in the garage. So much potential spunk and energy is wasted in a dead Spitfire. The car stares at Alan defeated, like a stallion that has just been castrated.
Alan wonders why he ever bought this car. It spends more time sputtering in the garage than it ever does working. Perhaps the return home to America after being stationed in Korea for so long clouded his judgment a bit. Perhaps he was so ecstatic to be back in the states that he fell for the first pretty face that he saw. And who can resist the charm of a name called Spitfire?
Today was Alan’s turn to buy the wine for the weekend. The boys would throw him out if he showed up again without any alcohol and another excuse about his car. But what could he do? Images of weekends full of red wine, candles, and music, all forbidden by Army policy, blew through Alan’s head as he thought. Perhaps Major Marman would let Alan borrow his car. It was worth a try, anyways.
Highlands, New Jersey sat on top of a mountain and therefore was always a little bit colder than it should have been. Perhaps that’s why those enlisted at the base were always drinking: to keep warm. It was a drastic change from the mugginess of Korea. Though he was glad to be home, Alan felt out of place in the cool fog of New Jersey after months in Korea. Alan began his walk to Marman’s office, trying to move quickly to avoid staying in the cold for too long.
It was when Alan was feeling the most unwelcome when Major Marman called him into his office months ago. Alan had just returned home and was assigned to supplies at the base. It was fine work; nothing he could get excited about, but nothing he could complain about either. But when Major Marman requested his presence, Alan felt his face flush. Did he hear about the nights Alan was spending on the weekends?
Major Marman was about 5’6” and built like a truck. If one were to imagine what the typical West Point graduate was, one would probably come up with Marman’s image exactly. Whatever he wanted, Alan was sure it wasn’t good.
Marman sat behind his desk, which was spotless and free of any clutter, and eyed a folder with his name at it.
“Lunin, you’re Jewish aren’t you?” Marman looked up at him without a trace of emotion to read on his face. Alan felt his stomach clinch.
“Yes, sir.” He wondered if Marman considered that a good or bad thing. Marman put down the folder and folded his hands.
“Good. Me too. You’ll work for me.” And with that Alan was dismissed. He was confused but smiled anyway as he left.
The wind had picked up as Alan was walking, so he began to jog as he passed Marman’s garden. Over the months Alan and Marman developed a sort of fondness for each other. It helped that they were both Jewish, of course, but Major Marman reminded Alan of his dad in a way. Whenever the Spitfire decided to work, Alan would always make sure to drive by this garden to see if Marman was tending it that day. It was funny how much Marman looked like Alan’s dad, at least from behind. They were the same height and build, and they both liked to work outside. And both men tended to tolerate things from Alan that other’s wouldn’t. Alan thought back on the days of marching around Washington D.C., holding signs and demanding attention and freedom. Perhaps his nights out with the boys were some kind of continuation of that rebellion.
Marman wasn’t gardening; it was a bit late to expect him to be anyways, so Alan continued to jog to the office. The sun was setting over the horizon and Alan’s eyes were burnt by orange rays smothering his face. Luckily the office was only around the corner from here.
Marman sat at his desk exactly like the day he called him in several months ago. Alan always seemed to be interrupting him while he was reading through a folder of some sort. Another officer stood in front of the desk, apparently discussing the contents of said folder.
Major Marman looked up and smiled when he noticed Alan. The other officer turned around.
“Hey Dad, can I borrow your car?” Alan laughed.
Marman laughed at the joke. The other officer, however, widened his eyes into a glare.
“Sure, go ask my driver to take you wherever you want.” Marman smiled at him. Alan could still feel the other officer’s glare and didn’t smile back.
“Thanks,” Alan paused. “Sir.”
Alan left the office with the two men’s competing looks. Outside, the sun had set and the temperature was dropping ever faster than before. Alan felt a presence behind him and turned to see the glaring officer behind him.
“Lunin, what you did back there was incredibly inappropriate. You do not talk to an officer like that.” The officer’s wide glare had sharpened into an intense, thin stare. “Don’t ever let me catch doing that again.”
Alan frowned, because the officer could never have known what bond Marman and he had. He couldn’t have guessed the way that Marman tended flowers like his father, or the way they chatted like together like Alan was his son. He couldn’t have imagined that “Dad” was a term of so much more love and respect for Major Marman than “sir” ever would have been.
But Alan couldn’t say any of this, so he just replied, “Yes, sir.”
And with that Alan left to find “Dad’s” car so that he could have another weekend of red wine and music.